26 March, 2020: Sarosh Nandwani

Texas, USA

We celebrated Navroz indoors this year. The congregation leaders scrambled in primaveral panic to compose a virtual celebration and performance. It was the first time I slept in on a 21st of March; the sun persisted despite the homebody beginning of spring, and the new year, scuppered by the virus, began anyway too.
 
I began the year wistful and touch-starved, texting “Navroz Mubarak” to family on WhatsApp and praying my Dadi and Dada would be safe in Karachi. May Allah bless us all and keep us safe, we prayed. Ameen, we replied. Personally, I am still trying to believe.
 
The boy is Hindu, and his father just found out I am Muslim. Even if the virus was not lingering in all the corners of our packages, chairs, and doorknobs, we would distance. This is another kind of sickness, perhaps.
 
When my father gets home, he puts his shoes in a plastic bag and walks straight into the shower — he doesn’t want the virus chasing him from the clinic to our home. He watches the news dutifully, and then asks for Disney.
 
This is how the new year began: with our street-sick bodies home, and spring too far away.
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Sarosh Nandwani (@saroshnandwani) is a mechanical engineer and anthropologist. She reads for Anomalous Press, Periwinkle Literary Magazine, and the Longleaf Review, and is a contributor for Royal Rose Magazine.