By John Dayal

New Delhi, April 22, 2020: Friends will remember, in the early days of the Lockdown, I had put up a post appealing to the Prime Minister that my medical supplies to combat my insulin-dependent diabetes, were running low.

A friend, Rohit Kumar, responded immediately. He was the first. He said he’d go find the stuff I had listed in the personal message to him, and would send it through one of the volunteers who had a curfew pass to distribute food in far-flung areas of the capital city.

A feminine voice rung up to say she would be bringing my stuff by 7 pm, and could I come to the gate and take it. She came at 9:30 pm, on a Scooty. As she took off her helmet, I found how young she was. As I thanked her, I asked her what she was doing. Studying.\

Turned out she was at my old college, in fact in the department of Physics in the science faculty. A mere 55 years or so separated us. She apologized she had got late at Mustafabad because of some food distribution issues

Was she going home, to her PG room? No, she had to go to Malaviya Nagar and pick up more food to deliver to some who were waiting or her. She refused to come up for dinner or a cup of tea, mounted her Scooty and zoomed away, the two wheeler’s red backlight the only one on the long stretch of road.

I let Rohit Kumar tell us more about the young lady volunteer Rohit wrote on his Facebook:

I’d like to tell you about my meeting this evening with a young lady called Anushka

Anushka is an undergraduate who studies at Delhi University. She is one of those few that actually has a lockdown travel pass, so what does she do with it?

She sets out early from home every single morning – sometimes as early as 4 am. – to distribute food and rations and medicines all over the city. Mongolpuri, Shahadra, Mustafabad, Najafgarh, IP Extension, Patparganj, you name it, she’s probably given out food there. Every day. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends. On a Scooty.

This evening, I met her outside my colony to give her a bag of cloth masks to be given out at Turkman Gate. It was late, almost 9:00 pm. I asked her how long she had been out.

“Since 3:30 am,” she said, and explained, “You see, food distribution in slum areas begins early and so people start lining up at 4 am outside the MCD schools where food is being distributed, just so they don’t miss out. Many times the food finishes before they reach the counter, and so, rather than go home, many people just wait in line the rest of the day so they don’t miss out on the next round of food distribution in the evening.”

Anushka visits these schools early in the morning to give food to as many of these people as she can. Then after she is done, she picks up rations and goes to the next place to distribute. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends.

The street we are standing on is deserted. A few stray dogs gather around us. A police jeep drives past slowly, its blue and red lights flashing. The cops stare at us as they drive past. I feel slightly tense. It is late. And there is no one on the street except us, the cops and the dogs.

Anushka is a lot calmer than I am.

“Er… do they make you nervous?” I ask her, looking at the police jeep out of the corner of my eye. I have heard far too many stories of atrocity.

“You get used to them,” she shrugs. The cops drive past us again.

As we stand there outside the colony gate under a lone streetlight, she tells me stories about how Muslim youth are being picked up all over the city and taken away to unknown locations, about how relief workers are being detained, and about the fear, despair and hunger all over the city. I find myself breathing deeply in an effort to stay calm as I hear these stories.

I suddenly remember the two gobhi parathas that my mom packed for her earlier in the evening when I told her a university student would be swinging by to pick up the masks. (“She’ll be hungry. These young people never have their meals on time.” Moms have a way of thinking about things like that.)

I ask Anushka when she ate last. Her answer is what I thought it would be. “In the morning”. I give her the parathas. She happily accepts them. She is not much older than the young people I teach. “

Wonder Woman. No less.

A salute.

I apologize for not being able to invite her home and give her a cup of tea. No outsiders are allowed in the colony. She understands, of course, and tells me not to worry about it. She still has a couple more hours of work ahead. She still has to drop off medicines to someone and then deliver the masks I gave her to an NGO that will distribute them at Turkman Gate tomorrow.

I try to tell her to please not be out so late.

She smiles from behind her mask, that “yeah, sure” kind of smile that young people often give you, gets back on her Scooty and drives away.

I am overwhelmed by her selflessness. I say a prayer for her protection and safety, and I thank God for her courage.

Anushka, with her daily acts of caring and compassion, has put to shame a thousand living room debates and Facebook fights.

May her tribe increase.