The days of the pandemic now feel like a half-remembered fever dream—minus the fever, thankfully. It’s like that awkward phase in middle school: you survived it, you're not sure how, and everyone silently agrees not to bring it up at dinner.

Back then, the virus had graduated to full-time villain status. It wasn’t just terrorizing people—it was starring in prime-time news marathons, cooking up panic with side servings of misinformation. While most of us were busy forming emotional bonds with our sofa cushions, my spouse was out there, cape-less but heroic, treating patients as a frontline health worker.

Now, not all of these patients were actually infected. Many were simply suffering from an acute case of paranoia maxima. Naturally, the government swooped in with a noble announcement: health workers affected by the virus would receive ₹1 lakh in compensation. Hero pay, basically. Noble indeed, except… it aged like milk.

My spouse, pragmatic and financially alert, wasn’t too worried about the virus. But she was mildly concerned about missing out on the moolah. So during the first wave, she got the test done on every sneezing. The results? Negative. Every. Single. Time. It was like the virus ghosted her.

One day, after a particularly intense hour of watching sensationalist TV debates with virus-shaped graphics and sound effects that belonged in Sunny Deol film, she did what any health-conscious soul would do: three minutes of deep pranayama breathing... followed by a big plate of chowmein. Health is balance, you know?

The second wave was different. This time, she was posted in the respiratory distress ward—front row seats to the chaos. She finally tested positive! The virus showed up fashionably late but decided to keep things chill—no symptoms, no drama. She opted to stay at an isolation center instead of coming home. Honestly, I think she just wanted a break from doing the dishes.

A few days into her stay, the panic outside reached season finale levels. News was grim, uncertainty was rampant. I only able to visit her once in the quarantine cetre. She waved from the first-floor window like a quarantined Rapunzel. No complaints, no tears—just a tired smile.

That very evening, the lockdown was announced.

Months passed. The curve flattened, unflattened, and then went squiggly. Life slowly stumbled back to normal. We gathered all the paperwork, submitted the application for that grand ₹1 lakh compensation, and waited. And waited. But by then, the virus had lost its terrifying reputation. It went from "plague" to "mild inconvenience" in the public imagination.And just like that, the promise disappeared.

But hey, at least we still have the memories. And a very suspicious stack of unused test reports.