The paraar mudir dokan was called Gopal Bhandar. When my parents first moved to the neighborhood, that's where they stopped by for most things. The shop-keeper whose name we did not know was a cheerful old man. His wife was around the store sometime helping him. They socialized with whoever came by to buy their groceries and it was common to see some shopper linger on the wooden benches outside the store front. A tea stall was right next to Gopal Bhandar and it worked great for all concerned.
Recently, both the shop-keeper and his wife succumbed to covid, dying within days of each other. The store has not been opened since - its not clear if there is someone to take the reins, if the couple had any children who were willing to step in. My parents know of a dozen people who were seriously ill or died from the virus and when my mother recounted the fate of this elderly couple, she sounded completely resigned - they were old people was repeated a few times as if to soften the blow to herself. The level of both fear and sensitivity has come down a great deal over the months.
Sometimes my parents talk about whether this is the world they will eventually leave or might it be possible in their lifetime to go out again, have friends and family over, travel - if they will see J. I imagine the older the person the more final this situation looks like - time is not on their side. Each generation is experiencing the flow of time in the pandemic differently and it likely puts them at even greater odds with each other than normal times.
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