It’s been two weeks since self-isolation began. Three days since a total lockdown was put in place. And here we find ourselves living in close proximity to our significant others 24/7 with no end in sight. Suddenly, all those jokes we used to make about being joined at the hip take on a sinister tone. Habits that used to be mildly annoying transform into hair-raising irritants. The competition to come out the other side of this as the true ‘better half’ begins to reach Hunger Games proportions.
In short, we are married under quarantine.
It’s a strange feeling isn’t it? I mean, we promised each other loyalty in sickness and in health, but there was no word on what to do in case of a pandemic. It’s like some awful experiment a marriage counsellor might force you take part in to see if you’re compatible before you get married. Spend every minute of every day together, put your relationship through a global crisis, then you’ll know how you really get on. See? Marriage won’t be all rainbows and bunny rabbits.
Well too late now, we’re already married. And under quarantine.
Jokes aside, it really isn’t all that bad. Gaurav has taken to wearing shorts on the daily, I wander about the house — usually clutching a mug of lukewarm coffee — muttering about an overwhelming sense of ennui. Sometimes things get really exciting and we switch spots in the flat. He goes to the living room and I go to the bedroom. True goosebump inducing, edge-of-your-seat stuff, I know.
I will say this though, we eat more meals together than we ever did before. We consume more salads and less liquor. Somehow quarantine inspires moderation, though it’s driven more from the fear of running out of ice-cream and beer than the need to be healthy. We’ve started exercising daily, something I would have never imagined possible even three weeks ago.
We call our parents all the time, and have extended conversations about how long we should let our ramen stock cook (two hours is the answer) and whether or not to try our hand at vegan tom yum soup. We constantly talk about watching less Netflix and reading more books — neither of which has happened yet.
There’s no word on whether we’ll stop getting dressed altogether and just shuffle about our flat in matching pajamas. But, given how things are going, I imagine that’s not too far off. By the time this is over we will have reached an I Love Lucy level of symbiosis which will lend an air of grim truth to our jokes about being practically the same person. We’ll have earned the right to kid about being joined at the hip, heck, we may actually be physically joined at the hip by then. Who knows?
We’re married under quarantine.
