The autumn air is laden with festive sounds and smells. The sweet promise of approaching winter is doing much to infuse renewed energy into souls, beaten down with the sultry monotony of Delhi's summer of discontent.
It's the best of times. It's the worst of times.
Delhi is in the grips of the deadly dengue and panic has reached feverish pitch - quite literally at that - with 11 deaths and nearly 500 cases reported so far.
Having had a close brush with death last year, courtesy the Aedes, I think I have all rights to feel outraged at our collective lethargy in dealing with something as dangerous as dengue.
I was down with hemorrhagic dengue this time last year, ICUised for a week, narrowly escaping death thanks to seven bottles of blood plasma and platelets, eight donors (whom I owe it for the rest of my life), lots of good wishes and food.
So, the entire debate on whether to declare the mosquito-borne disease an epidemic amuses me. No, it actually annoys. It gets on my nerves.
The sheer callousness of our approach in tackling what has now become an annual outbreak annoys me. The fact that we let this happen each year with an uncanny perfection annoys me.
That we blame the government - as if dengue is a sarkari policy gone wrong - gets on my nerves.
My experience taught me an important lesson: The very notion that 'dengue can't affect me' is bull.
Being strapped to an ECG console 24/7, being poked with needles 10 times a day for blood samples, feeling hungry and yet throwing up at the sight of food - I would still call myself lucky.
Life for a dengue patient can get worse if there's no bed in the hospital, let alone food and nurses.
It also makes me think today:
11 deaths - and the mosquito only knows how many would follow - and we are still talking? Why doesn't taking action figure on anyone's agenda?
Why is the fumigation drive limited to Delhi's poshest areas, while NCR is neglected completely?
Why is there such an appalling shortage of blood when countless blood donation camps are organised across the city through the year? Where's all the blood gone?
And just how much effort does it take to scoop out water from coolers and pots?
Maybe it's still early days to demand answers. Maybe we'd choose to wait for the worst... About the AuthorDivisha Gupta ...Read Morefirst published:October 03, 2006, 14:22 ISTlast updated:October 03, 2006, 14:22 IST
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It's that time of the year again.
The autumn air is laden with festive sounds and smells. The sweet promise of approaching winter is doing much to infuse renewed energy into souls, beaten down with the sultry monotony of Delhi's summer of discontent.
It's the best of times. It's the worst of times.
Delhi is in the grips of the deadly dengue and panic has reached feverish pitch - quite literally at that - with 11 deaths and nearly 500 cases reported so far.
Having had a close brush with death last year, courtesy the Aedes, I think I have all rights to feel outraged at our collective lethargy in dealing with something as dangerous as dengue.
I was down with hemorrhagic dengue this time last year, ICUised for a week, narrowly escaping death thanks to seven bottles of blood plasma and platelets, eight donors (whom I owe it for the rest of my life), lots of good wishes and food.
So, the entire debate on whether to declare the mosquito-borne disease an epidemic amuses me. No, it actually annoys. It gets on my nerves.
The sheer callousness of our approach in tackling what has now become an annual outbreak annoys me. The fact that we let this happen each year with an uncanny perfection annoys me.
That we blame the government - as if dengue is a sarkari policy gone wrong - gets on my nerves.
My experience taught me an important lesson: The very notion that 'dengue can't affect me' is bull.
Being strapped to an ECG console 24/7, being poked with needles 10 times a day for blood samples, feeling hungry and yet throwing up at the sight of food - I would still call myself lucky.
Life for a dengue patient can get worse if there's no bed in the hospital, let alone food and nurses.
It also makes me think today:
11 deaths - and the mosquito only knows how many would follow - and we are still talking? Why doesn't taking action figure on anyone's agenda?
Why is the fumigation drive limited to Delhi's poshest areas, while NCR is neglected completely?
Why is there such an appalling shortage of blood when countless blood donation camps are organised across the city through the year? Where's all the blood gone?
And just how much effort does it take to scoop out water from coolers and pots?
Maybe it's still early days to demand answers. Maybe we'd choose to wait for the worst...
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