It was 13th March, 2020.

 

When the squalor of Kathmandu's dawn began to descend into his resting lane, my phone rang restlessly.

 

My entire ambit turned upside down with that abrupt phone call. It was saying to terminate all ongoing work and get back to Dhaka on the earliest flight as Coronavirus was declared a pandemic and sustained the risk of further global spread. That was the first time I felt unnerved by this intangible morbidity.

 

But the flights were getting canceled continuously and unknowingly. It was very uncertain and strangling till the last rescue flight from Dhaka found its landing strip in Kathmandu on the gloomy afternoon of 19th March.

 

When I returned back to Dhaka, I was given 14 days of obligatory quarantine but I couldn't get back to my home as it was completely empty; my family was out of town. Consequently, I began counting my days at my aunt's quarter.

 

There I encountered an unknown environ. Everything was discontinued; everything remained dormant for so long; a longness that was never to end. That isolation felt quite heavy to me. I envisaged my mother’s grip every while, her hair in my hair, her wrinkled texture in mine; I become more of her while I am distant.

 

In the fullness of time, my subliminal little bird began to mourn with a blue lullaby but couldn't fly anymore. Thus, this work imagines a fictitious extension where these monochromatically solemn yet impulsive dispositions construct my visceral correspondence.