He'd lost his 49-year-old mother to Covid-19. Madhur couldn't bring himself to immerse the ashes of his mother -- while his relative obliged, the 27-year-old sat on a bench close by. In a war, you know who you're fighting against. But in this war, the enemy has been an invisible, deadly virus, striking at will -- taking someone's last breath with it.
lørdag 5. juni 2021
The darkest days of my life: Reporting on India's brutal second Covid wave
Wearing a crumpled pastel T-shirt, jeans and a white face mask, a grieving young man performed the final rites at Nigambodh Ghat, one of Delhi's biggest crematoriums. He looked lost, numb and exhausted. Accompanied by a family member, Madhur Chawla followed the priests' directions almost robotically.
He'd lost his 49-year-old mother to Covid-19. Madhur couldn't bring himself to immerse the ashes of his mother -- while his relative obliged, the 27-year-old sat on a bench close by. In a war, you know who you're fighting against. But in this war, the enemy has been an invisible, deadly virus, striking at will -- taking someone's last breath with it.
He'd lost his 49-year-old mother to Covid-19. Madhur couldn't bring himself to immerse the ashes of his mother -- while his relative obliged, the 27-year-old sat on a bench close by. In a war, you know who you're fighting against. But in this war, the enemy has been an invisible, deadly virus, striking at will -- taking someone's last breath with it.
