Gasping for breath: How Indian women survived the Covid disaster

In April, the trend line of Covid-19 cases reported in India started rising so steeply that it looked vertical.

Like elsewhere around the world, the pandemic has not been an equaliser in India. It has subjected women to even more precarity that they ordinarily face and compounded the discrimination towards marginalised religious, caste, and tribal groups.

Urban women who work professional jobs have largely weathered the economic crisis. Domestic workers, street vendors, and day labourers in the same cities, however, have lost their livelihoods. The burden of caring and household work during successive lockdowns has also fallen disproportionately on women.

In New Delhi, one in four people tested positive for the virus in mid-April. The strained medical infrastructure in the city broke down. The number of hospital beds fell below a 100 and the oxygen supplies started dwindling. People found themselves on their own, gasping for breath.

Some went to great lengths to track down oxygen cylinders, paying dramatically inflated prices on the black market to save their loved ones. Many took to social media and messaging services in desperation, pleading for medical assistance.

Coronavirus deaths were being under-reported and undercounted. Photographs started emerging of mass funeral pyres and overwhelmed crematoriums. With over 300,000 positives reported daily, India accounted for one in three of the new cases reported in the world, driving the global high.

Multiple health conditions

Below is a glimpse of what it is like to live through it as an Indian woman.

‘I once fell unconscious due to the stress. I had to do it all on my own.’

Akanksha*, 22, a final-year law student from Tamil Nadu, says she was always “on call” at home while taking care of her father for two months while he recovered from Covid-19 in June and July, last year. She also spent four hours daily doing university work and another two to four hours at her job.

“I was working with lawyers for experience and I had to be on call to do research during sessions. And I was always on call at home,” she says. “I would wake up at 4am just so I could get two hours of work done before my family woke up.”

Her mother has multiple health conditions so Akanksha had to take care of the household and her sick father. As such, she missed opportunities to network with professors and supervisors — something which can make or break her law career.

“When I was on call both at home and at work, and their needs would coincide, I had to prioritise my family,” she says.

Juggling their education

Caregiving work disproportionately falls on women and forms a large part of the 350 minutes of unpaid work women do daily (compared to 50 minutes men do on average), according to a report by the World Economic Forum. Young women now face the responsibility of having to care for sick family members and managing the household, along with juggling their education.

“I had to wake up at 6am to get started on chores,” says Gauri Sharma, 23, a Masters of Psychology student living in Haryana. “Not only did I need to cook all the meals, clean, manage medications for my parents and take my mother to hospital, but I also had to attend my online classes.”

With both her parents sick with Covid-19, Gauri, an only child, had to do all of the chores.

“There were times I had to log into class and put my earphones on to listen as I mopped the house. I once fell unconscious due to stress. I had to do it all on my own,” she says.

Both women say they were relieved when both of their sick fathers were hospitalised.

Aditi*, 21, a final year undergraduate Political Science student from Uttar Pradesh, gave up on her education for now.

“I spent the day making calls trying to find an oxygen cylinder for my grandmother. I have no energy or mental space to think about my education at the moment. Five of my family members are sick, and they are my priority,” she says.

Strict lockdown

She now considers having to trade in higher education plans to hunt for a job.

(*Akanksha and Aditi asked to use pseudonyms, saying their families did not know they were speaking to media)

‘I cannot afford to sit at home even for a day’

Wearing a Kashmiri pheran and a white scarf wrapped on her head, Fazi Begum, calls out customers loudly to buy fish from her so that she can sell her stock before dusk.

Sitting in a narrow lane in Srinagar’s congested Dalgate area, Fazi, 65, tries to keep away from the gaze of authorities since the region is under a strict lockdown imposed to control the Covid-19 disaster.

Fazi has sold fish for 32 years. She belongs to the Hanji, or fisherman community of Kashmir, living in houseboats on the city’s rivers and lakes. Women like Fazi travel to the markets in Srinagar in the early morning hours and work long days while men are out catching tomorrow’s wares.

Shahzada Begum has sold fish in Srinagar for the past 25 years. She and Fazi wear masks as they negotiate with customers, but they say they do not see the need to be vaccinated against Covid-19. They have heard rumours about the shots and they worry about missing work.

“No one in my family or neighbourhood has been affected by the virus so far” says Fazi.

“I cannot afford to sit at home even for a day,” Fazi says. “I earn rupees 300 to 500 (Sh440-740) per day. I lost my husband a few days back and now all my family depends on me.”

“I do not get time to think whether I should get vaccinated or not,” Shahzada says. “I have trust in God and he will keep me safe.”

Another fish seller, Jigar Bano, 58, has a spot at one of Srinagar’s busiest bridges — Amira Kadal — but with the current lockdown, she has had to find a more hidden place in the city to sell fish.

“First the lockdown was announced for three days and now it has been extended to six days,” says Jigar. “The place where I usually sell fish is barricaded.”

Jigar, Fazi, and Shahzada all say they have suffered financially as the pandemic has gripped the area.  “On normal days, everyone would come and buy the fish but now many people are apprehensive,” Fazi says.

Report by Tanvi Misra, Nayanika Guha and Raihana Maqbool

(This story is part of a longer Fuller Project series, has been condensed.)