Paanch (Pa-aan-ch)

//Hindi word for ‘Five’// 

On the west coast of the Indian subcontinent, by the Arabian Sea, is the city of Mumbai.

This urban landscape is one of the most densely populated areas in the world, with a population of about 20 million, four times greater than Melbourne. Known as India’s financial capital, the city’s battle with coronavirus has not been easy.

The state of Maharashtra, which houses the city, was one of the worst-hit regions in the country.

By the end of 2021, Maharashtra’s covid deaths accounted for around 70% of the nationwide toll of 487,000 deaths, according to the COVID-19 Data Repository by the Center for Systems Science and Engineering (CSSE) at Johns Hopkins University.

The sheer number of cases – about 7.2 million cases by the end of 2021 – overwhelmed hospitals and medical staff and created a shortage of bottled oxygen.

Authorities set a curfew, suspended local train services and restricted the operations of shops, entertainment and hospitality venues.

When this series was shot, covid had already swept through the area in two waves. Earlier, officials also predicted a third wave to begin gaining momentum at the beginning of October.

But even with the apprehension and warnings about another strike from the virus, people in Mumbai remained fearless.

Mumbai’s streetscape continued to be filled with life and colour — marigold sellers, construction workers, street food vendors and auto-rickshaw drivers.

Within a mere 5-km distance, people were leading starkly different lives but with the common thread of strength and resilience.

Outside the station, a line of auto-rickshaws wait for passengers. They take upto four people in one go in line with the ‘sharing’ system. These travellers know nothing about each other and don’t bother about the virus or social distancing. They get on the three-wheeler and sit huddled together because it is cheaper.

A farmer by trade, Singh was cooped up in his village throughout the first and second wave of COVID-19. There, threat of the virus is not as urgent so he doesn’t quite understand why the world was shutdown.

Akin to the bell of an ice-cream truck, Singh’s bronze companion signals his arrival - a sound he thinks children have been longing to hear.

Udday Singh, comes to Mumbai from India’s north every few months to sell cotton candy. He doesn’t need the money, but he knows the kids are fond of the sugar confectionary and haven’t been able to eat some in a while due to the intermittent lockdowns.

Three generation of migrants in a frame, sitting by the road, never knowing who will be needed to takeover.

“Fear does not fill stomachs,” say the labourers.

Now, migrant workers have already started flocking back to bigger cities to resume work. One would think they would be apprehensive of the third wave, but they are not.

When India was hit with its first wave of COVID-19, the migrants in the country were severely affected. They were forced to go back home in the face of numerous other challenges.

Making marigold garlands is an intricate affair, one that involves needling through various shades of orange. It is also therapeutic and social - essentials for when the world around is unravelling.

These flowers need to be sold in a day, but the employees are certain that’s not a problem. The garlands are often used to worship deities - and God never goes out of business even in a pandemic, they say.

Marigolds are an important part of Indian culture, symbolising the sun and positivity. The owner of the stall, Kiran Gite says that people have been lining up to buy some despite COVID-19. They need them now more than ever.