The curious case of the déjà flu

Some people get back together with their ex. Others get back on the medicinal health crisis bandwagon. Bangladesh, shockingly, chose the latter (the ex has been more than blocked—it's been banned, to be fair).

But yes, Covid is rising again—slowly, stealthily, like your relatives during iftar. Hospital admissions are creeping up, whispers of "complications" are floating around, and somewhere deep inside the ministry of health, someone has just re-Googled, "What is the difference between coronavirus and flu virus?"

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This, of course, is not our first viral rodeo. We've done this dance before—complete with mask mandates, panic-induced grocery shortages, and that unforgettable cameo by our former health minister, who somehow managed to combine the calm of a stampede with the clarity of expired cough syrup (read sarcasm, please). He may not have cured Covid, but he did cure the nation of taking him seriously.

Now here we are again. One foot in flu season, the other in full-blown déjà flu.

To be fair, the virus isn't back with the same drama. No lockdowns (yet), no sirens, no daily death tolls scrolling across your TV like the credits of a horror film. It's more of a soft launch, the dinner table story featuring only your hands, not the face—softest. Like an indie sequel to a blockbuster we all hated but secretly watched out for, given morbid curiosity.

And what are we doing to prepare? Mostly, recycling habits. Masks are back—on chins, only "maskne". Sanitiser is back—in theory. And of course, we're back to hoping that this time, the government's response won't involve mysterious medical procurement deals and YouTube doctors suggesting turmeric as an immune booster.

But there is one noticeable change. This time, people are… tired. Bone-deep, eye-roll-heavy, can-we-just-not tired. We've seen the plot twists. We know how this goes. The rising numbers, the vague press briefings, the dramatic declaration of "urgent precautions" that somehow translates into a fogging machine and a photo op.

For every millennial reader, I see you, I hear you—it's just exhausting, I know. Half our twenties were eaten whole by pandemic, panic, lockdowns, recession, blackouts, protests, politics and the incredible doomscroll of war memes (you know which). We just low-key want a fair shot at life without this dystopian world getting in the way.

And yet, bizarrely, no one seems to be steering the ship. You know that moment at a wedding when the power goes out, the mic squeals, and everyone looks around pretending it's part of the programme because they're still not done with their feerni? That's where we are now. Except instead of power failure, it's health preparedness. And instead of a mic, it's a nation-sized throat-clearing.

But here's the thing: we've been gifted a second chance. A re-run with spoilers. We already know what not to do—like announcing that infections are under control when we haven't tested anyone, or putting a committee together with the same efficiency one might use to assemble IKEA furniture without the manual.

We don't need miracle cures or motivational slogans this time. We need basic things: hospitals that are equipped, doctors that are protected, information that is accurate, and possibly a health minister who doesn't accidentally become a meme.

Let's try something totally out of the box and totally novel. Let's learn from our mistakes. Let's assume that a virus does not, in fact, care about election timelines, district boundaries, floods, or whether we have an opening ceremony planned for a new overpass. Let's assume that health, drumroll please… matters.

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And while we're at it, maybe we, the public, can do better too. No more licking ice cream in air-conditioned malls and announcing, "I don't believe in viruses," like it's a zodiac sign. No more WhatsApp forwards claiming ginger can cure variants. Just sensible decisions, a little less bravado, and a bit more brain.

Covid isn't gone. It just went offline for updates. And if we've learnt anything at all in the last few years, it's that viruses don't wait for permission. They arrive uninvited and leave behind invoices.

So, this time, let's send them straight to voicemail. Let's not be the nation that fails twice in the same exam. Let's not look back in six months and say, "We should have seen this coming." Because we did. We've already watched this movie. We know how it ends.

Let's just hope, for once, we don't trip over the same plot hole.

Barrister Noshin Nawal is an activist, feminist, and a columnist for The Daily Star. She can be reached at [email protected].

Views expressed in this article are the author's own.

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