<p>As a nation, we’ve gone through a lot of changes in the last year. Priorities have been reshuffled, new jokes are being circulated on social media and new words like 'covidiots' have been coined. News focuses on strict lockdowns, shortages and the courage of our tireless healthcare workers. Across compound walls when neighbours chat it is about those in hospitals or home quarantine. We’ve forgotten about new shades of lipstick as masks cover half the face. Dress designers are saving on cloth as they stitch matching masks instead of the 2.5 m dupattas. In the midst of all this has emerged a new power hub— the 'Dons' at the vaccination centres. </p>.<p>Determined to get my second jab, I trotted off to nearby hospitals only to be told that the vaccine is out of stock. I made my way to the PHC and was told that the vials received in the morning were over and they were unsure if any would be available in the afternoon. Uncertain as to what to do next I just hung around. It was then that he walked in with a swagger. He looked disdainfully at the crowd and informed us that only 30 vials might be sent to the centre after two hours. Of course, all of us wanted to be on the super 30 list. Pleading and trying to use influence fell on deaf ears. He said that although he’s under tremendous pressure and gets calls from the higher-ups continuously, he will not relent. Then he asked us to form an informal queue and sit in the shade (small mercies). We requested him to give us tokens so that we could step out for a while. He said if we step out we’ll lose our place in the queue. Those who had the time and patience waited. Each time I saw a group leaving I heaved a sigh of relief because it meant that my chance of being on the list improved. Every half hour or so 'Don' would walk past, mentally assess the number and then say, “Why are all of you waiting, didn’t I tell you that only 30 will be vaccinated?” </p>.<p>Finally, tokens were distributed and 'Don' took our mug shots on his mobile camera. The process would get interrupted when he received a call. After it was done he went and sat in a car listening to music and we were left wondering when we would be called. Each time we saw 'Don' we looked up beseechingly. Then he grandly announced that those who have not had lunch will not be vaccinated. But how could we go out for lunch? A good samaritan asked us to hold his place while he went out and got snacks and juice for all. My turn came soon as I was lucky to be in the first five. I looked around to say goodbye to 'Don', but he was busy on another call and waved perfunctorily.</p>
<p>As a nation, we’ve gone through a lot of changes in the last year. Priorities have been reshuffled, new jokes are being circulated on social media and new words like 'covidiots' have been coined. News focuses on strict lockdowns, shortages and the courage of our tireless healthcare workers. Across compound walls when neighbours chat it is about those in hospitals or home quarantine. We’ve forgotten about new shades of lipstick as masks cover half the face. Dress designers are saving on cloth as they stitch matching masks instead of the 2.5 m dupattas. In the midst of all this has emerged a new power hub— the 'Dons' at the vaccination centres. </p>.<p>Determined to get my second jab, I trotted off to nearby hospitals only to be told that the vaccine is out of stock. I made my way to the PHC and was told that the vials received in the morning were over and they were unsure if any would be available in the afternoon. Uncertain as to what to do next I just hung around. It was then that he walked in with a swagger. He looked disdainfully at the crowd and informed us that only 30 vials might be sent to the centre after two hours. Of course, all of us wanted to be on the super 30 list. Pleading and trying to use influence fell on deaf ears. He said that although he’s under tremendous pressure and gets calls from the higher-ups continuously, he will not relent. Then he asked us to form an informal queue and sit in the shade (small mercies). We requested him to give us tokens so that we could step out for a while. He said if we step out we’ll lose our place in the queue. Those who had the time and patience waited. Each time I saw a group leaving I heaved a sigh of relief because it meant that my chance of being on the list improved. Every half hour or so 'Don' would walk past, mentally assess the number and then say, “Why are all of you waiting, didn’t I tell you that only 30 will be vaccinated?” </p>.<p>Finally, tokens were distributed and 'Don' took our mug shots on his mobile camera. The process would get interrupted when he received a call. After it was done he went and sat in a car listening to music and we were left wondering when we would be called. Each time we saw 'Don' we looked up beseechingly. Then he grandly announced that those who have not had lunch will not be vaccinated. But how could we go out for lunch? A good samaritan asked us to hold his place while he went out and got snacks and juice for all. My turn came soon as I was lucky to be in the first five. I looked around to say goodbye to 'Don', but he was busy on another call and waved perfunctorily.</p>