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The showers of last evening cleaned out the remaining of Delhi’s usually toxic air. The first, decisive blow had been struck of course by the national lockdown of nearly a week ago. Unaccustomed to the freshness, lungs jerkily expanding as I step into my yard, I untangle the wind chime that has been twisted out of shape by the storm, playing a little with its bars. Face heavenward and smiling a little idiotically, I turn back towards my room. The cobalt blue skies, the unseasonal winter chill in late March; and most welcome of all, the preternatural silence — gifts we have been given suddenly and unexpectedly by the coronavirus outbreak. I am not alone in thinking of this time as a series of benedictions. Social media posts on slowing down, do-it-yourself spas; and getting back to the pleasures of gardening and star-gazing are flooding my timelines; the consensus is there has never been a better time for self-care. People are sharing inspirational poetry from Neruda to Rumi, a colleagu...