944mm

Technorati Tag(s): Nature, Disaster

On 26th July, 2005, the city wades through water a metre deep. To get home.

Kids swim outside my house. We don't have a swimming pool in our compound.

A world record: 944 mm of rainwater.

One night, and the city is washed back. This is the antonym of progress. Everything we knew--shops, clinics, marts, cars, lives--swept away. Like it happens in movies.

Water in foodgrain, sahib, useless. Throw it out. Bakery's shut down, no bread. I know, sir, but what can we do? What can we do?

Water in milk, sahib, cows and bulls drowned, sahib. Throw it out. Bury the carcass. Or let it rot; let it rot. Do not mock me, sahib, my dairy, my cowshed, my home, God took it away. Have you seen my daughter? She hasn't come home, sir. Can you help me out? Won't you help me out? I fed you milk, sahib. Won't you help me out?

On the street, dozens of wasted cars, bikes. Public transport a mess.

Trains derailed. People stranded.

And outside my house, kids sailing paper boats that barely last a minute before filling up with water.

No phones, can't call your folks to find out if they're okay.

No electricity, nothing to do. In the night, light a candle, but what's the use? What's the use? The wind blows it out. Close the windows, but the windows rattle and the glass may break, and that certainly won't do. So sit in the dark and sing and hum along with your mouth organ, but how can you sing? How can you hum? All alone, nary a clue where your father is; nary a clue what your mother will eat.

Cook some rice for dinner; the fridge is out. Eat plain rice with curd and salt.

Try to sleep, and that'll get you through the night; sleep always does.

But how can you sleep? Outside, cars drowned all the way, their burglar alarms going off, and why doesn't someone shut it off? Why doesn't the owner go down and shut it off? Nobody can shut it off; no one can risk his life.

Water in the clinic, sahib, water in the chemist's shop. No medicine. And if the stagnant water breeds disease, what can we do? What can we do?

God is angry, sahib. We shall sacrifice more goats. But how can we do that? So many of them have died already.

Water in homes, water in slums, water bursting out through gutters.

People walking home, falling down manholes they can't see.

Alligators in the water, someone says. Alligators, and snakes. Please, don't scare us any more than we already are. Please, beg you.

What about schoolchildren? Stuck in schools, safe at least, but how can you be sure?

I drive a rickshaw, sahib, but it is ruined now. What shall I do?

Fifteen children in my house, sahib, where do we sleep?

A corpse floated by me when I was trudging in the awful, awful mess. I didn't do anything, no one did anything, sahib. We just let it float by. What could we do? Where could we put it?

Why isn't the city equipped to take care of the rain, sahib? What do they do with our money? Where are the police, sahib? We haven't seen any of them outside. Where are the politicians, sahib? And why didn't the weather bureau warn us? If they did not see this coming, then what good are they? Why are they earning money for? What job are they doing?

My crop was ruined, sahib, all of my fields flooded. Why did this have to happen, sahib? What have I done wrong? What have we done wrong?