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When Chennai's tragedy hit home

An entire city that had looked as pretty as a bride was violated by the odious arms of nature.

The closest I have come to witnessing a deluge in the real sense of the term, yet far from what Chennai endured recently, was when cyclone Gonu ravaged Oman in 2007. The overcast skies, the drizzle that settled to a steady downpour and the repeated weather warnings gave us no inkling of what the city of Muscat (where we then lived) was in for by the end of the day. To a summer-worn population, the rains were a reprieve from the oppressive nature of the sun, and most of us received it happily, unaware of what was to befall us in the hours to follow. Then, after many hours of consistent rain, when the skies pulled over itself a woolly black, and we decided to stay indoors watching the heavy downpour from our windows till the winds settled, we saw the sudden surge of waters that advanced as if a Tsunami had been unleashed on our streets.
The flashflood that followed would go down as one of the most terrible experiences we have had of a natural calamity. The rushing stream of water that materialised from nowhere and swelled menacingly to sweep every wobbly thing on its way alarmed us, and as it gained momentum to become a river on a rampage that rose in height, we saw from our window on the second floor, a procession of flotsams below. The raging torrent made no distinction as it carried with it to some unknown oceanic destination, everything from canisters to cars, pallets to portacabins, furniture, and all that could be overrun by the uncaring flashflood. Horrified residents at the ground level fled and joined us to watch their homes sinking and possessions getting washed away, even as their hearts became saturated with the angst of not knowing what they would find in their homes when the waters would recede.
The insanity lasted several hours and when at last the floodgates closed leaving behind a trail of slushy aftermath, we peeped out to take our first look of what was left of the city, as if to check its livability. That which had flowed had met the seas and that which remained steadfast on its feet had been rendered worthless. An entire city that had looked as pretty as a bride was defiled and violated by the odious arms of nature, and we knew that it would take a long while to restore her erstwhile glory.
Personally, when I cooked a few simple meals for those who were stranded in the upper floors of our building amidst a power outage that lasted many days, I felt as if I had become useful again. Those who had lost everything on a foreign land felt further alienated from the benevolent hands of fate. For days together even after the storm had blown over and the sludgy surfaces had been swept clean of the debris, and people began to pick up the pieces and move on, the memories of the nature's violent knock haunted us in our sleep and wakeful hours.
Yet what I now document as my most terrifying images of nature's fury will pale before what people in Chennai must have endured in the last couple of weeks. What I saw was a storm that came and went in a hurry, taking with it all in its path. What Chennai will live through is a prolonged agony. It might be difficult to ascertain if the aftermath is grimmer than the assault itself. It is tough to imagine the ordeal of the ordinary man who has lost it all or the recurring fear of those who stood on the brink of it. It might be possible to empathize with those who tell their tale of endurance and survival, but to live in their shoes for even a split moment is a staggering thought.
For those of us who have lived modestly putting brick upon brick to build the edifice of our lives, the thought of losing it all is devastating. To those who have it all, the idea of having to wait for someone's largesse for a bottle of drinking water can be crushing. To those who have jumped into its midst to be saviours and scooped many lives out of the swirl, it can be a rewarding way to live. But for those who are living through it, the ordeal itself will be a reference point that will divide their lives into 'before' and 'after'.
Only those who have lived a tragedy will know its true impact. Only the wearer will know where the shoe pinches. Pain a private thing that only the bearer will feel. The rest of us can only be palliatives for healing and remote aids for rebuilding.
Asha Iyer Kumar is a Dubai-based writer

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