The Tempest

Hurricane Harvey lay down unrest in Houston and Texas leaving the beautiful cities in ruins; it destroyed buildings, boats and homes. The rescue team put in all their efforts and saved their animals and people. It was just about the time when the world had begun to forget Typhoon Hato which had triggered one of the worst floods in Hong Kong. Close behind was storm Pakhar that hit Hong Kong and Macau. The people in these areas are fewer compared to the populated Bangladesh in South Asia, where the recent floods killed more than a thousand people.  The monsoon was consistent in India this year till the torrential rains hit the over inhabited city of Mumbai, the industrial capital of India. It began with steady rains for a couple of days and finally culminated into floods bringing the city to a standstill.

The city of Mumbai is densely occupied with people representing every family in India. The pictures of the floods hurled me two decades back. The situation was no different then; however, the media was not as active as they are now. Mobiles and social media had not crossed the Indian threshold. The BSNL had not installed its network of lines in several housing complexes in the suburbs of Mumbai where we resided. It was a lengthy affair to talk to friends and families living in other cities. One had to line up like the long queue at the doctor’s after registering the details.  The suburbs was a little lesser polluted and populated. The flats were a little bigger than the usual ones, and a few picturesque spots of nature were certainly visible in the developing concrete jungles.

It takes me back to my first set of teacher friends in Mumbai. They were Nancy, Padma, Agnes, Priscilla, Asha and Sanjay, who travelled along with me to the school where we worked.  There were many more teachers who worked in different schools and got off at different stations, but we would board the local train at the same spot to disembark at Vasai station. Priscilla, Agnes, Asha and Sanjay belonged to the villages that lined the suburban stations. Agriculture and fishing were two main occupations in these villages. White onions, cluster beans, tomatoes, potatoes, and other seasonal crops were cultivated and marketed here. The closest village was around twenty kilometres away from the station. My friends would travel by buses to reach the station by 6.30am. It also meant that they began their day at 4 in the morning. Padma and I lived in the 6000 flat project of Lodha builders, which was around 15 minutes away from the station. We would have to walk most of the days as the auto rickshaws had not begun plying from anywhere near the building. 

There was a long straight road through a stretch of fields connecting the station to Lodha homes under construction. Many a times we would soar, jump and move over the puddles and cemented surfaces to reach the station via this road a few minutes sooner. It was utmost difficult to cross the stretch during the rainy season. It would pour suddenly and within minutes we would get drenched, in order to prevent this, we would wear our raincoats, the all seasons’ belle shoes sold specially by 'Bata ' to manage the situation.  We would have to stand near the doorway of the bogie to jump out as soon as the train reached Vasai; this also meant we could get wet by the sudden bouts of rains in the moving train and by the displaced stagnant water lying on the roof of the train. Sometimes, we would have to walk from Vasai station to St’ Francis school where we worked, and then it seemed as if the rains that we had escaped while boarding the train had followed us fiercely to  leave one soaked to the skin within minutes. The monsoons were dreaded by one and all as it showed no mercy, no distinction and treated the rich and poor at the same pace, with the same parity. These situations often made me miserable and detest the place owing to the hopelessness of reaching out for a help. The apathy of nature remained the same for the rich and the poor.

One of the days it poured heavily and did not stop raining. The school authorities were kind and closed the school a little earlier than usual to help us reach back home safely.  The teachers who lived nearby looked into the dispersal of the students. My friends quickly boarded an auto rickshaw to reach the station. A few of us had to sit with the driver in front. The unlucky ones who sat near the driver had to keep the umbrella open to make their shade and turn fully and look outwards to maximise their balance. The city of Mumbai literally applies the concept of ‘Survival of the Fittest’ from Darwin’s theory. On reaching the station, we saw a sea of people waiting for the next local train to arrive. We pushed ourselves through the crowd till we reached the platform where the ladies compartment of the train usually halted. There were hushed voices, loud laughter and grim ladies who wrestled through the crowd making their way towards the end.

The station was crammed with people as four of the trains had been cancelled. The authorities said that the services would resume a little later as the tracks were submerged in water. There was no bus service to reach home. My friends who had endured these situations, told me that it would be the best to walk on the tracks and that we would reach home within an hour. The tracks are the dirtiest places to walk on in Mumbai, and there was a creek flowing under the tracks midway that I feared when I travelled by train everyday. Today, it meant crossing the overflowing tracks above the creek in the pouring rain. It also meant that a single wrong step could be my end. God knows where my body would have been found, as the creek joined the rivulets that lead to the sea, but before that the muddy brown water would have drowned us.

Those who lived away could do nothing but wait till the situation improved. There was no place to sit. Agnes suddenly commanded, ‘let’s begin walking as it is just a station’s distance’. My friends folded their saris and salwars (trousers) to knee length with expertise and ask me to follow them.

 As we walked, we found the water growing deeper, the mud softer, but we counted our footsteps on the wooden ramps. After half an hour’s walk we came across the creek. The railway track now stood high above the creek. The wooden ramps were clearly visible. We stepped on the wooden ramps and walked slowly. People behind us roared to make way; everyone was in a haste to reach home. We prayed fervently and gave a sigh of relief on crossing. There were a few sick people, some whose feet ached, a few others who were thirsty, but everyone was helpful. They gave water to the thirsty, helped the needy, greatest bonds of humanity were visible during the adversity. By the time we reached home, we saw the weather improving and water receding miraculously. Mumbai has always been spectacular in evoking fears during its worst times and ending the situation with a surge of gratitude and inner strength.