Chennai floods brought out the best in people

Chennai, December 4, 2015. For the last five days I have heard nothing but the roar of the relentless downpour, a never-ending Niagara. I look out of my third-floor window and see the sky smothered by dark clouds. Below, my street is a rippling river. No sign of bird, dog, cat, insect. Wait… Across the “river” a lone squirrel is flattened against the rain-battered branch.

For five days my husband and I have been marooned in a water world. A world of soughing winds and slashing rains. No electricity, no phone, no internet, no milk. Candle for emergencies only. But how incredibly lucky we are to have a roof over our heads, we say. Thousands must be homeless now.
Chennai disaster reports are flooding the media. You don’t need another from me. But how can I not share the joy of seeing how, when nature was at its worst, human nature was at its best. People helped one another as they faced the catastrophic rains. Volunteers from every stratum of society risked their lives to do rescue and relief operations. Many shopwalas said, “Pay us when ATMs start working,” and let customers buy milk and candles on credit.

Of course, others sold the same at outrageous prices. Some autos did fleece helpless people. And yes, we are disgusted to learn how party goons stopped every truck carrying relief materials from other states — water, food, milk, blankets — delaying the supplies interminably as they stamped every box with the picture of their omnipotent Amma. But then, we haven’t heard of large-scale looting and harassment in Chennai, or of the kind of rape/crime atrocities reported when Katrina struck New Orleans. 

We don’t need post-flood government reports to tell us that the total collapse of civic structures was avoidable; or that illegal constructions, topped by faulty designing and substandard materials, were responsible for much of the damage. And no expert needs to say that lack of vigilance among us — the citizenry — has aided long-term multi-level greed to drain our lakes and ponds in the name of reclamation.

I ask myself: what did I miss most in those five days of isolation? The most harrowing anxiety was about not having any contact with the outside world, not knowing how others were managing in the deluge. I realised then that concern for others is a basic, instinctive human reaction when we face collective disaster. Yes, I desperately needed lights and water, but equally desperately, I needed to know how the city was faring, surviving.

And the way Chennaikars are responding shows how it is natural for human beings to care for each other. The media has highlighted first-hand accounts of rescue operations, demonstrating tremendous grit and care.

Now, hopefully, the worst is over. However, so many volunteers, particularly youngsters, are still standing in the slush, trying to get things back into shape for their fellows.
As always, I turn to myth and art for inspiration. Reflecting the complexities of life, myth and art can inspire us with disaster management metaphors. And during the Chennai deluge I see just why, of all the thousand names of her personal god Krishna, Mirabai favoured Giridhaari — the young cowherd who helped his humble community to face the mega downpour, inspired the people to resist, and strengthened them to survive. And let us not forget that Giridhaari is also Gopal, just as Christ is the good shepherd, and Francis of Assisi the patron saint of dumb creatures. Chennai’s birds and animals also need rehabilitation.

The author is a playwright, theatre director, musician and journalist.