Waiting with apprehension for the landfall of Cyclone Nivar, my mind conjured up visions of maniacally swaying trees crashing down on our house. Anxiously, I suggested to my husband that perhaps it would better to move to a hotel with our important papers and jewellery. He countered wryly that trees could fall on the hotel too, and it may be better to stay put.
Contrast this with our school days when we would pray for incessant rain so that the authorities would declare a holiday.
Working life, however, throws up its own challenges. I recall with horror the notorious Chennai floods of 2015. On that unforgettable day, as office closed at 6 p.m., colleagues began to pack up and leave. I had more than a couple of sources for cabs and was not too worried about getting home. But calling up one cab operator after the other, I got the same response. All their cabs were out, booked much earlier in the day, but still stuck on chaotic, flooded roads. An hour-and-a-half went by in this futile exercise. The calls from my anxious folks at home kept coming in, enquiring if I had left office as it was raining heavily and there were dire predictions of worse to come. I could think of no solution and imagined spending the night all alone at office.
Then a miracle happened.
The landline in the office rang. “Hi, how come you are still in office? I really didn’t expect anyone to take this call, but wanted to try anyway. I’ve left my wallet on my desk. Can you pick it up? I’ll collect it from you later. But how are you going home? Roads are flooded.” It was my colleague Zayed.
“I have no means of transport. I am really stuck, Zayed,” I said.
Magical words
Then Zayed spouted sweet, magical words: “Hold on. I have a cousin who recently bought an SUV which is rain- and flood-worthy! His office is close to ours and I’ll ask him to give you a ride home.”
Thus, seated in a brand new SUV, I was able to travel through the streets of Chennai which had become one endless flowing river, and reach home, much to the relief of my folks.
That night, my mother had a monsoon tale of decades ago when we as tiny tots played in rainwater left behind by a cyclone.
With my mother busy in the kitchen, we played with empty coconut shells at an imaginary tea party.
The shells were filled with the dirty rainwater and handed out for consumption until a neighbour spotted us, and frantically hollered to my mother, “Your little ones are drinking dirty stagnant rainwater.”
Well, I have survived that tea party and weathered many cyclones and will, I guess, continue to do so for years to come.
santalakshmi@outlook.com
