I will never be the same after the Chennai Floods, says danseuse Anita Ratnam

December 1, Tuesday 8:30 pm Chennai

We were 10 artistes, spread between two Tempo Travellers, loaded with luggage carrying our costumes, instruments and the expectation of a coveted foreign dance tour. Our flight was 7 hours away, but hoping to beat the downpour predicted, we left early to get to the airline counter, check in, have dinner and wait. It had been raining steadily all day from the morning, but nothing that Chennai had not expected before. The monsoon was a month late. Better late than never, we thought, after the hottest summer we'd seen. 

And then the rain descended. No ordinary rain this - solid sheets falling directly onto the roads, trees and vehicles that were already piling up ahead and behind us. Dark, thick and terrifying. Nobody can describe it unless they were in the midst of this vomit from the skies. We were stalled for one hour in the exact same position 9 kilometres from Chennai International Airport. “Let us go on akka,” urged many of my 20-something dance brood. “Turn back,” I ordered my driver. “Safety first”, was my instinct and my grateful driver promptly eased his way out of the clogged roads onto a side street to head home.

Four hours later, we returned to my house to find the waters had reached the top level of the steps of my large 50-year-old home. The intensity had not waned and people were huddled outside my residence under the trees, shivering. In 15 minutes, my front porch became a shelter for 20 people. For four long days, we watched as the waters rose and rose and continued to rise. Combined with the gushing torrents released from the Chembarapakkam reservoir, we saw young and old washed away before our eyes. The water level rose to 10 feet in some areas and the plush localities emptied out, with their owners occupying suites in the five-star hotels, leaving their terrified staff to look after their neo palaces. New-born babies were handed over to the rescue teams while the mothers died in their watery graves. Good friends awoke to find their entire ground floor floating in debris and sewage. A daughter was forced by her neighbours to let her dead father’s body float in the torrential streams, unable to give him a dignified death. Elderly couples were seen drowning, refusing to be rescued and resigned to their fate. A mother was weeping at the loss of the jewellery she had collected carefully for her daughter’s wedding. A grandfather wept at the loss of his grandson who was swept away from his arms. The sorrow was endless. 

Entire lives were wiped out in one night.

A combination of forces came together to create 'The Perfect Storm'. But, unlike the George Clooney film where the ship finally returns to harbour, there was no safe zone for anyone. Rooftops became shelters, food was air-dropped, people were airlifted to safety, boats were rescuing the stranded and the armed forces were everywhere, showed amazing courage and fortitude in dealing with the crisis. The army, navy and air force chiefs unanimously agreed that this was the first natural disaster where they saw more volunteers than victims.

Chennai was drowning, but the citizens rose as ONE. Like the mythical Lord Krishna who protected drowning devotees by lifting the Govardhana Mountain, like Moses who parted the waters and drowned the antagonistic Egyptians, like Jesus who walked on water, the Chennai-vasis showed their miraculous resilience.

Young and old, we came out in force. Shoulder-to-shoulder we carried the young and old, sheltered many, cooked endlessly through the night, sharing whatever we had and tried to get through the nightmare. Malls, shopping centres, temples, churches, mosques, gurudwaras, wedding halls and homes were thrown open to shield the shivering, traumatized homeless. Independent restaurants cooked food continuously for 4 days to feed the hungry. Film stars abandoned the grease paint and used their celebrity status to raise money and help in the slush. Musicians and dancers cancelled their much-coveted December season performances and donated the money for relief. Bangalore and Coimbatore almost emptied out with the young people driving for long hours to reach our floating city just to lend us a hand.

A week later, the sun is shining upon a ravaged city. Chennai is a disaster zone. Two million displaced, lakhs homeless. The dead bodies are piling up outside crematoriums, waiting for identification and animal carcasses lie rotting on street corners. Water is carrying the foul stench of disease and garbage is everywhere. Snakes and scorpions inhabit the waters and mosquitoes are buzzing, carrying fears of the dreaded dengue fever.

The airport that looked like a harbour is operational again, with airlines charging exorbitant rates. During this entire crisis, the Tamil Nadu state machinery was conspicuously absent. When some local MLAs tried to come out to “inspect” their constituencies, angry residents gheraoed their cars, shouting threateningly and forced a hasty retreat. There were reports of 22,000 state police being inactive since they were "waiting for orders". The armed forces and volunteers had no help whatsoever from the state government. The voter will not forget this betrayal when the time comes for the polls.

For the fourth largest metropolis in India with 9 million residents, the tragedy has shocked the nation. If this can happen to us, it can happen to any other city, plagued with bad urban planning and rampant construction over low lying water reservoirs and lake areas.
 
A week later, the vultures are out. The looting has begun. Trucks and vehicles carrying aid are being stopped and 'Amma stickers' carrying the image of Chief Minister J Jayalalithaa slapped onto every packet before being allowed to proceed. Abandoned homes are being pillaged, well-fed women are walking into aid centres with young children and running out after grabbing saris and several packets of food, the child also doing his share of looting.

Rescue. Relieve. Restore, Revive. Rehabilitate. Recover. There are many stages to this trauma. After the TV images that shocked the world subside and the media moves on to another story, our tale continues. Of psychological trauma, endless counselling and inner healing. Of long hours and days ahead where our sense of normal will return but will never be the same. 

I will never be the same. All my studies in feminism, my days in New York city facing mugging and staring into the barrel of a thug’s pistol did not prepare me for the fury of nature. I will question my art, my breath, my life. I have watched my two children work tirelessly next to me dazed at the devastation and feeling fortunate to have a comfortable bed at night. My team of 10 dancers have emerged chastened and with more empathy, having helped me through the long days and nights of “house arrest”.

A Test match is played over 5 days. In Chennai, we became world champions in saving our city in 5 days.

Black Tuesday is behind us. Or is it? Can it happen again? And soon? 

Dr Anita R Ratnam is a performer, arts entrepreneur and a fiercely proud Chennai-vasi