Mumbai 26 July 2005

We were visiting the family in Bombay, in July 2005. Trying to make the most of the time, my daughter had joined a graphic class. She was not very familiar with the roads, mainly because she used the huge bill boards on the street corners as landmarks and inadvertently got lost if the same bill board happened to be on more than one street corner; as it always happens in Bombay. Her other choice, of take aways, (fast food restaurants) was equally dicey, as there are chains of every kind of take away in Bombay. So it was very possible that following her trail of bill boards and take aways she could well go ten km away from her destination. That is how it happened that on the afternoon of 26th July 2005, I offered to drop her to her class, which was about five kilometers from my mum's house, or even less.

It began raining as we left but we were going to go in an auto rickshaw, which was already waiting below, so we did not bother with umbrellas. I had to make a quick stop to give my blood sample at a nearby lab for a postprandial sugar test. It was afternoon and students from the University opposite my mum's house were heading home. The rain was quite heavy and many who had come unprepared for it were drenched, but they seemed to be enjoying walking in ankle deep water and getting splashed by the passing vehicles. They were in an almost festive mood, as were the school children we passed further on. The depth of the water was growing and they were happily splashing through it.

By the time we reached the lab just a couple of km away, the water had begun to rise further, though it was not threatening in any way. As a Bombayite I was used to over 20 cm of rain and did not think much of getting a little wet in it.The auto though at this moment began protesting loudly and with a final splutter died down altogether.

Now for the wise this would have been a good point to head back home, but lacking foresight we though that the first day of class should not be missed. As soon as the driver coaxed life back into the engine, we made our foolish way to the graphic class.

As the rickshaw made its way, the rain came down in earnest. Visibility was lessening now and we could not see what was going on. We passed two turns that would have taken us back home but kept on going. Soon we were in a traffic jam. Brilliant! We expected it to move any minute and just kept sitting there while the visibility decreased, the noise pollution from the impatient horns grew unbearable, and the water rose higher and higher.

We were in Santacruz West, on S. V. Road, somewhere besides the old airport; which was now a heliport. The water from the lanes joining S. V. road was pouring onto it and increasing the overall level. It was quite a miracle that the auto which had spluttered at a much lower level of water, kept going. Still at no point did we worry about what was going to happen, indicating how bad rains can normally get in Bombay.

Finally by the time we came to the turn that would take us to the class, the scene had become really bad. We finally realised that we were in the middle of what was beginning to look like a flood. Cars and rickshaws were beginning to die down and that was the cause of the traffic jam. I asked the rickshaw driver where he lived and he said on the East. Fearing that he would not be able to make it I told him that we would get off and he should hurry home, but he wasn't sure the rickshaw would go much further and he was resigned to spending the night in it, stranded at that same place.

We gingerly stepped out of the rickshaw holding on to each other, not knowing where our feet would land. In a city famous for its pot holed roads, stepping out in knee deep water, is taking life and limbs into your hands. In a moment we were drenched to the skin. Well, this did solve one problem; we did not have to worry about getting wet anymore and could just worry about more important things like getting somewhere, somehow, through the water.

After struggling through the water for hours seeming few minutes, we asked a passing car that was still moving, for a lift. The car stopped for us and apologising for wetting the seats, we got in. What we thought was a lucky break turned to be not so lucky after all, because as the water went into the exhaust the car began giving out smoke. Afraid of what was happening we got out of the car and once more faced the unrelenting elements. The rain was bad but being trapped in a car that looked like it was about to catch fire, was worse. Taking the lift had been a very bad idea because, as we could see almost nothing through the window, we had no idea that the driver had turned. It was a strange co incidence that the driver had dropped us right outside the building where the class was going to be held. The compound of the building was on a slight slope and was flooded even deeper than the road we stood on. Even a fool would realise at this point that graphics class was on holiday.

For a minute or two we stood there wondering what to do. By now, almost all vehicular traffic had come to a standstill. The rain was heavy and stinging and showed no sign of lessening. All around us people were walking on the divider in the middle of the road as it was slightly higher. People held hands and helped each other and held to prevent each other from falling. The rain was the great equalizer. There were no rich and no poor out there. It did not matter anymore whether they lived in a mansion or a hut or were homeless, drove in a Mercedes or rode a cycle, they were all clinging on to each other for support and dear life.

Watching them, I exclaimed to my daughter that what she was witnessing was a wonder, it was the true spirit of Bombay. Bombay; a city that was blessed or cursed with such a diverse population, was once again proving that differences meant nothing, that the human spirit could prevail against all odds.

I told my daughter that the only option we had was of making our way back to my mother's house, through the water. We cautiously walked towards the divider and hands came out to help us get on it. Walking with the human chain, we gingerly kept one foot before another.

I had admired the way people were helping each other, now I had to admire something else about them and that was the acceptance with which they had met the disaster they had become a part of. there were no complaints and no ill feeling. People accepted that the only choice they had, was to make their way home, and notwithstanding the distance, walk to get there. They did not stop to think, or grumble or, wonder how they would make it, they just got into the water and started walking.

Something awesome was happening here, and we were witnessing what would become part of the history of the city. One of its more glorious and proud moments. Despite the problems, I was very happy that my daughter was able to see and become a part of this unity of the human spirit. The lessons seen and learnt here could not be taught at the best university in the world.

We too accepted the fact that there was nothing else to do but what we were doing and once the acceptance had set in we actually began to enjoy the rain. The torrent of water was flowing against us and it was up to our thighs. We had to fight against it to take every step. My hair were getting in my eyes and to brush them away I rubbed my hand across my face and knocked my gold clip on earring off into the swirling water. It did not seem to matter. Nothing did, except that we were there and we were battling the elements.

By now we had made our way to the pavement across the road and had separated from the chain on the divider. We passed a slum and outside it, on the road, men were standing with sticks; standing there without raincoat or umbrella, just outside their homes, with the rain streaming down their faces and bodies, for one single reason: They were guarding an open manhole so people would not fall into it. This was repeated wherever there were open manholes and people stood over them all night long, to prevent others from falling into them. Just this one act of forethought and kindness saved innumerable lives.

After a few minutes we came upon a stranded auto with a girl in it. She asked if she could walk with us. We said of course and the three of us held on to each other and walked on talking and laughing like we were old friends who were just out on a stroll together. After over an hour we reached the end of the road and had to turn left to go home. This was Juhu road and it had at some point been elevated a little, so the water did not collect on it but made its way as a torrential river down the road we had come from. As there wasn't any water here it was easier to walk on this road. Taxis were also plying here but none would take us in as we were soaked through and through and would wet their seats and make them smell for days. So we just kept walking. We passed a cafe and would have liked to go in for a cup of coffee but the girl with us did not wish to stop. We passed Juhu beach and watched the deep grey waves lash wildly on the shore.

By now my daughter was not only enjoying but also excited and she burst into song "I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
.............................
......................
Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin',
Singin' in the rain"

I expected her to start tap dancing any moment.

After about three hours we finally reached the turn to my mum's building. It was time to part with our companion. She was a young girl and I was averse to letting her go on alone. I kept insisting that she come and stay with us but she was desperate to get home. Reluctantly I had no option but to let her go on alone assuring her that she could turn back anytime she liked and come over and stay the night.

Some days later we passed the building she had said she lived in, it was on Pali Hill and the drive descended steeply from the gate. I could only imagine the force with which the water must have gone down this gradient, and prayed that our companion of the floods had reached home safely.

That day we were the first to reach home. My parents were worried sick. Not only I and my daughter but my brother, his wife and their son who, all live with my parents had not reached home yet. I had luckily left my younger daughter at home with my mum that day and I was glad, as she would not have been able to cope.

There was no electricity and no running water, as without power the pump could not work. There was a huge drum in which my mum usually stored water for emergencies but this had to be used sparingly as there was no telling how long it would have to last, so we had to wash away our dirt and muddiness as best we could, while trying to conserve water.