I was with you, I feel your pain The contrast between what was actually being done on the ground and what the television anchors were showing led to the collective rage which I shared EYE WITNESS FRENY MANECKSHA SmallerDefaultLarger When the rains first began I posted, rather fatuously, on Facebook: “Time to build an ark? …….” And then went on to enthuse on how I would spend the day in the log hut I had rented near the Nigeen Lake, enjoying the sound of rain on a tin roof. But as the rains intensified over the days, I asked a friend whether this was normal. He replied, “No. If it continues, South Kashmir will face problems.” Still I had no real fears of impending disaster in Srinagar. I went to sleep on September 6 without anxiety as the rains had stopped and I took comfort in a brilliant sunset. I woke up on Sunday September 7, looked out and found the waters of the lake had stealthily crept up past the garden. I decided I should take up my friend’s offer and stay over with her in Rajbagh. She did not answer the phone immediately and then in rushed tones informed me the second floor of the building in which she rented a flat was flooded. What was happening? I had no television but began to feel increasingly that something was indeed very wrong. The landlord and his father arrived and told me that the gates at the Dal had been opened because the Jhelum had breached its banks. Slowly but surely the Nigeen waters too would rise. I would have to evacuate and he too was moving out of his house. Where could I go? Kind friends who had offered shelter when the rains first began were now themselves in deep waters. After some phone calls the landlord arranged for me to stay with some acquaintances in the same neighbourhood. I picked up a small rucksack containing my laptop, some notebooks and three sets of clothes. I took off my chappals, waded through the lawn and stepped into Bashir’s shikara. Only a week ago he had taken me for a beautiful ride at dawn to the floating vegetable market. It was a surreal day. The sun was shining but through Facebook I learnt of the catastrophe that was engulfing Srinagar. More than eighty percent was submerged. We, in the Nigeen neighbourhood, were comparatively better off even though houses near the lake were getting submerged as were shops, premises and parts of Hazratbal. I was in the same city but could not contact any of the people I knew in Srinagar and as the day went on, all the phones went dead. Over the next two days, I did not suffer any physical discomforts. What was harrowing was the sense of being totally isolated and cut off. I had seen floods in Mumbai that had been devastating in terms of lives lost but, after the first day, communications had been restored and there was a fair semblance of control and information. Here in Nigeen and Hazratbal I saw no one on the streets except the local people themselves carrying out relief and rescue operations. There were no police vans, no control centre, no officials on ground. Even the security personnel, who are so ubiquitous with their armoured vehicles and posse of men in full battle gear, were now missing. The entire state and nation’s machinery seemed to have been obliterated. They were “visible” only on television screens. Insensitive media reporting and images of army personnel rescuing largely tourists brewed resentment in the neighbourhood. One man taunted me, “Don’t you know Modi? You should get him to organise a rescue. Tourists are being taken out by helicopters.” I hung my head and muttered that I understood their sense of frustration. On Wednesday September 10, I was asked by the head of the house to leave as they feared the house may get submerged. A police official, who had also sought shelter in the house, because his home had been flooded, told me I should take a boat and go across to the helipad near Chashma Shahi where helicopters were ferrying tourists and migrant labourers to the airport. But a young student cautioned
Posted on: Tue, 30 Sep 2014 02:28:28 +0000
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