(A snippet of something I wrote in October 2005 as my city lay submerged under water.)
The sea roared. Rain lashed incessantly against the buildings seeping into houses with cracks and crevices. Water levels outside rose and road after road resembled a long winding river, chocolate brown and caked with mud and grime, gushing through main streets and narrow alleys. The city would remember this season well.
“Bombay has too short a memory,” Preeti Gopalkrishnan says, already bitter about her city. “You can come back six months from now and everything will be status quo.”
I nod silently. My city thrives on a high level of complacency. It’s the country’s melting pot and in this pot is a fine blend of poverty, crime and disinterest. Everyman goes about his daily life, stopping only to spit in the nearest corner or shout an abuse at a co-passenger in the crowded 9 a.m. local train. Scuffling, pushing and just barely surviving: this is Bombay and here is the life of her people.
Twelve explosions tear through the city, killing more than 300. The first blast rocked the Bombay Stock Exchange. Eleven more major detonations and several minor ones, most caused by car bombs, shook the center and some of the suburbs of India's largest city. (Associated Press, Friday, March 12, 1993)
Twenty-five people were injured in a bomb blast at McDonalds fast food restaurant at Mumbai Central railway station. The bomb was planted in the airconditioner duct. It was suspected to be a crude bomb. (rediff.com, December 6, 2002)
Torrential monsoon rains have returned to the Indian city of Mumbai (Bombay) as it tries to recover from flooding that has left nearly 900 dead. (BBC, July 31, 2005)
It hasn’t been easy. The complacency forms a shield from the city’s constant beating. Whether it’s an outside attack or an inside war, strikes that leave the city reeling, also help her get to her feet quickly and surely, and resume life in her detached manner.
And so on July 26, when the dark clouds shed themselves of their weight in water, the city didn’t react as quickly as it should have.
“I stayed around in office and wrapped up the day’s work,” Malini Dutt, relationship manager of the Unit Trust of India Bank said. “Given that I live five minutes away.” When she finally left, the city was submerged. She began her otherwise short journey home; wading through waist deep water, feeling for pot holes in the road.
Meanwhile, her mother sat anxiously at home. She tried opening the door to her balcony to watch for her family but the rain lashed heavily against it and the wind banged it shut. Outside, it was dark and the afternoon resembled a late evening long after the sun has set.
Dutt reached her building two hours later but her twin sister wasn’t as lucky. She didn’t work as close and needed a train to take her home. She wasn’t to get one for another 48 hours.
By the time the city realized the seriousness of the situation, it was late. Almost too late. Cars were jammed for miles, public transport had come to a screeching halt and people had resigned themselves to the prospect of spending the night on the streets.
By the next day, things were worse. Incessant rain caused the water to rise further and people who had spent the day and night outside decided to stumble home. Some were stuck in their cars; others couldn’t wade through the floods. Some suffocated in their vehicles, others drowned under water. Public transport had shut down completely. The All India Radio reported 150,000 people were stranded at railway stations across the city.
