None can erase them from my mind.
Memories.
Of 26/7/ 2005.
The day began as a normal sunny morning. The kids were soon packed off to school.
I needed to buy some vegetables from the market desperately.
It was 11 am.
While I was there, it began drizzling. Graduating into showers in double quick time.
I hurried through my shopping and quickly returned home.
A fierce wind started blowing, threatening to tear apart the green cloth lined bamboo mats covering our balcony. They kept fluttering against the railings relentlessly.
The rain intensified. Dark and ominous clouds loomed above.
The television stopped receiving signals and blacked out.
Around 4:15 , my kids were back home. They complained about the water reaching the car door.
I didn't realize then that they were incredibly fortunate to have made it back in time and in one piece.
The rains showed no sign of relenting. Like an unconquered warrior, it kept on pounding on everything that came in its way.
I looked out of the window.
The road was overflowing.
6pm.
My son had an excruciating headache. Hubby was away in Delhi.
I didn't notice the commotion going on in our neighborhood then.
Women stood around in groups anxiously awaiting their husbands' safe return. Their faces getting tenser with each passing hour.
9pm.
A woman's daughter was stuck in the flood water 10 minutes away from our place. She needed help badly.
A girl volunteered to bring her back in her car.
She ventured out in the dark, even into waist high waters and succeeded in her mission.
I don't think her benefactor would forget this in a hurry.
11pm.
The men had not arrived yet.
Word came that they were stuck at a particular place and would spent a night there.
One of them was a diabetic. His wife naturally was in great turmoil.
Someone noticed folk standing outside the gate, shivering. They were on their way home tired and hungry.
The women in the building soon got down to work, forgetting their own concerns and within an hour dinner was served to all.
There was deathly quiet everywhere. No sound of kids scurrying about, or vehicles whizzing past.
No electricity.So the neighborhood mosques were silent.
The mullah had lost his voice.
His song.
I wondered what was happening to the rest of the world, as we retired for the night.
Cellphones were cut off. We couldn't reach our loved ones.
Morning dawned silently as if moaning in pain for the night that was. The waters were still there, but now showed signs of abating.
After a good night's rest and a light breakfast, our guests for the night made their way back home.
With grateful hearts.
People living in slums nearby had a harrowing time. With waters reaching the ceiling, they hung precariously to anything, holding on to dear life.
If it had rained a little more, the scenario would have been different.
By afternoon the waters dried up completely.
My greatly relieved friend could finally establish contact with her missing husband.
The other men had returned home, safe and sound.
Next day, reports of destruction poured in.
They weren't as fortunate as we were.
A man just metres away from his house, as he returned back that night, was engulfed by encircling flood waters.
Some were buried in watery graves within their own houses.
Or trapped and suffocated to death inside their locked cars as the water level rose.
A woman friend of mine walked all night, all the way from Andheri to Goregaon, in neck deep water, to reach her bedridden hubby back home.
Another acquaintance saw the water threatening to gush into his house, at his door.
He said a quick prayer.
The water made a quick exit.
For he believed in miracles.
Even as havoc rained on the city that fateful evening, Mumbaiites brought out their true colours.
They kept themselves busy handing out food, water, arranging accommodation to weary, stranded travelers.
Some folk made it through that day.
Some weren't as fortunate.
