Waking up at 6 as usual but to a ceiling that’s all wrong…

Bathing in strange bathrooms, trying to get the stink off the skin…

Candle-lit dinners but with unfamiliar people, and stretching out on make-shift beds without the familiar pillow and blanket…

Life down to bare necessities: Is there drinking water? Food? A change of dry clothes?

Measuring time through the flow of water, willing the flood waters to go back to where they came from…

For the residents of Chennai’s West Mambalam neighbourhood, the week past brought the experience of a life-time – but one wholeheartedly un-unwanted!

Wednesday dawned like any other. If anything, it was calmer. But that changed quickly when the waters released from Chembarambakkam lake turned the road in front of the house into a rivulet that often invaded homes. There was nothing to do except scramble to first-floor safety.

Without electricity and mobility, young and old stayed cooped up together, feeding off each other’s hopes and fears. Without landline, mobile, Internet and WhatsApp, communication with the outside world, why just the adjacent street, was completely cut.

Normalcy came but excruciatingly slowly.

Long night brought dawn, but no relief. The stubbornly stagnating waters delayed restoration of power. But every indication of normalcy was precious.

“Thakkali, vengayam…” The street-vendor’s words had women sprinting out, crying “Does he really have tomatoes and onions? How much a kilo?”

Anybody who dared to wade in was flooded with questions: Which area are you from? Has the water drained? Do you have power? Are the shops open? What about milk, drinking water?

Daughter’s hundi, maid’s keepsafe money…all came in handy as people pooled resources. With ATMs and banks out of reach, cash — to buy milk, candle, mosquito repellent etc — was at a premium.

There was more drama in store. “Run, run… they are opening Chembarambakkam again,” a motorbike-borne busybody shouted from the main street and fear rose afresh. But the radio gave calming news with regular updates. Journalist friends and relatives, who managed to break through sullen landline connections, gave hope.

The whirr of the Army copters was also reassuring. Like victims of a war zone awaiting evacuation, residents gathered on terraces and water-tanks, waved and cheered as helicopters circled the area every hour or so.

Friends and relatives calling from outside Chennai, sensitised to the panic, knew their opening line: “Chembarambakkam lake is fine, no official word on more discharge, so don’t believe rumours. Now, how are you all doing?”

Through all the trauma, neighbours were the heroes, giving shelter and succour unconditionally. Young volunteers braved slush and water to provide drinking-water and food packets. One Good Samaritan tirelessly got everyone’s mobiles and laptops recharged at a friend’s place.

Now, a week after the flooding, coming back into the rhythm of everyday life, we are thankful that life and limb are intact. If three/four feet of water could bring us to our knees, what of those whose homes were completely submerged?

But one thing is going to remain with us for long — the gut-wrenching smell of those dark waters.

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