I have taken a cab back home. Don’t know whether it’s a good decision or not. They said the metro is running erratically. The winds are raging against the window. The leaves are swirling all across the city. It’s my first storm. Aila (prounced same as Sachin's Aila) they have christened it. The closest thing I have witnessed earlier was the floods in Mumbai in July 2006, but that was water, now I witness another element of nature – air.
I stop my taxi to let a wet, dripping man in. He looks at me strangely noticing the piece of paper and pen and furious scribbling but then is grateful. He feels a bit awkward seating with me, he settles down in front near the driver. I smile and he smiles back. “I have been asking for a lift since 45 minutes”, he says. I nod. I found a cab after getting soaked to the skin, waiting in dirty brown water swirling around my calves. The taxi crosses a Maruti Swift smashed flat by a tree fallen on top. I shiver. I just hope to reach home soon. It’s still half an hour away. I see more trees fallen as well as billboards and traffic lights bend and broken. Strangely, in a perverse way, I feel one with my surroundings – broken (hearted).
“So till where you want to go?” I ask him.
“Garia”, he says, looking worried.
The traffic moves slowly. We do more small talk. He has been married just a year back and his wife is really worried at home. I smile and say don’t worry, you will reach safely. The weather has made us friends. Just then a billboard smashes with a boom just a few feet ahead of us. I have had enough, I make the cab stop. I decide to walk back home in the rain. My friend looks confused. I pay the driver and tell him he can take it ahead to Garia. It is too windy to notice his reaction and the driver speeds away cursing the weather. My paper flies away. I curse too. The road towards home feels longer and the rain with the wind feels like a whip lash on my face. I notice many people walking in the middle of the road, avoiding the trees and lampposts. The taxis and buses honk continuously in frustration to wade their way among the sea of people. I think it is two kilometres down, I see him again standing beside the road. A huge tree has fallen across the road and traffic is stopped. I roll my eyes and shout to make my voice heard through the wind.
“You won’t reach your home standing here. No one will come to clear the road right now. Why don’t you walk back?”
“Theek achche (Alright)” he replies back in his Bengali accent and joins the crowd.
I reach home in two hours, feeling every muscle of my body ache. It was more of a trek than a walk, fielding huge fallen trees, avoiding swinging traffic lights and billboards. Feels like I have been in a cement grinder. I am exhausted- physically and mentally. I take a bath and sleep. My last thought hovers around X never called to ask if I am ok…
That was yesterday. Today I woke up to sunshine. It looked as if yesterday was just a bad dream. But the broken branches and leaves swept in neat little piles beside the road suggested otherwise. The paper said around 20 got killed yesterday and toll could be higher. I wondered whether the Maruti Swift driver was one of them. I wondered whether he reached his wife safely. I forgot to take his number or his name so all I can do is wonder. I took a cab to office and saw many cranes picking up trees from the roads, clearing the way. It made me kind of sad… these were huge trees, at least 20-25 years old, gone in an hour. I wonder whether trees miss each other too?
I stop my taxi to let a wet, dripping man in. He looks at me strangely noticing the piece of paper and pen and furious scribbling but then is grateful. He feels a bit awkward seating with me, he settles down in front near the driver. I smile and he smiles back. “I have been asking for a lift since 45 minutes”, he says. I nod. I found a cab after getting soaked to the skin, waiting in dirty brown water swirling around my calves. The taxi crosses a Maruti Swift smashed flat by a tree fallen on top. I shiver. I just hope to reach home soon. It’s still half an hour away. I see more trees fallen as well as billboards and traffic lights bend and broken. Strangely, in a perverse way, I feel one with my surroundings – broken (hearted).
“So till where you want to go?” I ask him.
“Garia”, he says, looking worried.
The traffic moves slowly. We do more small talk. He has been married just a year back and his wife is really worried at home. I smile and say don’t worry, you will reach safely. The weather has made us friends. Just then a billboard smashes with a boom just a few feet ahead of us. I have had enough, I make the cab stop. I decide to walk back home in the rain. My friend looks confused. I pay the driver and tell him he can take it ahead to Garia. It is too windy to notice his reaction and the driver speeds away cursing the weather. My paper flies away. I curse too. The road towards home feels longer and the rain with the wind feels like a whip lash on my face. I notice many people walking in the middle of the road, avoiding the trees and lampposts. The taxis and buses honk continuously in frustration to wade their way among the sea of people. I think it is two kilometres down, I see him again standing beside the road. A huge tree has fallen across the road and traffic is stopped. I roll my eyes and shout to make my voice heard through the wind.
“You won’t reach your home standing here. No one will come to clear the road right now. Why don’t you walk back?”
“Theek achche (Alright)” he replies back in his Bengali accent and joins the crowd.
I reach home in two hours, feeling every muscle of my body ache. It was more of a trek than a walk, fielding huge fallen trees, avoiding swinging traffic lights and billboards. Feels like I have been in a cement grinder. I am exhausted- physically and mentally. I take a bath and sleep. My last thought hovers around X never called to ask if I am ok…
That was yesterday. Today I woke up to sunshine. It looked as if yesterday was just a bad dream. But the broken branches and leaves swept in neat little piles beside the road suggested otherwise. The paper said around 20 got killed yesterday and toll could be higher. I wondered whether the Maruti Swift driver was one of them. I wondered whether he reached his wife safely. I forgot to take his number or his name so all I can do is wonder. I took a cab to office and saw many cranes picking up trees from the roads, clearing the way. It made me kind of sad… these were huge trees, at least 20-25 years old, gone in an hour. I wonder whether trees miss each other too?
I just say a little prayer for everyone in this world. Humans are nincompoops against nature. Life is more so.
