Have we not learnt from the 2015 Chennai floods? Going by what the city suffered, it certainly looks like the government hasn't.
Published Dec 05, 2023 | 11:26 PM ⚊ Updated Dec 05, 2023 | 11:30 PM
NDRF personnel rescue a flood-affected child in Chennai. (04NDRF/X)
It all began with an area of low pressure that grew into a depression, then into a deep depression, then into a cyclonic storm and, finally, into a severe cyclonic storm — all in five days.
Cyclone Michaung hit the north coast of Tamil Nadu and south coast of Andhra Pradesh with a vengeance. But I still consider myself and my family the lucky ones.
It started pouring in Chennai on the evening of Sunday, 3 December. It continued with no respite throughout the night. At 5 am on Monday morning, I was awoken by the sudden lack of whirring by the two fans in my bedroom. The TNEB had cut the electricity as a precautionary measure.
By 6 am, the rain, still unrelenting, began to fill up the street just outside my main door. Like most of Chennai, I believed that this was the worst of it. I was wrong.
By 7 am, the garden in my backyard began to fill up — about to reach the point before it would start spilling over to the walkway.
While a flooded garden and no electricity were the only two problems we were facing at this point in time, some of my in-laws’ friends were being rudely awoken by ankle-deep water in their houses.
By 10 am, water continued to rise and rain continued to unabated. The water level was now three inches from entering our back room that also houses a toilet. Our cars parked outside the house were on the verge of getting an unintended internal water wash.
We hurriedly moved pots and a bike out of the way to make space in the front yard to squeeze in a car. We managed to shove one in and park the other one — the oldest in the house — on slightly higher ground.
While this happened, I heard passers-by talk about cars going under water one street over. I watched videos of cars parked in the path of a raging flood “float” away.
Casa Grand Elan (and adjacent properties) in Thalambur are still marooned, with water stagnating inside the properties as well. There’s no power for more than two days, and no access to water either. Request someone to look into this please. @trbraja @cmotamilnadu @chennairains
— Sudhir Srinivasan (@sudhirsrinivasn) December 5, 2023
By 12 pm, the water in the backyard entered our back room. We moved our machines to higher ground. We were another four inches away from the water flowing into our house. This was the last level.
The heavy rain reduced to a drizzle and we thought it was over. But it wasn’t.
At 1 pm on Monday, we managed to put together some lunch. It lasted us till dinner. Just after, I got a call from my domestic help who was enquiring about the situation. Their situation was heart-breaking.
She and her husband live in a small flat a few streets away from us in a low-lying area, on the other side of the canal. The houses on the ground floor had flooded. The residents had to move one floor up, but leave everything they owned behind. They lost it all. The water had risen up an entire floor through the day.
With barely any food, they were making do with whatever little they had, and sharing with stranded neighbours.
In other parts of the city, people were receiving lunches in packets from good Samaritans. Many were being rescued by boat while they clung on to their roofs. We still had a roof over our head.
By 2 pm, we knew we needed to make a contingency plan in case water entered the house. The bathrooms began to flood with sewage. By 4 pm, we put the plan into action.
We had eight hours to make contingency plans and take decisions. We had time to shift the things that mattered to us to higher ground. We had time to move our children and our dogs to my in-laws’ place upstairs without a rush. My domestic help’s neighbours did not have that time.
We were now four adults, two children, five dogs, three cats, and an additional three street dogs occupying the two-bedroom space on the first floor and a sparingly used room on the terrace.
From 6 pm onwards, all we could do was watch it rain. And not in an awestruck kind of way.
We were just waiting for it to end. No power, no signal, no internet, no communication with the outside world. We would occasionally check on the house downstairs and each visit saw another inch of rain water and sewage filling up our home.
I wondered what the situation was at my help’s house. Would the water rise beyond one floor?
By 6 am on Tuesday, the skies were a shade of dirty blue, with dark clouds scattered across the skies, bringing the occasional drizzle. Things were looking up. Most of the water had left the house downstairs.
By 10 am, I saw something that affirmed by belief that people can be wonderful and selfless human beings. My domestic help’s husband waded through the waist-deep water outside his house that morning to come to our house just to help us clean up — we didn’t even call him, we had no way of doing so.
He got right into it. Swept water out of the house, cleaned the entire house with bleaching powder, and then again with Harpic. He went non-stop for an hour-and-a-half, with each of us pitching in and getting the work done together.
How many people can say that they have selfless people in their lives who will help without even being called. He was also experiencing the same cyclone as us and he still came to help, leaving his house behind.
The power was finally restored by 3:30 pm on Tuesday, 5 December. It was greeted by a cheer from every household. It was finally over. We came down to take stock of the damage in a brighter light. Our contingency plan came through.
Aside from a cheap shoe cupboard, a 6-year-old sofa, and a 10-year-old bed, everything else stood strong and safe. Not everyone has that luxury. I once again remembered my domestic help’s neighbours who had lost whatever little they owned. I acknowledged my privilege.
My offc got completely flooded.
As of now,my photography equipments cost around Rs.10L & PC setups Rs.3L completely gone in one Ni8. I mark this day & i will gomeback stronger🔥To Help🆘️
Hafil,
8220397997
Virugambakkam
Chennai#MichaungStorm#Michaungcyclone#ChennaiFloods pic.twitter.com/YLhlAPuWtO— Hafil Pep (@hafil_pep) December 4, 2023
Once we had power, we had WiFi. We were finally able to connect with family, friends, colleagues. Neighbours told us of the situation beyond our street. Chest-high water in areas, families requiring evacuation, deaths, damaged property, drowned vehicles — the list was endless.
My domestic help was all right and her house remained largely unaffected aside from some leakage. She, too, considered herself lucky for living on the first floor. She was devastated for her downstairs neighbours and so was I. All I could do was offer to help their community monetarily. A pale offering compared to what one of them had done for my family.
Social media was filled with stories of Cyclone Michaung and its devastating effects. Almost every inch of Chennai and its surrounding areas was under water. There were tonnes of stories of rescues and the work of good Samaritans. X was flooded with hate tweets for the state government and its extensive work on storm drains across the city that failed to work.
All in all, the people of north Tamil Nadu have one question: Have we not learnt from the 2015 Chennai floods? And it looks like the government hasn’t.
The new question is, will the government at least learn from the Cyclone Michaung floods? One can only hope that they do because we may not always be the lucky ones.
