First person account of Chennai floods: Force of the calamity hit me when I saw 2 mothers crying in agony

Not until I saw two mothers beating their chests and crying in agony in Adyar, a residential area in South Chennai, did the full force of the calamity hit me. Their children were reportedly swept away in the current of the overflowing Adyar river which passes through the city.

Wailing sirens puncture the grey gloom over the city — in every area, red and blue emergency lights flicker on top of cars. It’s like an army of ambulances have invaded the city.

A police officer calmly discussed a rescue operation with the navy team. “I just wanted to know, given that current, can we do something…” he asked — pointing to the churning, foaming waters of the Adyar.

The navy team had in fact deployed helicopters and boats in several parts for relief and rescue measures — and when the National Disaster Response Force, three fire trucks and multiple ambulances, made their way through a road blocked off for civilians, people clambered onto the high dividers to see men scream at the police to give a thought for those trapped in apartments in the area.

“Two buildings are shaking in the vicinity and those on the first floor have been evacuated but this man is saying that his wife and two children are stuck on the third, and wants the police to save them,” a bystander told me. As the din increases, the lathis came out. It was chaos.

Just four kilometres away, slum-dwellers in SM Nagar put their hands together, asking the police for food and a place to sleep. “We haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Where do we sleep? We have lost food, clothing and lots of precious possessions,” Malini Pillai, one of 1500 slum-dwellers in SM Nagar told Firstpost.

At the Royapettah Hospital, there was a steady flow of people who have been electrocuted. A few drowned bodies also came in. The RMO of the hospital Anand Pratap said the hospital is fully equipped to handle this sort of calamity: “We have handled storms before and we have the full support of the government in terms of medicines and extra vehicles to deploy our teams of doctors in areas which have been hit the worse. My message to people would be to not panic, we are here, and we are going to as many places as possible to treat them.”

When the entry to Hyatt Regency in Teynampet resembled that of a train station — with people, foreigners and Indians, jostling for space to wheel their American Tourister trolley bags into their taxis and others trying to find enough space to dial their cabs and scream into their phones — something just felt wrong. Less than 24 hours earlier, I had managed to take a taxi to Taj Connemara to interview a Mumbai City FC player. It was raining, yes, but the city had not come to a standstill.

Next morning, the hotels inhabitants, weary and long faced, littered the lobby on their phones — rescheduling flights, requesting the hotel to extend their stay, asking about the airport’s condition. When I shifted to another hotel, it was the same scene. “Sorry sir, we don’t have any rooms”; “You’ll have to make a fresh booking”; “It’s packed,” the person manning the desk phone at the reception was telling occupants and callers alike.

My driver, who was supposed to take me to the Chennaiyin vs Mumbai City match the previous night (1 December) was en route since 4 PM (for a 7 PM kick-off) — and finally bailed out at 6.30 PM. I was going to miss the match. A disaster for a sports reporter when he’s been sent from Mumbai to cover football. Even worse was when the television signal goes bust. I was told the press was offered the conference room to cover the match off TV.

But these are all first-world problems — nestled inside a high-rise five-star hotel gives you a false sense of security. The ground (floor) reality only hits you only when you hear the noise of the rain slamming against the tin roofs of those who are less privileged. Forget about football, they don’t know where their next meal will come from.

I wanted to see the activity around Jayalalithaa’s residence at Poes Garden — on the way, we stopped near a canal — on the banks of which were huts. My driver said that fishermen live in these — it’s easy for them to connect to the estuaries which pass through the city. The houses were deserted. The huts were half submerged.

Some main roads have opened up as rescue missions go into overdrive. Slowly, but steadily, just like the rain, Chennai is coming back to life. What’s scary is that it can all change in the matter of hours.