Every year, Chennai turns into the Venice nobody asked for. Streets become rivers, autos become boats, and the city collectively dives into its annual watery chaos. While memes and jokes float around on social media, the reality is no laughing matter — especially for school kids, the poor, and anyone with a pair of shoes that aren’t waterproof.
For children, floods mean an unplanned vacation, right? Wrong. For those taking board exams, school closures are a nerve-wracking nightmare. Imagine preparing for what feels like the most important moment of your academic life, only to have it interrupted by torrential rains.
Soggy textbooks, postponed exams, and last-minute reschedules add to the anxiety. And let’s not forget the little ones. For them, rising waters aren’t just an inconvenience — they’re terrifying. In 2015, I remember meeting a young girl named Priya in a makeshift shelter. We organised art sessions in these camps. Priya lived in a single-room house in Velachery, a locality battered by the flooding.
The rising waters engulfed their home, leaving the family no choice but to evacuate immediately. In the chaos, Priya lost all her schoolbooks, notebooks, uniforms, and her cherished personal belongings — a small diary in which she wrote her dreams and poems, and a few photographs of her late grandmother, to whom she was deeply attached. These items held immense sentimental value to her. When the waters receded, Priya returned to her home, only to find it in a shambles.
Wading through murky streets or watching their homes fill with water leaves a mark that no geography class on ‘water bodies’ can erase. The sense of losing safety and normalcy lingers long after the waters recede, creating a generation that associates the smell of rain with fear, not joy.
For families already on the brink of poverty, the floods are devastating. Losing a home isn’t just a financial blow — it’s an emotional one. Kids suddenly find themselves without their favourite toys, school supplies, or even a dry bed to sleep in. The constant displacement breeds a sense of instability, leaving them wondering, “Where will we be tomorrow?”
The mental health toll on these children is immense. Studies show that frequent displacement and the loss of a safe space can lead to long-term anxiety, depression, and trauma. Yet, mental health services for flood-affected kids in Chennai are as scarce as dry pavements in December. Here’s the kicker: We know it’s coming every year.
Flooding in Chennai isn’t an “if,” it’s a “when”. And yet, sustainable solutions seem to be stuck in bureaucratic quicksand. Encroachments on water bodies, poor drainage systems, and unchecked urbanisation have turned the city into a flood-prone mess. And while the government debates plans, children continue to bear the brunt. Their education, mental well-being, and sense of safety are washed away with each passing storm.
Despite the woes, Chennaiites show incredible resilience. Kids splash in knee-deep water, parents get creative with makeshift boats, and neighbours share hot tea and survival tips. But let’s face it — humour and resilience can only do so much. Chennai’s kids deserve a future where they can focus on their dreams, not just surviving the next flood. Until then, we’ll keep swimming — with umbrellas in one hand and hope in the other.
(Sriram V is the founder of NalandaWay Foundation, a not-for-profit organisation that uses the arts to empower children from disadvantaged communities)
