Disaster diary
E Gokul
It was pouring relentlessly in Kozhikode on July 29. A gnawing instinct warned of impending calamity, probably triggered by grim memories of past disasters caused by heavy downpour. ‘Nah, everything is going to be okay,’ I told myself. I was terribly wrong.
The next morning, I woke up groggy. I was on leave. There was a flood of missed calls from the TNIE Kozhikode bureau chief. Oblivious to events, I called back. His frantic words were: “When are you going?”
Moments later, I realised the gravity — landslides had devastated Chooralmala and Mundakkai in Wayanad. Despite flooded roads, TNIE reporter Pooja Nair and I reached Chooralmala by 3pm. I was caught in a daze seeing the terrified families fleeing, their faces etched with despair. Grief hung heavy in the air. People wailed. Documenting such anguish was harrowing, but sharing these stories was all I could do.
The next day revealed homes swallowed by mud, survivors searching for loved ones amidst the ruins. There I saw a man, Thankachan, who sat staring into the distance. His brother’s family was missing, and his home was buried. His family had narrowly escaped. He could barely speak. The man embodied the state of Wayanad – helpless, in shock. The frame will remain in my heart, as part of the baggage of poignant memories one carries in this unpredictable journey called life.
Mother’s day
A Sanesh
I was on a routine two-wheeler round looking out for eye-catching moments. On that particular day, I rode for hours without much luck. Eventually, I arrived on the banks of the Periyar. I decided to take a short break by the Aluva Manappuram. As I enjoyed the refreshing breeze, my attention was drawn to the sight of two elderly women walking towards the ghat. They weren’t speaking much to each other, yet the warmth they shared was palpable.
I instinctively started clicking them without their knowledge. I subsequently learned from their family that the duo were mother and daughter. Shobha, 60, was fulfilling her 80-year-old mother Karthiyayani’s longtime wish to dip her feet in the holy river. Visibly frail, Karthiyayani struggled to walk. The daughter remained by her side, holding her hand. Karthiyayani tottered as she descended the steps leading to the river.
At that point, Shobha stepped further down, cupped water in her palms, and gently poured it over her mother’s feet. A sense of heartwarming joy wafted in the breeze. Shobha’s gesture of affection was a serene pause in contrast to stories of neglect in the faced-paced, stressful times we live in. This frame reminds me of how ‘far away’ I am from my mother. It makes me want to run home, and curl up on her lap.
Hands of God
T P Sooraj
On March 5, I was informed that the parents of a boy whose organs were donated after he was declared brain-dead were being hosted by Amrita Hospital in Kochi. I misassumed it would be a routine medical story.
Attingal native Sarang died in a road accident on May 17 last year. His organs were donated to six persons. I came to know that his hands, too, were transplanted. The receiver, Shefin of Paravoor near Kochi, also arrived. Sarang’s parents were meeting Shefin, 30, for the first time since the latter received the hands. It was Sarang’s birthday. Shefin cut the cake. Sarang’s father Binesh presented a football to Shefin. Football was the teenager’s favourite sport. Everyone present in the room was overwhelmed with emotion.
Sarang’s parents held Shefin’s hands. They caressed and kissed the very same hands that had been their son’s for 17 years. As a photographer, I have covered countless moving events, including disasters and deaths, over the past two decades. This was the first time my eyes welled up behind the camera. We often read and talk about the importance of organ donation, but witnessing its impact up close hammered in the message. This frame will remain among my most memorable ones, not just from 2024, but my entire life.
Dogged pursuit
B P Deepu
It was a seemingly quiet, uneventful evening. During one of my usual wanderings through the suburbs of the state capital, I came across a team of dog catchers at Kovoor near Varkala. Out of curiosity, I followed the group and struck up a conversation with one of them, Satheesh Kumar. With an increase in stray dog attacks, he said, the Chemmaruthy panchayat was on a mission to vaccinate about 200 stray dogs in three days.
Satheesh told me about his life, and I was surprised to hear that he was an animal lover who ran a dog care centre. That dispelled notions of dog catchers being ruthless. He also explained that the team always ensured that no harm was caused to the hapless dogs. As we chatted, he spotted four stray canines on the terrace of a nearby house.
He stealthily approached them, but the dogs got a whiff of trouble and ran helter-skelter. Though he fell down during the ‘chase’, Satheesh managed to catch one of the brats. The frame reminds me of how people perceived to be merciless can actually have a soft core. It’s also a reminder of how the perennial ‘man-animal conflict’ manifests amidst our daily lives, far away from the woods.
Brunt of life
Vincent Pulickal
I was on personal travel in Thrissur, near the famed Punnathur Kotta elephant camp of Guruvayur. Though not on duty, I took my camera out as the vulnerability of this child of a nomadic ragpicker stirred me. Belonging to underprivileged communities, such children are often subjected to inhumane and unsafe conditions while their parents are at work. In this particular instance, the little one had been placed in a makeshift cradle fastened to the handrails of a pull-cart used to transport waste materials.
The grimness of the scene was heart-rending. I couldn’t turn away. I was compelled to click. Disturbed, I wanted to scream out through the frame about the lack of support mechanisms for such children, whose parents work in the unorganised sector. But just as the shutter went rat-a-tat, the child rolled over and fell onto the busy road.
I froze along with the frame. It took me a few seconds to nudge myself out of the photographer mode. I darted towards the toddler. His mother, who was collecting waste from the roadside, quickly grabbed the child up. The little one, fortunately, was unhurt. Yet, the heaviness of the moment remains with me. It will, for long.