Kerala is once again swimming in its own waters, trying to hold its head up among the waves as it did a year ago. The destruction that danced across the land last year barely forgotten—the pieces still being picked up—when returns this deluge.
If the state was unprepared in 2018, it seems even more so in 2019.
What rises above the water level though is sheer exhaustion; can we take this yet again? The first flood was tragic, the second seems over the top.
What did the people not do last year? They rose from the mist like super-heroes, water warriors who efficiently and silently did what they could.
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But this time round the economy sucks, there’s not enough money to roll in the market. In this atmosphere of recession, corporate donations are tougher to cough up; the construction industry is dilapidated and real estate moguls without a toehold. Perhaps lesser relief packages from the rest of the country are on the way.
Eager volunteers and camps seem fewer, the tragedy being tom-tommed more on local TV. The panic is muted.
Still reeling from the last floods, the fatigue is not just financial but also physical. A series of proposed measures—a new official handbook on disaster management—is still waiting to be implemented.
Also, what lessons were learnt from last time? We should have shored up low-lying areas, and had clearer protocols for releasing water from the dams…. Into this dismal mood come the current floods.
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Despite the déja vu, the scale is not the same this time; last year the damage was unprecedented. The Periyar River rose 30 to 40 feet high, the Pampa River spilling, and who opened the dams?
All of Kerala went under. Now only the lower dams are opened and three districts submerged. Red alert changed to orange. It is north Kerala, mainly Wayanad, sinking.
And Wayanad’s tragedy, though man-made again, is a different tragedy. It all began in the 40s, with encroachment and deforestation. Buildings have sprung up with alarming haphazardness, eyesores of resorts.
It is now a mutilated place with no natural cover.
Last year, people sprang up selflessly not only because they recognised the gravity and magnitude of the mayhem, but also because the government machinery understandably and naturally would take time to crank up. They could not stand around waiting for any state funding then.
But now, when the Chief Minister’s Relief Fund is in place, no one is sure who got how much money and when from last time. The popular sentiment is: the government has the cash—why don’t they do the needful?
The state is a sitting duck. Ecologically fragile, its basic land management is iffy. Paddy fields covered, canals overflowing—too many people, too little terrain.
A 100 acres recently melted into mud, taking down abodes and lives. As visuals of people being rescued in boats and getting plucked off trees play on a loop, we’ve seen it all before.
This is after all not the only flood to hit the country. It is raining insanely everywhere, washing Kerala off national headlines.
Shinie Antony
Author
shinieantony@gmail.com