I was born and brought up in a place where it gets flooded, as the localites say, when a frog pees. Having spent my first 17 years in Cuttack, the cultural and commercial capital of Odisha which lies below the beds of the Mahanadi and Kathjodi rivers that flank it, I am quite used to water logging of all magnitudes. Wading through water to school or market during my early years taught me not to panic when the skies opened up. Or so I thought until last weekend in Chennai, which was deluged with continuous downpour throwing the city out of gear for days.
It was beyond my imagination that a metropolis like Chennai could have such a severe problem of water logging. Spending a sleepless night wondering whether I would be able to catch the early morning Monday flight to Bhubaneswar if the rains continued, I was a little assured when our office car reached the hotel at 4 am to pick me and a colleague up to drop us at the airport. The driver was confident that there would be no problem reaching the airport though it might take a little longer than usual.
The drive was tension-free until we reached Vadapalani on NH 45. What unfolded soon was nightmarish. A large stretch of the road was under thigh-high water and many four wheelers and autos were already stuck. Our driver somehow negotiated a 50-metre stretch before the inevitable happened. The engine stopped and water started leaking inside. Helpless and stranded in a veritable sea of water we were sure to miss our flight. Our driver’s plea to others to come to our rescue found no takers as none dared to stop for fear of getting stuck themselves. Getting out of the car was not easy as waves created by each passing vehicle small or big rocked the car dangerously.
We finally took off our shoes, rolled up our trousers, grabbed our luggage and jumped into the water. We had to wade through another 50 metres to find a relatively shallow place. By then, we were wet up to our waists. As we gathered our wits, my colleague found to his dismay that he had left his mobile in the car and went back for it only to be disappointed. The cell phone was missing and we presumed that he had dropped it while we were fording the water.
Our biggest worry at this point was how to reach the airport. If we missed the flight, god knows how and when we would reach Bhubaneswar. It was still dark and our frantic effort for a hitch hike diminished with each passing vehicle rudely ignoring our gesture. With no other recourse, we decided to walk as far as possible to find a suitable mode of transport. A kilometre and a half of luggage-laden squelching later, we found an autorickshaw who stopped. He took a good look at our desperate faces and agreed to ferry us to the airport. I instantly thought of giving him a hug even though I grudgingly succumbed to his demand of Rs 2,000 for a 10-km ride, the costliest in my life for such a short stretch. Luckily, the flight was late by an hour and we made it on time, all the while cursing our luck. We finally reached a sunny Bhubaneswar and as we got out of the airport, I noticed a well-dressed man in his fifties with a distinct disability tugging his luggage and walking along the road as vehicles zipped past him. He, however, was not looking for a lift.
Our helplessness as we begged for a lift in the morning flashed through my mind. I asked my driver to stop the car, got out, walked up to him and offered a lift. He was delighted, hopped into the car and thanked us profusely.
He was from Chennai and was on the same flight. I do not know whether I would have done that under normal circumstances. But I made my peace with those who did not respond to two rain-soaked souls asking for a lift.
srimoy@newindianexpress.com