Why it feels good to be home this October 12

It does feel nice to be able to write, sitting in the cosy confines of one’s apartment that this October 12 is a "normal" day.

The commonality between this day last year and the year before had been in the form of two deadly cyclones hitting nearly the same region of the country with nearly the same intensity and yours truly being present at both those ill-fated geographies, having voluntarily rushed in.

My thoughts race back to the incessant rain, powerful winds, grisly sounds made by objects you would never imagine flying, actually crashing after being flung around like toys, the fear of being in a well-built building which would swerve like a tree caught in a storm, the non-stop questioning and seeking of assurance by those trapped with you on whether or not we will survive and how soon will the cyclone pass. The problem with a cyclone is that you can do pretty much nothing but wait it out. It won’t let you stand, sit or sleep. May be you can pray.

Last October, I was in Nagpur, covering the Maharashtra elections. I had a well drawn out plan for the coverage. That is when thousands of miles south east from where I was, a low pressure area over the Andaman Sea was upgraded to, for the first time, a cyclone alert for Andaman and Nicobar islands. A pre-cyclone alert was sounded for north Andhra Pradesh and Odisha as well. Subsequently, through its immaculate bulletins the Indian Meteorological Department (IMD) informed us that it would grow into a "very severe cyclonic storm" which is just one level below the ultimate - a super cyclone.

I threw my hat in the ring.

By the afternoon of October 11, the signal finally turned green for destination Vizag, about 786km away. The airport at Vizag was shut down as a precautionary measure. We packed what we could and hit the road.

Through the desolate and picturesque Maoist-hit Gadchiroli and Chhattisgarh we moved. Driving through the night, by about 10am, we reached the city’s beachfront. "Hudhud" or its shadow at least was there already. We sought a family which would house us facing the beachfront and found one immediately. Second by second, as the cyclone approached us, we were stripped of one thing after another. First to go was the electricity, then mobility and finally, communication. By about 8pm, at the peak of Hudhud’s intensity, we were clinically marooned.

Reading up on cyclones did tell us that a strong building is the best defence, yet how much a structure would sustain before giving up was anybody’s guess. The family was in tears as the day progressed. We tried making diversionary talks, those fake smiles, words of reassurance and the like. They drew strength from having us around and we did from knowing that the day would end sooner or later.

A lull came. It usually does when the eye of the cyclone is right overhead. It is that area inside a cyclone where all is clear while in all directions around there is mayhem. It picked up again in an hour’s time.

Tired, hungry, our equipments damaged, communication links severed, we stepped into a hotel right across the road. After some effort we found some dal-rice and a room, which while being entirely flooded, had dry beds. The hotel had glass doors and the owners deployed its staff to hold the glass façade with both their hands from inside lest it gave away.

Since there wasn’t much we could do, after shooting for a while, we shut shop for the day.

We spent the next four days reporting on the impact of heavy rains and winds up to 195kmph hitting an urban, confined and packed space. Just like trees and electricity poles, families were uprooted. There was no water, electricity, fuel, milk, communication network, medicines, banks or ATMs.

The administration thought its job was done when it rehabilitated people in the run up the cyclone. It simply forgot the plan for the day after. As a result, there were near-riots over water and food. The beautiful port city, which I was so fond of, had turned into rubble, full of angry people.

On October 12, the year before, in Odisha's Gopalpur, about 290km northwards along the coast from Vizag, very severe cyclonic storm "Phailin" had paid a visit. Landing from New Delhi in what turned out to be the last flight allowed before they shut the airport at Vizag in anticipation of Phailin, we were better prepared. We purchased rain coats, dry fruits, biscuits, water, medicines and what not.

If Hudhud appeared colossal, Phailin was demonic.

Beginning as a depression over the Andaman Sea and discovered by the IMD on October 8, 2013, it was anticipated that by the evening of October 12, Phailin would touch speeds of up to 200kmph. Between October 8 and 12, the speed got revised six times at least. The final figure recorded was a mind-numbing 240kmph. Unlike Hudhud, Phailin played itself out post sundown which in a way increased its ferocity as your mind conjured up all sorts of scenarios based on the sounds your ears picked up.

We were in our hotel room that evening and were witness to families crying and shouting almost in unison as Phailin tore through glass windows, hurting many. Blood stains were not uncommon. Our room too got flooded as the panes gave away. We spent the night standing in a passageway, far away from any object which could fly when just about any object could actually fly! Fortunately we escaped unhurt.

Next morning we began our rounds and reported prompting governmental intervention and aid.

What was heart-warming was that by the evening, a tea stall had opened right under the hotel we were staying in and so did the markets, in general. Normalcy never appeared that good.

Both these occurrences could have done much more damage. Timely intervention, utilisation of technology and support of societal bodies plucked people out of harm’s way. One can say that we had moved some distance but a lot of ground had to be covered. Strengthening grassroots governance was the key.

As a professional, both were satisfying experiences. However, this October 12, I am simply glad to be home.