Laila's thunder

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Winds at a speed of 125 kmph, flooding of low-lying areas, immense damage to life and property expected and state administration on high alert.

Tracking the story every hour, the journo in me was awaiting "the" call from headquarters, the one that'd fix my date with the lady of the moment... Laila!

And then it came... "Let's move ASAP", words from my boss that got me all excited... finally, I get to meet her! If you may be wondering why exactly was I all charged for this assignment, well, to be honest there were three reasons. One: I was very impressed with Laila's power; my entire state admin was on its toes in hours. Senior babus placed in each of the 9 coastal districts, control rooms set up, the Army sounded out, evacuation shelters put up. Now whoever could have such an effect on my otherwise lax govt machinery was sure worth meeting. Reason number Two: Like every single other journalist in this world, I'd any day choose travelling to the action spot over let's say even meeting George Clooney (which is as sacrificing as it gets!) Reason number three. Later.

So there we were, my cameraman & I with a quizzical driver who couldn't really fathom what I meant when I kept insisting "Jaldi chalo boss, 8 o'clock live hai" even as he braved through the rains at 90 kmph on a single lane highway while attending a zillion calls(seriously his phone rang every 4.5 mins.. I'm not kidding!). Also, I confess, pestering him kept me from screaming of paranoia over his questionable multi-tasking abilities!

It was way past midnight when I reached the coast of Andhra Pradesh - strong winds not allowing us to roll our windows down even so slightly. The small town of Machilipatnam wore a deserted look. Electricity at a few places, otherwise an eerie darkness. After some gruelling guesswork, we figured our lodge and crashed with the wind knocking at my door incessantly.

The morning at the sea shore was all that you and I had heard of an angry sea in our bedtime mythological stories. High waves, cloudbursts, winds still tearing at the tattered sheds. Ripping apart the umbrellas shielding our equipment seemed to have become a sadistic game for Laila...one after another, off they went flying. I muffled a giggle as my cameraman wore the "This whole damn thing is doomed!" expression while shouting out for some plastic bags to protect his beloved. Of course till such time, I was asked to stand guard covering the camera with my dupatta - hopeless effort cause we were dripping wet anyway! But never argue with an agitated cameraman...bad idea!

Laila, meanwhile, was fast advancing, scoffing at us mortals. Heavy rains continued amidst winds that roared in our ears. We went to a nearby evacuation shelter home, I was told there are almost 2000 people who had been brought here - some by choice, some by force. And as I went about speaking to some of them - old women, children - each had the same story, each caught unaware by Laila. Inundated houses, fallen mud walls, thatch roofs blown away, stalls along the beach, their only source of livelihood - destroyed. Here they were, wet with despair. An old woman asked me in tears, "When do u think I can go home??" All I could manage was "Soon... very soon."

Having covered floods a little while ago, I have begun to believe natural disasters are tougher to deal with than human tragedies. All those affected, left homeless have no one to blame here, no one to vent to, no one to direct their anger at. How long can you, after all, curse God when you know the next minute, you'd have to turn to that very God for help & strength!? But while the elders mulled over the next step, over how they'd rebuild that only pucca wall of their hut, how they'd minimise the loss of their kharif crop - those cattle they'd left behind - there were the carefree young ones laughing playfully under the overcast sky. Kids running in and out of each room, exploring this new place that's keeping them warm, giggling as one of them slipped & fell in the wet mud. They look askance at me, I smile at them. Encouraged they come & stand by me rather coyly as I talk to the camera of their hardships.

As I run for cover to my OB van, a young girl comes up to me & asks "Akka, toofan velipoindi?? Varsham tagindi kada, nenu inti ki vellucha?"(Has the storm gone... it's raining a little less now, can I go back home now?"

I wish I could explain the Met department's jargon of 'Laila is crossing the coast, will have a landfall, expect heavy to very heavy rainfall for next 48 hours. Severe cyclonic storm poses a danger of level 7 to 9 to coastline.' But all I manage is a reassuring nod.

As we shoot the lunch organised by social service organisations & local admin, I begin to feel sometimes crisis is the best litmus test for humanity. Women standing in queue, being served with a smile by young enthusiastic boys, food cooked for over 2000 people under the shelter of trees with the Herculean task of keeping the fire going under Laila's spell - all examples of that stubborn human bond. More than 40,000 people were evacuated to such shelter homes and these were the lucky few. For I know there were hundreds who have been unaccounted for. The streets of my state's southern districts were still water logged, fishermen were still missing, and drinking water was getting precious.

We waited with bated breath for Laila ...she had long ago crossed the "fashionably late" mark. A photographer commented, rather poetically, "Laila tu Laila, kaisi tu Laila... har koi chahe tujhse ek baar milna."

And finally she arrived, a full 12 hours late. But to everyone's pleasant surprise, her entry was rather unexpected. No damage, no loss of life, no more ripping of my umbrellas!

We stood guard for another 24 hours, making sure Laila had moved on. Content? Maybe not, but she had definitely had her moments & her share of the limelight!

As we saw few families mustering courage and gathering their belongings to head home, it was a gentle reminder of really how temporary everything can be... house, belongings, life... all of it! I could only respect the strength of spirit of all those farmers who lost their crop but were glad they were spared.

We were heading back to Hyderabad, when my driver casually remarked how Laila spared his car - what a disappointment, he said. And as if on cue, crack went his car's wiper!

Btw reason number three: I wanted to find out why are all these catastrophic cyclones named after women - from Katrina to Laila?? That one's still left unanswered though.