A Rude Wake-up Call

It has been six full months after the city of Chennai was ravaged by floods. Extensive loss of men and material resulted in rebirth of what people would call “humanity” and “brotherhood” and what-not. Media had a field day in replaying their stock shots repetitively that it seemed they were making up for their conspicious absence for a long time after Chennai choked. Of course, neither did we have a RaGa here nor did we have a glitzy high profile” Mother murders Daughter” saga going on.We did resist and did what we could to the best of our efforts.

We learnt how to join hands. We learnt to appreciate the bus driver annas and the traffic cops who were doing a fabulous job. I am sure many others would vouch for my words when I say that Chennai was reborn. With pride and compassion in equal amounts. However, I would like to bring in some 3-4 shades of grey into the picture. Pardon me if I hurt your sentiments, for it is always bitter to listen to truth.

While Chennai, the jewel of Tamilnadu was being the attention seeking brat that most stinking-rich uber cool dudes would be, there was a place called Cuddalore which was equally affected. It was that poor lil step-sister of our brat and conveniently forgotten when compared to the attention that Chennai got.

While we spoke like a million loud words about how Chennai people were unfortunate, we missed the point of greed. There is something called City Limits, City planning, water bodies specific areas etc. Nobody cared. All wanted a house even in the shabbiest and ridiculous-est ( that is how furious I am) areas, naming it as Lake-view, marsh-view and many other such preposterous views. People were dumb and greedy. Dumb such that they couldn’t really identify the land on which the brick was laid, in the name of construction, and greedy for all that people cared about was that fistful of sand. Serves them right, I would say.

While one portion of the city was recovering slowly, there was another portion that got to breathe freely, without suffocation. That was the Cooum river. Legends have been written about this waterway that I, as a person in mid-twenties, think of the possibility of such legendary history with a tinge of doubt. I saw the river clean, without a floating trace of filth to constrict its wind pipe. I felt happy. Crores lay written in papers, claiming to have been spent on de-silting and stuff like that. It was time that Nature took things in her/his own hands and did the needful.

While many, many people were out on the streets helping the needy and preparing food for them, fresh and hygenic, there were groups of people who had the audacity to throw the packets onto the streets, for want of variety. If this is not vanity, then what is? When people don’t realise their fortune and good luck, any number of samaritans won’t be enough to save them. I would rather see them starve to death instead of wasting food on them. I would rather feed a child who understands the value of food and who is able to count his blessings than to attempt to feed those brainless retards who wanted variety in food.

Chennai floods brought out the best in people. It also brought to light certain blunt truths, which were apparently dancing butt-naked in front of our eyes. We were just too deluded to even try and see the truth in them.

*Written as a part of a contest conducted by Chennai Bloggers Club*

* It is not always that we get to own a book co-authored by a bunch of people who were there, doing it. Grab your own copy here *

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