"Indira Nagar varuveengala?" I ask the driver of the Bajaj RE auto that I have just flagged. He's wearing a khaki shirt with no name badge and lungi to go with it and his auto's rear is blocking a lane nearly fully.
"Indira Nagar-ah saar? Indira Nagar- la enga?" Perhaps giving him the latitude and longitude coordinates would help. "You're not launching a precision missile strike. For heaven's sake Indira Nagar has 2 main roads and admittedly a maddening labyrinth of cross streets woven around them!" I mean to say but better judgement kicks in and I bite my tongue.
"Water tank pakkathula." I begin.
"Drop-ah return-ah saar?" he asks for a critical piece of clarification while he eyes my appearance, my attire, whether I have a laptop or an ID card or display any other tell tale signs of being associated with the IT industry, proceeds to weigh up the location and then starts arriving at an exorbitant fare.
"Drop." I persist, although I'm beginning to get impatient.
"Return empty-a varanam saar" he now stares into the middle distance as his brain starts the algorithm for what will be the walk-away fare for me.
"Busy area dhaanga. Kandippa savaari kedaikkum" Screw you man, I'll walk there if needed rather than engage you.
"Polaam saar" he agrees with a nod, smoothly slipping the auto into first gear confirming that his mind is now made up.
"Evvlonga?" I pop the all important question with all the no-nonsense, stiff nosed look that I can muster to set his expectations right.
"Two fifty kudunga saar" he spells out the first fare with enough sticker shock to knock the pants off a non-Chennai person. And he immediately launches into a mini lecture on crude oil prices, road traffic patterns in Chennai, El Nino effects, the state of the European economy...while the electronic fare meter sits behind him, neatly wrapped in a yellow cloth.
Fleecing auto drivers, the famous stench as the train nears Basin Bridge, bad weather and Dravidian politics. Yes we have the second longest beach and our cricketing crowds are knowledgeable, but there is really not much that the average Chennai-ite can be proud about daily life here to defend against the often unwarranted, nose-in-the-air attitude of the rest of India. Apathy, indifference and a healthy dose of disrespect to the fellow citizen are not mere characteristics of the Chennai-vasi. They are survival tactics honed over years to cope against the grind of daily life. Armed with a copy of the day's newspaper, bottomless cups of coffee and three mega serials, the typical Chennai person knows how to insulate himself from society and the other person.
Until the first week of December 2014. When the heavens opened up like never before.
Torrential rains and flooded localities are not new to Chennai. Every year brings with it problems from both extremes of water supply: floods and scarcity. But this time it really was different. Years of thumbing our noses to nature had caught up finally. The furious rain Gods cranked it up and Chennai had seen nothing like this before.
Special times call for special efforts and I am simply blown away by how Chennai has shaken off its usual cloak of coldness, rallied together as one city and stood together to start picking up the pieces of life blown to smithereens by a calamity of hitherto unknown scale. And the attitude shown by the common man in the face of bad city planning, lax preparedness, official mishandling of relief and absent leadership is nothing less than exemplary.
List of volunteers and their locations popped up everywhere. Critical information was being shared quickly. Relief and requirements got mapped with a passion. Volunteers, friends, family, strangers came together to rescue people and animals, set up community kitchens, distribute relief supplies, check on families, relay information and just extend a helping hand wherever needed. Technology was merely a facilitator but, make no mistake, it was humanity that shone bright under the grey skies. This disaster has brought a hidden, humane side to Chennai for everyone to see.
That it took a monster tragedy to bring this about is sad and perhaps normal service would resume once the flood recedes. But years from now, what will remain is how the people rose up as one when it really mattered. And for that, take a bow Madras! Proud of you folks!
"Indira Nagar-ah saar? Indira Nagar- la enga?" Perhaps giving him the latitude and longitude coordinates would help. "You're not launching a precision missile strike. For heaven's sake Indira Nagar has 2 main roads and admittedly a maddening labyrinth of cross streets woven around them!" I mean to say but better judgement kicks in and I bite my tongue.
"Water tank pakkathula." I begin.
"Drop-ah return-ah saar?" he asks for a critical piece of clarification while he eyes my appearance, my attire, whether I have a laptop or an ID card or display any other tell tale signs of being associated with the IT industry, proceeds to weigh up the location and then starts arriving at an exorbitant fare.
"Drop." I persist, although I'm beginning to get impatient.
"Return empty-a varanam saar" he now stares into the middle distance as his brain starts the algorithm for what will be the walk-away fare for me.
"Busy area dhaanga. Kandippa savaari kedaikkum" Screw you man, I'll walk there if needed rather than engage you.
"Polaam saar" he agrees with a nod, smoothly slipping the auto into first gear confirming that his mind is now made up.
"Evvlonga?" I pop the all important question with all the no-nonsense, stiff nosed look that I can muster to set his expectations right.
"Two fifty kudunga saar" he spells out the first fare with enough sticker shock to knock the pants off a non-Chennai person. And he immediately launches into a mini lecture on crude oil prices, road traffic patterns in Chennai, El Nino effects, the state of the European economy...while the electronic fare meter sits behind him, neatly wrapped in a yellow cloth.
Fleecing auto drivers, the famous stench as the train nears Basin Bridge, bad weather and Dravidian politics. Yes we have the second longest beach and our cricketing crowds are knowledgeable, but there is really not much that the average Chennai-ite can be proud about daily life here to defend against the often unwarranted, nose-in-the-air attitude of the rest of India. Apathy, indifference and a healthy dose of disrespect to the fellow citizen are not mere characteristics of the Chennai-vasi. They are survival tactics honed over years to cope against the grind of daily life. Armed with a copy of the day's newspaper, bottomless cups of coffee and three mega serials, the typical Chennai person knows how to insulate himself from society and the other person.
Until the first week of December 2014. When the heavens opened up like never before.
Torrential rains and flooded localities are not new to Chennai. Every year brings with it problems from both extremes of water supply: floods and scarcity. But this time it really was different. Years of thumbing our noses to nature had caught up finally. The furious rain Gods cranked it up and Chennai had seen nothing like this before.
Special times call for special efforts and I am simply blown away by how Chennai has shaken off its usual cloak of coldness, rallied together as one city and stood together to start picking up the pieces of life blown to smithereens by a calamity of hitherto unknown scale. And the attitude shown by the common man in the face of bad city planning, lax preparedness, official mishandling of relief and absent leadership is nothing less than exemplary.
List of volunteers and their locations popped up everywhere. Critical information was being shared quickly. Relief and requirements got mapped with a passion. Volunteers, friends, family, strangers came together to rescue people and animals, set up community kitchens, distribute relief supplies, check on families, relay information and just extend a helping hand wherever needed. Technology was merely a facilitator but, make no mistake, it was humanity that shone bright under the grey skies. This disaster has brought a hidden, humane side to Chennai for everyone to see.
That it took a monster tragedy to bring this about is sad and perhaps normal service would resume once the flood recedes. But years from now, what will remain is how the people rose up as one when it really mattered. And for that, take a bow Madras! Proud of you folks!
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