A journey that should have taken 30 hours ended up becoming a harrowing 40, with my 50-year-old mum, travelling alone from Thiruvanathapuram, petrified and unable to comprehend why Mumbai had gone under
Aultrin Vijay
A journey that should have taken 30 hours ended up becoming a harrowing 40, with my 50-year-old mum, travelling alone from Thiruvanathapuram, petrified and unable to comprehend why Mumbai had gone under.
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On Tuesday, my mother, Lissy, was returning to Mumbai on the Netravati Express, which usually reaches LTT by 5.45 pm. On the railway timetable, it said the train was running late by an hour. I was at work, listening to reports about the city being rained out. I was not too perturbed, having experienced rain that went on for days back in Thiruvanathapuram.
My confidence, however, began to wobble a bit, when TV started flashing reports of tracks getting flooded, trains not moving and of passengers stranded at stations and on roads. I called my mum for an update at 4.30 pm and realised with relief that the train had reached Diva. Again, I wasn't too worried, believing that the rain would stop and all would be back to normal soon.
An hour later, though, the situation had achieved nightmare proportions, with images on TV of every road and track in the city disappearing under at least a couple of feet of water.
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I started to fear for her. I called her on the hour for six hours, but the train hadn't moved an inch from Diva station. At 10.30 pm, the train managed to inch towards Thane. There, 90% of the passengers started alighting in panic. My mother, scared and confused, was unsure what to do. My colleagues told me to advise her to stay put in the train. They even tried to get in touch with RPF personnel. Fortunately, the train's pantry was operating and stranded passengers were being served food and water. Also, their phones were fully charged and there were no network issues either. I was in constant touch with her till she reached LTT at 4 am.
While my mother had reached LTT, I was stranded at my Bandra office, with the building surrounded by thigh-deep water. There was no transportation available and absolutely no way for me to reach LTT.
My colleagues reassured me, but I was worried about my mum sitting alone at LTT. After much discussion, one of my colleagues decided to drop me to LTT on his bike around 4 am.
He manoeuvred it through the floodwaters, which at some areas made his bike disappear under it. On dry patches were trails of garbage and plastic, which I suspect were responsible for the state of affairs on Tuesday. We somehow managed to get to LTT by 4.15 am.
Once there, we found that the prepaid taxi stall was closed, but I found a kaali-peeli. My faith in the city's warm heart was reaffirmed when the cabbie, who I thought would take the opportunity to fleece us, charged us just R200.
We offered a lift to two stranded people, but the cabbie didn't protest or ask them for money. We were home safe at 5 am.
On one of the most harrowing days of my life, I made it thanks to colleagues and kind strangers.
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