Once you stop writing; it’s difficult to start writing again. You wonder why you should.
But maybe it’s a habit that doesn’t let go off you so easily.
So here I am again.
Woken up by the torrential rain and wind that hit us in the Nilgiris, so hard. Leaving so much devastation. I took my camera to take some pictures but somehow it didn’t work. Probably it meant that we shouldn’t be getting voyeuristic pleasure out of other people’s distress.
But people were anxious to show how much they’d suffered. .Cracks in the walls, roofs, broken walls, damaged floors, mud hanging over on the pitch of the roof,.
Hoping that we’d help in some way .The pathos of a new house for a new young couple with just a window frame left standing over the rubble; the roof blown away.
After a while, you are not absorbing anymore of the sad scenes because life is going on around you .
Five small kids sitting around a carom board in the watery sunshine on a ledge above a road half covered with mud and stones.
That picture stayed with me and helped obliterate the others a bit.