Seven weeks after the tsunami

Photograph by Preeti Verma Lal

That's the kind of tomorrow that kindles hope in a pair of jaded eyes. Yes, there has been infinite devastation but when you see a purple lotus growing valiantly in development commissioner Anshu Prakash's colonial bungalow, a bubbly Faiza prancing in her flouncy yellow frock, Father Barla stacking bread for tomorrow, London-based Andy Ashrafi returning to the island with a wheelchair-bound Jennifer, tourists dipping their feet in the limpid waters, a hymn shattering the evening's darkness and the almighty heave of the ships at the jetty you know nothing can annihilate life. Nothing. Not even an incensed sea. Believe me, even sorrow comes with a sprig of sunshine.

Port Blair. Seven weeks after the tsunami. It is afternoon and the sun is perched precariously in the cobalt sky. Under the black tarpaulins at the Nirmala School relief camp a miscellany of moods thrive. There's succour in the likes of Sr. Mary Kutty who is busy dispensing medicine and Father Albinus Barla of Caritas who is putting asterisks against the needs of the roughly 900 evacuees who have taken shelter in the camp. There's stoicism in the eyes of Yusuf Ahmed, an affluent trader who has lost property worth crores and whose tomorrow is completely bleary. There's innocence in Faiza, who barely 5, is brimming with bliss over the blue eye shadow that her eyes are rimmed with. There's gay abandon in the uproar of the boys who play hide and seek on the rice sacks and turn a burly cabbage into their football of the day. There is elation at the arrival of new life, a boy born in the camp on January 26 and christened Johnson Bharat. In one corner metals drone intermittently, in another the hum of a dirge fades in the scorching heat and yet another there's raucous silence. So many emotions, so many yesterdays, so many tomorrows, all jostling for a propitious moment under the cobalt sky.

That's Port Blair, dotted with relief camps after the livid waves brought untold destruction. Nearly 13,000 people had to be evacuated, relief camps had to be pitched, corpses had to be rested with dignity, any fear of an epidemic had to be stalled and in the midst of all the loss of lives and property there was trauma to be dealt with. But beyond annihilation there's always sympathy and beyond sympathy hope. NGOs trooped in large numbers and the government pulled its socks up for an unprecedented relief mission.

Oxfam's regional director, Dr Shaheen Nilofer was one of the first ones to fly into Port Blair. Having handled crises in Bosnia and Afghanistan, Nilofer knows where to put the balm first. "Oxfam's first priority is saving lives," she says. "And beyond that we ensure that everything is done with dignity. You don't give people what you want to, you give them what they need." And to adhere to this, Nilofer spent hours picking up floral chintzs for the Nicobarese. She knows they love bright colours and synthetic fabric. Nilofer procured thousands and thousands of metres of such fabric and complemented it with sewing machines. "It is nice to hear these machines whirr in relief camps," she says with content writ large in her eyes. For everyday needs they have provided mosquito nets and hygiene kits; for their livelihood, Oxfam has procured tools for masons, plumbers, and blacksmiths.

In hours of crises, everyday, ordinary necessities seem like luxuries. Like toilets and sanitation. And it gets worse for women who often tend to skip dinner because they do not want to go through the embarrassment of defecating in the open. In relief camps like ITF Grounds and Nirmala School, toilets are not an issue but where tents and tarpaulin shelters have been pitched toilets is priority, especially because the Islands is a malaria-endemic zone. Oxfam has already built toilets in camps in Badmash Pahar and Loknath Pahar and UNICEF is chipping in to put the toilets in place before the onset of monsoon in the third week of April. "We have provided for trench latrines and would get more pre-fab and concrete toilets constructed soon," says Tejinder Sandhu, Project officer, UNICEF. To buttress their hygiene and health schemes, UNICEF has provided 5,000 mosquito nets, hopes to distribute 10,000 more very soon; they have immunized 29,000 children and with their health and child development specialists are bringing back a semblance of normalcy for children, the most vulnerable lot in any disaster area.

You can put brick on brick, build a house, provide basic amenities but what do you do with a heart that races at the sight of the sea and sees a demon rising out of the waves? There's the 12-year old Uzza at Nirmala School with whom conversation doesn't stretch beyond monosyllables and that only when you wait patiently for that faint 'yes', that tiny smile. There's Sofia Chengko at a makeshift school who held my hand and cried for what looked liked eternity. Trauma is intangible but it corrodes the mind stealthily. And it is for this that Dr Tapas K Ray of SEVAC has come from Kolkatta with a team of two psychiatrists, two psychologists and two social workers. "Most of them cannot erase the images of the waves destroying their family or property. It is a nightmare that keeps haunting them." Some scream in the middle of the day, others have found escape in avoidance - they ignore the sea, they ignore the known faces, they ignore staring into life again. "A lot of children have completely withdrawn into their shell," adds Priyanka Basak, a clinical psychologist. They know trauma management is a long-drawn process; anti-depressants for adults and play therapy for children are just the first step. But they are helping victims in their two permanent clinics in Port Blair.

With 53 NGOs lending a helping hand, 85 relief camps in Car Nicobar, several thousand tonnes of relief supplies stocked in warehouses, it would not be long before the tsunami-affected people pick up the threads of their lives. You know it is possible because everyone is doing their bit - that one day in Port Blair Anshu Prakash, the development commissioner, was frantically figuring out rates for loading and offloading at the jetty, Thomas Phillip, the First Captain of Mus Village talked of approach roads and electricity in Car Nicobar, Pritam Kumari Nanda, Chairperson, Social welfare Board, gives details about the tailoring and shorthand institute that she wants to set up for women, Subodh Bijapura, an engineer, was working out modalities for constructing more toilets…. They and several more are all weaving the tomorrows of thousands of people.

And at the Raj Niwas, these tomorrows were being sorted out more diligently.
Says Lt. Governor Ram Kapashe, "In Car Nicobar, people have to be compensated for the coconut trees because it was their livelihood. Ex-gratia payment would also be made to the next of the kin of those dead or missing, but more importantly we would revamp the entire system." Technical and vocation training would be given priority, telemedicine facility would be provided for in each of the 38 inhabited islands and when permanent housing is completed each village would be a model village complete with school, playground, maternity centers, crèches, mortuary and a graveyard.

That's the kind of tomorrow that kindles hope in a pair of jaded eyes. Yes, there has been infinite devastation but when you see a purple lotus growing valiantly in development commissioner Anshu Prakash's colonial bungalow, a bubbly Faiza prancing in her flouncy yellow frock, Father Barla stacking bread for tomorrow, London-based Andy Ashrafi returning to the island with a wheelchair-bound Jennifer, tourists dipping their feet in the limpid waters, a hymn shattering the evening's darkness and the almighty heave of the ships at the jetty you know nothing can annihilate life. Nothing. Not even an incensed sea. Believe me, even sorrow comes with a sprig of sunshine.

Published in Swagat magazine, March 2005

Contact: Preeti@deepblueink.com