It was 1992.
Two years since we were airlifted from the Middle East to Mumbai.
It was already raining cats and dogs and we hadn’t gotten an intimation from school that we had a holiday. So, we put on our raincoats and rain shoes, took whichever umbrella we could and shared it among the four of us.
‘The four of us’ consisted of my brother (grade 1), my girl cousin (also grade 1), my friend (grade 2) and me (grade 4).
Our schools were less than 500 metres away. From the building lobby, we walked left to take the longer route to the girls’ school because we had to drop my brother off at the boys’ school.
We were skipping puddles when we took another left from the end of our building. We stopped to watch some angry men bang and break some stalls that were open for the day, with two-metre-long thick sticks. Shops began closing, vendors started running away and suddenly there was mayhem everywhere. Standing frozen, we saw the men break tables and almost injure hawkers around them. During this drama, the rainwater was filling up around us.
The angry men looked like they were coming closer, so I managed to get out of my shock and shove the other three to the side. After all, I was the oldest. I felt I had to protect them (I also keep having dreams of protecting people from fire planes, gunshots and wild animals. Don’t ask!).
My little cousin ran further towards the wall. My friend ran away with the only umbrella we had. So, now we only had our raincoats as respite. My brother told me that my cousin was floating. I turned and we both wondered why she wasn’t standing up. Over all the yelling, pouring and banging, we called out to her and asked her to try and stand up. We were merely five feet away. She cried out yelling that there wasn’t any ground under her. Then we noticed something else float behind her.
Confused, we approached her slowly, while I tightly held on to my brother’s little hand. He kept asking why she wasn’t standing. I told him I had no idea. Just then, I felt my left leg slip into the unknown. But with my brother’s help and my right leg, I got back up. We couldn’t see our feet and I felt like there was some kind of empty space in the ground. Not knowing the width and depth of this mysterious depression scared me even more. The whole place was already overflowing with rainwater. I’m not a water person.
Before things got worse, I held my brother’s hand even tighter and asked him to stretch and try reaching out to our cousin who was bawling by now. After trying a few times, he managed to grab her hand and pull her to safety; until she could stand up straight. She was dripping with rainwater. We hugged and consoled her. And, also consoled ourselves as we were all frightened. My cousin had also swallowed enough puddle water to last her a lifetime.
Through the ongoing commotion, a scooter at high speed almost rammed into us. The rider was probably trying to escape the angry men and their wrath. Still, I stared at him with rage. How dare he disrupt our reunion!
Drenched, instead of turning back to go home (we were still on the side which was a metre behind our building), we continued walking and dropped my brother to school. Once we reached our school, the teachers were shocked to see both of us soaked and my cousin in tears. I normally try to avoid crying in public so I kept my tears to myself.
Later, after a full day of school, all the adults yelled at me for taking the younger ones into that mess.
Our grandmother did not stop us from going to school, I don’t recall forcing anyone to come with me, my mom was back in Kuwait and our parents (my dad and my cousin’s mom who were brother and sister) were not at home at the time. We decided to go to school because everyone else was also going about their daily routines despite the rain.
Who knew that the riots in Mumbai would also begin that day?
The next day was a bright one with no yelling, banging or floods, at least on our way to school. So, being the brave detectives that we thought we were, we went to inspect the mysterious space that almost killed us the day before!
It was a construction site and that space was a storm drain that stretched for about 30 metres. Apparently, it was clogged with construction material and filth making the water fill up instead of draining out. We only felt at ease when we saw that it was merely two feet wide and two feet deep. We would’ve survived nevertheless.
Today, as our cousin walks down the aisle with my brother’s best friend, I wonder why we weren’t scared enough back then to go home. Maybe we were brave? Maybe we were determined? Maybe we were stubborn? Maybe we were just children!
Smiling at the childhood memories, I watch the bride and groom kiss while my brother, their best man, happily applauds this new beginning.
Muddy puddles. Mayhem. Mumbai. Yet years later, it still feels like home.
This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop. Theme: CHILDHOOD
Feature photo by Tamhasip Khan
