I’m guilty. But not any more. Two days after I found myself on the Anbodu Trivandrum Whatsapp group, I went into ‘sceptic mode’. I had only been part of volunteering efforts where the team was part of procurement, packing, delivery and everything in between. I was afraid of having to read reports a few weeks into the crisis that materials hadn’t reached their intended destinations. So I sat, and watched.
But soon the news became overwhelming, my appetite was disappearing, Thiruvananthapuram was on red alert and all educational institutions had been ordered to close. I couldn’t sit still any more. Be it Government College for Women, Vazhuthacaud, or SMV School, Overbridge, and all the other collection centres that began to function soon after, they were teeming with volunteers.
The family had chipped in with funds. But clearly, this was a crisis of a magnitude where the needs changed at every stage. This wasn’t here to go away any time soon. District Collector Dr. K. Vasuki’s video updates helped add credibility. Soon, I made myself available at the smaller centres, from The Reading Room to Trivandrum Runners Club (TRaCs), and continue to do so.
Reaching out
Initially, I came home every night thinking that nothing felt enough. When a friend visited town, we went from one centre to the next, asking what was needed at the newly-opened ones and at the ones that were full, we simply watched, soaking in the energy of the millennials. Vanchiyoor P. Babu, chairman of the Development Standing Committee was impressed. “People usually don’t have anything good to say about youngsters these days but their participation has truly been commendable this time. As soon as we said we needed volunteers, they came in droves. Girls, especially, were eager to participate in every department. We then had to introduce shifts, so that everyone got a chance and didn’t return disappointed,” he says.
A visit with a doctor friend to simply meet and hear out a 16-member team of the fisherfolk community from Puthiyathura, which took part in rescue efforts in Chengannur and Aluva, was another revelation. Anu A., a 24-year-old from the community, didn’t think twice before setting out (Yes, I ought to learn). A photo journalist by education, he says, “Know what hurt the most? The very people who were standing on their terraces, waiting to be rescued, were yelling at us when our boats hit against their compound walls when we manoeuvred them around in those narrow lanes.”
Pitching in
As I write this, there are those who have been coordinating distress calls, are still sorting everything from baby food to cleaning equipment, unloading cargo, driving around to procure materials, visiting camps to hear people out, adopting families and cleaning their houses to make them homes again. Like a friend who lives abroad, Jalaja Ramanunni, posted on Facebook as an assurance to everyone thinking, ‘I wish I could do more’ in spite of doing what they could, be it sending funds while miles away from India, posting requirements on social media or those managing traffic at relief camps and still others who were unwell and could not participate physically: ‘You are where you were meant to be. What you do matters.’
Post Onam, as normal life beckons, I only pray we continue the momentum without letting a sense of complacency set in. I stand humbled before every thought and deed that has been a part of bringing relief to people over these days. Never before have I found these lines from a holy book more timely: ‘You have a right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your action.’
