The flood doesn't end with the rain: What I witnessed in Kerala's worst-hit areas
"Chechi?" I called out to a woman standing outside her house along the road leading to the famed Aranmula Temple. We had reached the area
"Chechi?" I called out to a woman standing outside her house along the road leading to the famed Aranmula Temple. We had reached the area to report on the severe waterlogging that had submerged the temple approach road and large parts of the premises, bringing movement to a standstill. I was desperately thirsty. Every shop nearby was shut because of the flooding. Read Full Story "Yes?" she replied, stepping outside. I asked if I could have a glass of water. She smiled, said "of course" and invited me inside. I hesitated because I was drenched from hours of reporting in the rain, but she insisted. Her house stood on slightly higher ground, with a sloping entrance. Looking at it, I assumed it had escaped the flooding. "The water wouldn't have entered this house, right?" I asked while drinking the water. "It did. Yesterday." Her answer caught me completely off guard. She pointed to the sofa where I was sitting. "In 2018, the water had reached this level." For her family, this was the first time since Kerala's devastating floods of 2018 that floodwater had entered their home. Then she pointed towards the house opposite. "That belongs to our relatives. They've shifted to a relief camp. The water there rose to the level of the dining table." As I stepped out, I turned around for one last look at the living room where I had just been sitting.
I tried to picture muddy floodwater filling the space, swallowing the furniture and everything around it. That's the strange thing about covering floods. You can stand waist-deep in water all day and still fail to comprehend what it means for those who live there. The real devastation begins inside people's homes. From Aranmula, we headed to Ranni, one of the worst-hit towns after overnight torrential rain. I had seen drone footage before arriving, but nothing prepared me for the scene on the ground. Police had barricaded the road leading into the flooded locality. Beyond the barricades, I waded through water that rose above my waist to report from the heart of the inundated neighbourhood. A little further ahead, I saw a family taking shelter on the upper floor of their house. The ground floor had disappeared beneath murky floodwater. "We don't want to leave everything behind and move to a relief camp," an elderly woman called out from upstairs. "Once the rain stops for a while, the water will go down." It is a dilemma we encounter repeatedly while covering floods. Many residents hesitate to leave because they fear returning to find their homes looted or further damaged. Others simply cannot imagine abandoning everything they own. For families living in Kerala's flood-prone low-lying areas, relief camps have become an unfortunate annual reality rather than an emergency measure. Then came one of the most frightening moments I have experienced while reporting.
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