by Mainak Dhar
I sat down next to them and asked what was going on.
Bhagat spoke up. ‘The General is saying we should form a committee to oversee affairs for our societies and then sub-committees for security, food and water. The problem is getting us all to agree on who will represent us, and can be trusted to look after the interests of all our societies. Plus there are dozens of other societies in the neighbourhood, and if we are to be truly secure, we need to enrol all of them. How will we ever agree on a committee that represents all of us?’
It seemed to me that focusing all our energies on new elections and campaigns was not the best way to spend our time, so I ventured a suggestion. ‘Every society has an elected leader. Why don’t we just start with a council comprising them? Right now that would mean Mrs Khatri, Anu and Mr Bhagat. We do need groups to take care of water, food, electricity and security. For those I would just put the person or people best qualified to help. Kundu seems like a good person for the logistics and supplies of both food and water; for electricity Nitish has been the best person we have among us so far; and Pandeyji can help with security. They can choose whom they want to help them.’
They all nodded and then Bhagat pointed at me. ‘What position do you want?’
I was a bit flummoxed by the question. ‘Nothing. I’ll help wherever I can, but I don’t want any position.’
‘Everyone’s talking of how you dealt with the gang,’ he said, standing up. ‘They are looking to you to make decisions. We’re older and slower—people won’t follow us at a time like this. You need to be in charge.’
I could see that the events of the night had brutally brought home to him just how much things had changed, but I was reluctant to accept. I tried to explain. ‘Mr Bhagat, before this began, I didn’t even know the names of more than a couple of people who lived in my building, and knew nothing of what was going on there. I never bothered when the elections were and never showed up for any society event or meeting. If I had stood for a committee post then, nobody would have voted for me. So, no, I don’t want a post, but of course I’ll help in any way I possibly can, and if I am needed to step up to the front at any time, I will.’
As I walked away, Megha came up to me. She had overheard the exchange.
‘People are scared and they’re looking for someone who can keep them from giving in to panic. That’s why they’re putting their trust in you.’
I tried to put into words what was on my mind. ‘Megha, that’s what bothers me. When people are scared, they are usually in a hurry to give up power to the first person who stands up. I did what I did because it seemed right, but I know nothing of running a society with all the issues people will face. I don’t want to promise to be something I’m not.’
Pandey was back with the water crew, and he came over to me. ‘Sir, if we’re going to be serious about security, we need to get more societies in on it. I saw so many alleys and access roads from the lake, not to mention the road from IIT, the back road towards Ghatkopar, the side road headed into Chandivali—we’ll never have the numbers to secure all of them. Also, even if we found volunteers to stay out at night, they would have no weapons to speak of. We need to get other societies to join us in keeping watch.’
A couple of hours later, we were all gathered in the large gardens in front of the Glen complex. I had occasionally jogged here in the morning, when it was full of people exercising and doing yoga as well as geriatric members of the laughter club, laughing away their worries and stress. Now the worries and stress were perhaps higher than ever, but there was no laughing these away. Hundreds of families were gathered in the garden and, at last count, every building within a couple of kilometres was represented, all eager to hear what we had to share.
Mrs Khatri took them through all that we had learned: the attack on the Meluha, the confrontation of the previous night, and finally what the pilot had told us. I could see the shock on many faces, but perhaps an equal number were sceptic when she outlined a proposal for us to work together. The reality was that our building and our immediate neighbours had witnessed a lot of what had happened first-hand, but for the others, it still seemed too much to believe that things had changed so much.
Finally, someone from amidst the group came forward. He looked young, perhaps only a few years older than me, though he looked far fresher than I did and was wearing clean clothes. Over the last few days, changing my clothes had not exactly been on my mind, neither had shaving; and as he walked up, I was conscious of just how unkempt I looked compared to him. When he spoke, it was clearer why he was so opposed to our proposal of pooling resources. He lived in one of the more premium apartment complexes, further down the road from Haiko, which housed a good number of CEOs, senior executives and business tycoons. Someone next to me whispered that the man was the scion of one of the biggest business houses in India and this apartment was only one of many his family had in the complex.
‘Mrs Khatri, we understand what you’re saying, but our security is still in place and ours is a pretty self-contained pair of complexes with a single common entrance. We also have the small walking park next to us with a lake there, so water is not an immediate concern. Our security guards are also all on duty. We can manage for a few days, and don’t see the need to panic and put in place all sorts of committees and so on.’
What he was saying made a lot of sense—if we assumed things would be back to normal in a few days. I didn’t know how to convince him of my certainty that they wouldn’t. I realized that, for people like him, living a life already so far removed from the stresses and strains of ordinary folk, it was hard to comprehend that things could change so much. As he and the few of his building residents who had bothered to come along walked away, I only hoped that they saw the light before their food stocks began to run out or when their guards finally deserted them.
Our disappointment was repeated when several other buildings agreed to help in keeping watch at night, but felt we were overreacting in putting in place a committee or programme to pool water and food resources. Many of them simply said that they would prefer to wait and watch for a few more days. Some did, however, agree to join us, and we decided to get going with what we had.
As we dispersed, everyone got busy. Kundu had organized a small army of volunteers, some to scout out food supplies in nearby stores, and a smaller number to accompany Rani to Haiko. We were still not breaking into shops that were locked, and paying cash for what we took, but I wondered how long that would last before someone in some other building got desperate enough to start looting.
Nitish had his own set of volunteers and was going from society to society, trying to get their generators working; unfortunately, for the most part, they were poorly maintained to begin with and most societies were still going to be without any power.
Pandey had gathered a group of young men whom he was talking to about patrols at night and setting up checkpoints at intersections. Most of the kids looked terrified, and I wondered how they would hold up if there was any real trouble. Not very well, I suspected, but they were all we had. Trying to make myself useful, I joined Pandey and made the kids agree that if they saw any looters approach, they were not to confront them but to blow on whistles which we distributed. Each group of four had its own signal: one blast of the whistle for the Central Avenue team, two for the team near the private road towards Chandivali, and so on. If we heard the signal, we would rush to aid the team in need, armed with the two guns we had between us. The General had given me his remaining ammunition—all twenty-four rounds—but the mere presence of the guns made our volunteers look a lot more confident than they perhaps would have been otherwise.
The General was not happy that so many societies were not participating. ‘Bloody fools will realize only when it’s too late. Anyway, Pandey, have a team stationed at the old station near Delphi where the Hiranandani guards were based. They can watch three access roads, including the one from the lake. They will also be pretty far away from us, so instead
of relying on the whistle alarms alone, have a roving group on bicycles that can shuttle between posts with news.’
Reassured that security was in the hands of people better qualified to deal with it than me, I began to walk away, but was stopped by Megha. ‘We never talked about healthcare. People will fall sick, and someone or the other is bound to get hurt. Let’s reopen the hospital. I’m there, Dr Guenther and his wife will help, and there are at least three doctors among the residents of the societies who’re joining us.’
It was something we had missed, but the idea of the hospital reopening didn’t appeal to me. It was set off away from any housing society, with dark access alleys that could never be guarded. Then I realized that my instinctive dislike for the idea came from the thought of Megha there all alone and with little protection.
‘Why don’t you guys operate out of the Forest Club? Get the medicines from the hospital and set up there. It’s closer to all our societies and easier to protect.’
The Forest Club was the largest club in the neighbourhood, with a swimming pool, tennis court and a gym. It was a large building and very centrally located compared to the hospital.
Megha nodded and said in passing, ‘I’ll also find a spot there to sleep.’
As she walked away, something in me wanted to ask her to stay at my place, but I stopped myself. We barely knew each other, and I was nobody to ask such a thing of her. I had never even asked if she was married or had a boyfriend or not. Then I reminded myself to stop thinking about my non-existent love life and worry about more immediate concerns, like helping Pandey draw up the roster for the patrols that would begin that evening.
General Lamba and I were taking a rare break, sipping tea in front of my building. It was four in the evening and we thought we’d take a breather before night fell and security once again became our top priority. Kundu arrived, followed by over a dozen people, and a rather animated debate followed involving, of all things, shit. Honestly, shit. Kundu said that several toilets were already backing up because the sewage systems were connected to pumps that were no longer working, so—especially for apartments in the higher floors—using toilets was already an issue. Kundu also had a very strong point of view on something, but the others didn’t agree with him.
‘Do you even know how much water is used every time you flush? We need to prioritize water for drinking, first and foremost, and then for cleaning, both ourselves and our utensils. That’s what we need to focus on, and with us needing to get water for all our families, we can’t take supply for granted.’
Someone looked to the General, as if seeking support.
‘Sir, he is saying we should go to the bathroom in the open. We are not animals.’
Kundu put up his hands in exasperation. ‘Rohit, I said no such thing. All I said is that we should use common bathrooms and on the ground floor. The gardens have public toilets which we should use. Those won’t require the pumping stations to work as they are at ground level and I can probably figure out some manual system to pump out waste.’
Rohit was clearly not convinced. ‘There are hundreds of families here. We can’t all use a few public toilets, and honestly, every time I need to take a dump, do you expect me to climb downstairs and walk to one of those toilets?’
‘Yes,’ Kundu said. ‘Or you keep using your bloody toilet and wait for it to clog up. There won’t be a bloody plumber you can call to fix it. At least I hope you realize it, and I also hope you realize what a selfish pig you’ll be for flushing down water that could be enough for a person to drink for a full day every time you take your precious dump.’
Rohit looked angry, but said nothing. The General stepped in. ‘Folks, what’s clear is that it is no longer business as usual. It’s been four days and we need to be ready for the fact that this is just the beginning. The more we stick together and the more we trust those among us who know about things we don’t, the better we’ll fare. To be honest, I had never thought of toilets and water supply, but what Kundu says makes a lot of sense. So I would let him lead us in this matter.’
As the group left, the General chuckled speaking softly, almost to himself, ‘My, my, the things that we need to deal with now.’
With the others gone, I took the chance to ask the General something that had been on my mind. ‘General, do you think someone actually exploded nukes in the atmosphere? Who could it have been? How would they get missiles?’
‘Aadi, I don’t know if they did, though based on what we see happening around us and what the pilot said, it’s possible. Who could have done it? Any number of people—terrorists, rogue states like North Korea, jihadi elements in the Pakistani Army, or indeed, a combination of any and all of those.’
‘But why would they do it? Everyone’s back in the medieval ages now.’
The General looked at me and I began to see fear creep into his eyes. ‘Don’t you get it? That suits people like these terrorists perfectly. They would be happy turning back the clock and recreating what they view as an ideal society, what we would see as medieval and barbaric. Also, now there’s no air power, no drones, no tanks. If it comes down to men with guns in the darkness, they’ve levelled the playing field.’
It wasn’t that cold but I shivered involuntarily. It was one thing to deal with a small gang of looters, but we were not prepared or equipped to deal with armed terrorists.
‘Do you think they’re out there?’
‘If they did this, I’m sure they are out there. Hell, they would have had sleeper cells in place even in normal times, and if this was planned, then they’re all going to be active now. I suppose, though, that they’ll be seizing the port, airports, hitting military installations and so on as priority instead of worrying about housing societies.’
The way he said the last sentence made me feel like he was reassuring himself as much as me.
‘But General, we will fight back, won’t we?’
‘Sure we will. The Americans will have all their submarines running and most of their nukes are on them. If they find out who did this, you can be sure cruise missiles and perhaps nukes will be flying soon. I’m sure the military will get the technology up and running soon. The question is whether they will be fast enough. And, if they’re dealing with all that, they will not be able to regroup in time to do much about law and order on an everyday basis.’
We sat there wondering what was indeed happening in the world that lay beyond our small neighbourhood. However, one thing was clear. No matter what happened there, and the extent to which this was indeed a global problem or not, for the immediate future, we were well and truly on our own.
SEVEN
That night was uneventful, though I barely got any sleep. Insomnia seemed to be the new normal and I wondered how long I would manage without more than a couple of hours of sleep each night. What had kept me up was the knowledge that, while our patrols were out, the reality was that they were scared kids or middle-aged office-goers, and if a gang did show up again, chances were they would either fold and run or get hurt trying to stop them. So, when I was supposed to take a break, I felt a bit guilty leaving them out there. I borrowed a bicycle and rode most of the night from one position to another, checking on things, and sometimes just chatting with them.
Near the entry from the Ghatkopar road, I recognized one of the boys Pandey had placed there.
‘Hey Yash, how are you holding up?’ I called out.
He got up and bowed, which to anyone else would have appeared silly. Yash was a college student and a brown belt I had met at the dojo I used to train at. He was all confidence and swagger at the dojo but now I could see he was scared.
‘Aadi, this is too weird to be real. Do you really think we’re going to be like this forever?’
He was there with two more kids and an adult who was sitting, reading a novel by the light of his torch.
‘Yash, forever is a big word—sooner or later things will start looking up. The Army will mobilize and help will reach us. But we are a
huge country, and there will be lots of people out there without food, medicine and security. We need to hold out the best we can till things do improve.’
I gently tapped the adult on the shoulder. There was no point being hard on anyone as everyone was freaking out, but he did need to know that we could no longer take things for granted. ‘I wouldn’t read that novel now. You’re using up batteries that we can’t exactly pick up at any store we want anymore—and you’re giving away your position to anyone looking in towards you.’
He immediately switched off the torch and looked out towards the blackness of the night, wondering, as we all were, who might be out there.
As I left, I thought about the other thing that was making me restless: how was Megha holding up? So, in the morning, I went to the club, carrying a thermos filled with tea. Judging from the way she looked, she had not had much sleep either. She accepted the tea and we sat next to the swimming pool as we talked.
‘Nobody will be swimming here for some time. Kundu’s got a smart idea of using this as our reserve of water to be shared among all the societies.’
She nodded, but her thoughts were somewhere else.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’
She smiled, though I could see the tension in her eyes.
‘A night without chaos is sometimes not a good thing. It gives you time to think. To think of my parents in Kolkata. To think of my sister in New York. I have no idea how they are holding up.’
As we sat there, talking about our backgrounds, our families and what we had done with our lives before being thrown together by this chaos, I was struck by just how much one could learn about and connect with a person in one single conversation. No, we were not ‘liking’ each other’s Facebook posts, no we were not ‘tagging’ each other, and no we were not taking selfies together. In short, we were not doing any of the things we used to do that passed for connecting with someone. In the process we had missed out on simple conversations like this; what we had taken to be connections were merely electronic crutches that could be taken away by the flick of a switch.
