The sound of an earthquake

Photo Credits: edit lead

The significance of January 26 is not restricted to the Republic Day for Gujarat. The date that marks national celebration and pride got irrevocably mixed with memories of personal loss, death and destruction since the 2001 earthquake.

When the earthquake struck, I was in deep slumber. In that dreamy, semi conscious state of mind, when the bed first shook, and I got tossed to a side, I assumed it was someone trying to wake me up. But, those ominous vibrations multiplied into violent physical turbulence that rocked the double bed like a firecracker gone awry. The shake and rattle was accompanied by the most fearsome sound I have heard: The sound of an earthquake.

The earth started speaking out in a mild, concentrated groan. The sound seemed to come in concentric circles - much like sound of a heavy hand-held stone flourmill - or like the sound a Tibetan bowl makes when a wooden mallet is moved around its circumference. The circular drumming noise pierced right through the bed. When I ran out, I noticed the three steps that mark a level in the house were moving like a wave.

The tremors had stopped. Our houses were intact. The neighbours were discussing what they were doing when they realized it was a quake; and how they ran for life. Once outside our house, we noticed father was missing and panicked. We saw him coming out of our neighbour’s house carrying the invalid grandpa on his shoulder. Then, his act seemed rather foolish. The earthquake forced us to recognize an undeniable, selfish instinct to survive. In running out of the house, I overtook my slow-paced grandmother. An aunt sounded a common alert “Earthquake! Wake up!” before running out alone. The uncle who had opened the door for a guest scattered off from the door itself. My cousin still complains that no one waited for her to wake up.

Once the phone and internet connection was restored, news of building collapses from all over the city started pouring in. The night of January 26, I slept with running shoes on. Everyone cracked jokes on my expense. But, around 4 am, there was an aftershock. A solid jerk swayed the wall I was sleeping against. Everyone, but I, ran out bare feet in the bitter cold. The next day, three families who stayed in multi-storey flats moved in bags and baggage to stay with the neighbours. These families stayed very close to Mansi Tower, a building that collapsed killing 22 residents.

The neighbour’s house became an oasis for us. With the arrival of the new families, we were now eight teenagers thrown together by circumstance. Scared though we were, we tried not to show it. We sat talking in the sunshine for the most part. Aunties cried in the kitchen unsure of the extent of the damage to their homes, unable to cope with the news of death pouring in and uncles talked in hushed tones over cups of tea. To keep us quiet and out of the way, all adults ensured that trays of food and drinks were sent out to us at regular intervals.

The memories of the earthquake begin with chaotic humour in our house but immediately develop into a series of morose, unidentifiable emotions that battle death with hope. Death is personal; till it doesn't affect your select group of people, you are not in a position to truly comprehend its meaning. The Gujarat earthquake killed around 20,000 people, injured around 1.6 lakh and destroyed more than 4 lakh buildings. Everyone was affected in some way.

In the days following the earthquake, the better part of was full of obituaries. The broadsheet looked like a systematic collage of passport-sized photos that day. It was nerve-wracking to scan the photos, fearing that the face of an acquaintance may just stare back at you.

Some days later I got to know that a friend had lost both parents. Another friend had lost her classmate. A few days later, I went to my cousin's house. She took me out on a bike and in less than ten minutes, we had seen half a dozen damaged/collapsed buildings. She pointed out to a building in which her favourite professor lived. He had lost both his daughters and his wife; he escaped because he was attending the flag salutation at the college. Death had brushed too close that year; it had impacted everyone in some way.

Schools and colleges were shut. While volunteering to segregate clothes and other donated items, it was sometimes overwhelming to see the generosity of people. We saw individuals collecting relief items, we saw trucks of food and medicines dispatched daily, youth took buses and trains to volunteer in villages they hadn’t heard of.

The biggest question that plagues till date is the reason behind the stark difference in reaction to an equally devastating tragedy that struck us the next year. While we witnessed a genuine surge of humanity and help during the earthquake, there was an atmosphere of viciousness, connivance, support or silence in response to the atrocities being perpetrated during the February 2002 riots. Both, the earthquake and the riots questioned man’s assumed superiority, both brought man to his knees; and both brought out the best and the worst in him.

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