The Banyan Tree

Ours is a beautifully manicured complex in Kolkata. 15 gardeners work through the year to keep it that way.

And in the middle of the complex stands a tree, a large banyan. Often you would see folks especially parent children duos sitting out there talking before the lockdown.

Day before evening, Cyclone Amphan hit.

Winds howled and roared. Doors and windows beating hard to stay shut. Water seeped in through window frames, through wherever it could make way. Transformers burst around and you could see fire crackling up across the walls. The sounds. The sudden loosening up of a flex canopy still held in a corner, flailing in that wind, like bursting crackers.

Oh, the sounds! My little one quietly found himself in my lap and cuddled himself to sleep. The older one quickly found himself a book to disappear into. The few hours seemed like forever.

And suddenly it quietened. It was calm again.

But our phones were filling up with the devastation across the city. Pictures and videos quickly being shared. It wasn't looking good. Yet another reminder of our privilege.

Morning came and there was no network, so the world outside was shut for us. Most phone lines were out. Concerned messages coming in through a spotty vodaphone network. Airtel was dead.

It's been a day. Things are looking up. I hear from people that power is back in most places. Water is receding. Some are however patiently waiting for restoration, of power, of normalcy. Our internet is back, the normalcy of our daily has been retrieved overnight.

But from my balcony I see the mighty tree fallen.

Laying bare across the ground.

A quiet reminder lest we forget, that FOR SOME, normal will never be the same.