Custom Search

The Day After A Stormy Night

By Humera Ahmed, Mumbai, India

It was a bright day .Sunlight streamed in through the windows. This was the first dry day after a long spell of rain. Iqbal Anwar sighed with relief.  Today he had been able to read the newspaper   in the natural light, lying in his bed.  Otherwise, he had to wheel himself to the table and read it with   the aid of the bright light of the lamp. 

He had marked two articles: one regarding some homemade remedies for improving digestion and another on heart health. Age and  confinement to a wheel chair for 10 years  had  badly impacted his digestion and heart muscles .He was nearly seventy five  and his heart was failing  and he was dependent on diuretics The sedentary life style  led to chronic constipation. Amena  had made a mixture of grounded cumin seeds , coriander seeds and jaggery to help in the digestion  and the article confirmed this remedy, adding  to it a concoction of ginger  and honey  . Luckily for him he was not diabetic and was able to indulge his sweet tooth. The article on heart health laid emphasis on consumption of garlic and onions and also on ground onion seeds tea but the best remedy, it was stated, was to keep off stress. This was easier said than done.

Iqbal Anwar sighed as he folded the paper and placed it in the tray on the stool at his bedside. Stress, Anxiety, Helplessness and Loneliness had become a part of his life. And besides his own helplessness he worried about Amena, his widowed daughter. Though he had wanted her to remarry and have a life of her own, she had chosen to look after her parents as both his sons were in USA and reluctant to return.  After Sultana’s death and his paralysis he was totally dependent on her.

“Sahab, the lunch is ready.”  He heard the maid call out and realised with a start that it was nearly 2 pm.  He wheeled himself slowly to the dining table.  Lunch was the main meal of the day and  Amena ensured that his favourite   sweats  and puddings were served along with salads and curries of his choice , for at  night he only took soup with  toast.

The lunch served was as per his liking and he settled down to partake it.  As per routine, the maid left after ascertaining that he was satisfied. He ate leisurely, savouring the caramel custard pudding. The pudding recipe  had been indigenised by   Sultana,   as had many other western sweets .She really had magic fingers as far as culinary skills was concerned .He let out another sigh – that’s what life was at this juncture   – a caravan of memories. He was about to finish his lunch when a deafening roar of thunder, the like of which he had not heard before, pierced his ears. Then suddenly   it was pitch dark and night suddenly descended in the dining room.  Then  a flash of  lightening  and  another roar of deafening thunder.

Fear seized him: he realised the gravity of the situation and his inadequateness in coping  with it.  He had to reach his bedroom where his torch was kept and also the phone .Carefully and slowly, feeling the sides of the table he inched his way towards the bedroom. As he was moving he heard the clatter of rain on the window pane. Then   it started pouring   as if the sky’s belly was ripped apart disgorging all the water in it. His hands fumbled and shook nervously as he pulled at the knob of his bedroom door and entered.

He knew exactly where the torch was kept or for that matter all the items of his daily needs. He  had never misplaced  anything  ,he had  a place for  each and every thing  and keep it there only so that it could be located even in the dead of night !    He    groped his way in the dark, reached the side table and picked up the torch. The flash of light illuminating   familiar objects in his room  returned his confidence to some extent.

But an hour and half later, with the  fury of the rain unabated panic struck him;  he knew  Mumbai would get flooded  and then it would be impossible for Amena  to  make her way home from her  office which  was nearly 20 km away. He decided to call her.

Amena took the line nervously, when the buzzer sounded in the middle of a meeting and her father came on line He sounded worried; it seems it was pouring there   and the lights had gone off. It was strange since it was absolutely dry in South Mumbai. The sky was a nice clear blue .But since he sounded so worried she promised to leave early.

She had hardly  put down the phone  when  a colleague’s  wife rang to inform that North Mumbai, from Bandra  onwards  was flooded. News soon flashed that many low lying areas of Mumbai were submerged. It was nearly 4.30 pm and Amena concerned about her father’s condition wound up the meeting and started for home. When she left at ten minutes to 5 pm it had started raining there too.

At 5pm,  the Police Commissioner's  office  gave an alert  not to  move  out  as  large parts of  Central and North  Mumbai   were  flooded and  traffic movement was impossible .But  by that time, Amena’s car was caught in an enormous traffic jam of vehicles  and people desperately trying to reach home. The cars were hardly moving. She didn’t want to get stuck.  At about 7 pm when they had only inched a mile she called her father and informed him that she would be late.  She got out of the car and joined the motley crowds walking grim- faced in the pouring rain desperate to reach home.


Sitting on his bed in his pitch dark  room Iqbal Anwar heard the small round clock with its green fluorescent arms strike ten.  Each strike of the clock increased his misery as the storm continued to rage outside.  The phone was dead from 7 o' clock itself. Lying alone in the dark, unable to call for help he became fearful and apprehensive of Amena’s safety and prayed desperately for her safe return.

The incessant rain reminded him of the night Sultana   had died.  That too had happened in July when the Mumbai monsoon was at its heaviest. Rain, pouring rain, and floods seemed to be linked to the most momentous occasions in his life. His mother had never tired of talking of the night he was born. It was midnight in the month of August and it was pouring when the labour pains started. There was sheer panic: getting a midwife, getting the stuff ready for the delivery.

His marriage to Sultana was in July when the monsoon was in full swing and the wedding party had been stranded on the other side of a flooded river.  Since they could not cross it, the marriage had to be postponed by a week. Amena too had been born during the monsoon but thankfully it had only drizzled that evening .But after his wife’s death he had been very apprehensive whenever it poured. Today all his latent rain fears surfaced.


The Short Story continued here....