24 hours

The last 24 hours have been the longest in my entire existence. I last spoke to Ranjan exactly 24 hours ago and his words were: we are in dire straits and need help. It is an SOS. Then silence. The network died and I have been unable to establish direct contact and if one is to believe the news, connectivity will be resumed in 48 to 72 hours. The last I heard was that Ranjan was in his hotel that was relatively safe as on a higher point but part of his group was in a hotel situated at a lower level and its two floors had been flooded. He was feeling helpless as there was no way he could reach out to them and worried as they were now without food or water as kitchen and stores are rarely on upper floors. I wonder if they have run out of provisions in his hotel by now. I hope not. I also realise that I will not know if and when they are rescued because of the communication breakdown. I have never felt so helpless.

For a control freak like me this is a nightmare. Helplessness is the sworn enemy of control freaks and I have been turning like a lion in a cage the whole day. Finally here I am resorting to the only known catharsis for me: writing. Wonder how I spent the day. True to my control freak persona I had to find 'things' to do and I did. I tried all the helplines I could find on news channel and on the net but NONE worked. So I sent Dharmendra, my colleague and strong support, to Jammu and Kashmir House and he was able to give the details and seek help. He saw the names been loaded on a computer but only God knows what would have happened to the list. It may be still sitting on the hard disk of the said computer. Then I wrecked my brain to find out at whose door I could knock and remembered and olf friend who is a senior officer in the Intelligence Bureau and contacted him. I presumed he would have some mean of communication. He promised to see what could he do and informed me that he had sent a rescue request. Not knowing whether it was acted upon is again nothing short of killing. I hope it has reached the right place and some action has been taken. I then turned to FB more to get some support and was overwhelmed by all the positive vibes that were sent to me. There were a few suggestions and I complied immediately.

But came the time when I knew I could do nothing else. And that is when I knew I had to 'write' as otherwise I would go insane. Writing helps me get rid of my angst and put things in perspective. Last year at about this time, I was battling Ranjan's cancer but I was in charge and that made things easier. I use to write everyday to share every aspect of my battle with all at large. Somehow putting it out there on the web helped in some strange way. It also helped me voicing the concerns and worries and that made addressing them a little easier. My main worry is of course Ranjan's health as much of his recovery is based on him following a healthy and strict regimen. I have been wondering about his food and water and the quality of the two, the later being more critical. The helplessness is at its zenith as I have no way of knowing and even less of helping. Even if I found my way to Srinagar there is little I could do.

I am also concerned about the stress Ranjan is going through as he is accompanied by a group of 50 golfers, some with spouses and I know how helpless he is feeling as knowing him, I know he feels responsible for each of them and will not budge unless all of them are safe. Part if his group is from Lahore and unfortunately they are in the hotel that is most affected. Now stress is cancer's worst enemy and I am keeping my fingers crossed hoping that the adrenaline rush he must be feeling, keeps him safe. I guess I will only know what is happening when he lands home after making sure his brood has landed home too.

As I write these words, I also realise how selfish one can be when a loved one is in trouble. This tragedy is huge and Ranjan and his pals will come back to safety once they are rescued. But what about the local people who have lost everything they own; the children in flooded hospitals, the elderly who can not move on their own. And what about the children who must be bewildered and scared beyond words. When will they come home, if home they have! My heart goes out to them and I feel a little guilty not having thought of them earlier. This is how writing helps me: to put things in perspective and take a little distance from my own limited concerns.