It is hard to believe that night has come.
All day we waited for news that my Granduncle and aunt were safe.
That choppers had reached them or they had been taken into boats, somewhere safe.

All these days I kept hearing about the Kerala rains.
I even made a few calls to check if people I know were safe.
But there was a certain detachment to it.
Kerala has never been much of a home for me…
And after my Grandmother passed away, emotionally, I cut some ties, let some distance crawl in.

The walls came down this afternoon…
This time as I called number after number, send desperate messages seeking help, tears were streaming down. I was reminded of how close some things are, no matter how distant you pretend them to be.
The detachment was long gone.
This was our home wrecked in havoc, our people crying out for help.
Our homes washed under water.
The thought of them huddled together brought me into such a state of helplessness.
I called my father to give him strength, and instead broke down.

Night is here, and all I have in my head is them up there — cold, hungry and unwell.
Rescue won’t reach them or multitudes of people tonight.

But I know that old, cold and huddled up in darkness, my people will be singing.
Neighbours and friends alike. They will be singing songs of His glory. 
Songs of His steadfast love. 
Songs of His mercy and songs of Praise. 
They will get past this night through their FAITH.

Help will come to my people. Help will come tomorrow. 
And we will as one — not divided by religion, politics, or food — overcome. 

And in that faith, I rest.


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