Life Amidst Jolts And Tremors

Everyone was staring out of the window since we had entered Nepalese airspace, trying to get a glimpse of the devastation left by the earthquake.

As I would find out later, many were aid workers and a smattering of journalists (who else would be heading into a disaster-struck zone while everyone else was on their way out).

It was Day 3 and unlike the reports I had read, we didn't circle above the airport for a long time before landing.

At some time past 9:00 AM, the Indian Airlines flight finally landed on Kathmandu's Tribhuvan Airport with a thud.

There was a lot of activity on the tarmac. The international bay was full with nine planes (including the one we rode in on). Another plane landed just after ours with Chinese rescue workers in blue jumpsuits. Indian Air Force personnel were unloading relief material from a Hercules C-130.

Immigration and customs was a breeze — cursory glances and quick stamps.

Outside the arrival section, it was sheer bedlam. There were long queues of people waiting to take a flight out of the country. It appeared that you had to take a number and wait your turn. Sometimes, the Nepalese security personnel lost their cool while trying to shepherd the people back into the straight lines just like class monitors in school.

Amidst this Babel, Nepalese TV journalists went about their work. A TV camera was trying to get a grab of an Indian boy holding a placard upside down. It said something about Modi being big talk and no action on the ground. His extended family stood behind him bearing the same placards. They seemed agitated that they got no help from the Indian embassy — the largest foreign mission in Nepal.

Like a good soldier, I posted those photos on social media. Unfortunately, it didn't accelerate help anywhere but acted as social media troll bait.

Outside the terminal building, there were some open spaces and like the rest of Kathmandu, people had set up tents and were camping there.

That was what the rest of Nepal looked like. Everywhere, people camped outdoors. This included those whose houses had not collapsed.

Kathmandu chaos

The afternoon I landed, Kathmandu was chequered with tents in all of its open spaces. People lived like refugees in their own city — on the Golf Course, at Tudikhel near Ratna Park, at the airport and so on.

All of these were converted into mini relief camps — one of the largest being at the park in Tudikhel. Some people managed to find tarpaulin sheets and when the first attempts at relief began, tents were the highest priority.

Mostly local families occupied tents. Those living alone in the city — who had migrated there for work — could not get tents.

A day after the first major quake, Gupta Khadka, a cook from Gorkha district (the epicenter of the earthquake), went back to his boarding house near the interstate bus stand to get a blanket. He could not talk to his family back home, he could not find his friends and soon his mobile battery gave up on the failed calls and ran out of juice.

While scrounging around for food, Khadka stumbled across Rama Thapa, an old friend from Bhaktapur. They huddled together in Khadka's blanket under the open sky because they could not get a tent. "When it rains, we crowd with others in the spectator stands. There is rain from above and a fear of danger from below," he said.

Both Thapa and Khadka were from the hospitality industry. After the first quake, they fled their small businesses when they saw the devastation around them. Since aftershocks kept coming, they decided to leave the deathtraps they worked in and "take shelter" in the open — rain or no rain.

"We will leave when everyone else leaves," they chorused.

For a week, Tudikhel stayed the way it did — till people started to head back home.

The tourists

In 2013, when I had gone to cover the aftermath of the flash floods, there was lots to eat and drink till Guptkashi and even in Sonprayag. After that, it was a no man's land except for what the Indian Army and the Indian Air Force choppers brought in as relief for the stranded pilgrims.

In Kathmandu, finding food and water was difficult. So, was shelter. The taxi from the airport took me near Freak Street to look for budget hotels. Tourists sat on the pavement with their suitcases wondering where to go next.

Thousands of stranded tourists made their way to the relief camps and then on to the airport. The hotels and restaurants in Thamel and around Freak Street had downed their shutters and evicted the guests because some of the buildings there had also come crumbling down, killing their inhabitants. Besides, these areas are like any other city's areas catering to backpackers and budget travelers. The narrow lanes passing through thin buildings crowding on top of each other felt dangerous after the earthquake.

Four hotels were operational in Thamel — another area for backpackers. One didn't have any more rooms to let out, while two asked for around USD 100 a night. The fourth — Hotel Samsara gave me rooms at a discounted rate.

"We somehow have water from today, and that is all I can offer you," said the manager, adding, "I cannot guarantee food."

The packet of cashew nuts from the airport and the hotel's bottles of water helped me sustain the next two days.

The streets of Kathmandu were deserted and the shops were shut.

The next night, the first place I saw open was "Mirchi Dance Bar Pvt Ltd". A group of three, drunken Indians stumbled out discussing their capers inside in North Indian-accented Hindi.

The aftershocks

Every few hours, people said they felt aftershocks. Some would just stand wherever they were. Others would rush outdoors. Some of these were false alarms and some were real. I felt one sometime on the second day when the table on the hotel lawn rattled a little. Several people rushed out fearing the ground would crack open.

On April 30, two people were arrested for spreading false rumours that an earthquake of magnitude 9 was going to hit at any time. While the Nepalese police said they were high on intoxicants, there was fear that burglars would try to abuse the fear to steal valuables from the abandoned houses. Local news agencies reported that the police had also arrested some people for trying to burgle houses while their inhabitants were outside.

When the alarm was sounded, I joined a friend outside his home in Kathmandu. Everyone tried to act normal but there was an underlying layer of fear. That night, in my hotel, for the first time, I felt an aftershock. It rattled my bed while I lay on it and the stairs as I scrambled down them. Many people did not run down because, after a point, people were tired of scampering each time the ground shook. Later, it was reported as a 4.9 magnitude tremor.

The next day there was another one. I was seated on the floor of a home somewhere in Sindhupalchowk district taking notes of devastation and the fear when I got a glimpse of the fear. The ground shook and I felt the chair I was leaning against tremble a little.

Each of the aftershocks set off a little panic in my heart. As reporters, we learn to choke fear and often we reach places after the worst has happened. But, in Nepal, this fear was in present continuous and one never knew where one would be when the next tremor hit.

The demons we serve

A large section of the Indian media was more interested in hyperbole, strong arming the security personnel for access and aerial surveys of the Sino-Nepal border on helicopters that would be better employed in relief and rescue work.

One TV news channel discussed about beef being used in food sent from Pakistan, while another kept running a story on one lakh copies of the Bible being deployed on a plane. 

Near Sundhara in Kathmandu, three Indian photojournalists argued with Nepalese police for access to an area for photographs. The policemen could not let them go because two JCB machines were lifting debris onto a truck and the area had been cordoned off for safety. The social media hashtag #GoHomeIndianMedia didn't come as a surprise. 

The government's bureaucratic attitude towards controlling relief put a high premium on reaching essential items to many places such as Sindhupalchowk district (within 65 km of Kathmandu) which suffered major damages.

Just outside Saping village, security personnel turned away reporters and aid workers, saying that only government vehicles and personnel could pass. "We are giving relief, your presence will cause a hindrance to our work," said the counter-insurgency personnel posted there.

Sindhupalchowk district is hilly and the earthquake set off landslides closing many of the roads. Villages in the Dolalghat area complained of damages to at least 50% of their houses. 

While other journalists were bumbling around the rest of Nepal, the hopeless state of affairs also had made heroes of some. Jason Burke, South Asian correspondent for the Guardian, was also reporting in Sarothok village of Sindhupalchowk district when he learnt of their food scarcity. Instead of rushing back to "outscoop" others, Burke immediately bought 200 kilos of rice for the villagers.

Relief congestion

The 65-foot-high chariot of Rato Machhindranath, an important religious figure of the Newar community, stood bent at a 75-degree-angle outside Bungmagti, two giant ropes tethering it to a pole to keep it from keeling over again. Worried faces surrounded it and offer prayers and flowers.

The myth goes that any harm to the chariot would mean a major devastation for the entire country. Locals claimed that the chariot was damaged before the earthquake and set off the natural disaster.

Whether there was any truth in the superstition or not, it had brought severe damage to the town. Many houses lay in ruins with personal belongings trapped indoors.

Nirvana and Rahul Chaudhary, scions of the Chaudhary Group (known for their Wai Wai noodles), were distributing relief materials including food, medicines and water to those in the relief camps.

The Chaudhary group seemed quite active in relief work, as did most of the Nepali youth, which had rolled up their sleeves and dived headlong into the relief work. The Chaudhary group headquarters in Kathmandu had been damaged and the sole three-roomed building in the offices had been converted into a war room for the post-earthquake relief work. A lot of the countrywide relief included distributing the instant noodles that could be eaten directly from the packet.

Chaudhary Group mobilised their marketing and sales network to spread the relief work. Trucks drove out of their warehouses and factories with Wai Wai noodles, water bottles, juice boxes and other goods for distribution.

Despite its proximity, government-sponsored and international relief started arriving in Bhaktapur and Lalitpur much later. The NGOs in Nepal who work on other projects in these areas started to organise efforts to keep the people safe and healthy. But, there was restriction on the kind of work they could do, including medical treatment for viral fevers, cold and injuries.

When the relief work started, it seemed to be too much and disorganised. Back in Kathmandu, the government had devised a single-window system for relief. This meant that all resources for relief must flow into the government, which would then decide on whether to accept it and where to send it.

There was intense media criticism as medicine, food, other relief materials and even human resources lay stocked in Kathmandu and did not move out. If it was an exercise of sovereignty or autonomy, it was clearly mis-timed.

***

Kathmandu did not take long to trudge back to normalcy. By May 2, exactly a week after the earthquake, the citizens started rolling up their tents and bedding and heading home. This was despite aftershocks that kept coming at least twice a day. On Monday, May 4, people started to reopen some shops and attending offices because they had to start rebuilding their lives. But for interior areas, out of the spotlight, it will take much longer.