In Chennai, when it rains, it pours privileged-class hypocrisy

Music & Noise

There was a time when residents of Chennai, then known as Madras, looked forward to the months of October and November. Along with our ‘cold’ December (at 22°C) when the monkey caps came out, this was the only period when we could claim that the weather was as comfortable as that of Bengaluru. The city that is our bête noire. There was also hope in the waiting. The Madras I grew up in was a city of droughts and water scarcity; hence we prayed for good rains. There was the year when a famous violinist went to the Red Hills reservoir and played the rain-inducing raga Amritavarshini in the hope that the rain god would respond favourably.

Gen Z may find this difficult to believe because, ever since the floods of 2015, Chennai-ites dread the arrival of these months. If a weather forecaster even hints at the possibility of one heavy downpour, we hit the panic button. A week ago, I witnessed this anxiety among the middle and upper-middle class. As we drove back to Chennai from Kanchipuram, people had parked their cars on flyovers, afraid of the heavy rains forecast for the next day! Many thronged supermarkets to stock up. This was not a storm; it was a depression, the first among many that kiss our coastline in this period. But, this urgency comes from past trauma and the material loss in the past decade.

None of this is new to residents from lower-income groups, living in vulnerable areas of the city for decades. Water inside homes, overflowing sewage, and loss of property, have always been part of their lives. Only the intensity has increased. My romanticism of the past, calling October and November as welcoming months, also comes from the comfort of upper-class insulation. Only when the floods hit the upper middle-class did everyone — including the media — pay attention to the problem. Now, every rainy season, social media is inundated with complaints about the state of affairs and pictures are taken every few hours of the same spot to highlight the problem. At the same time, appreciation also pours in when water is pumped out or the stormwater drains do their job. But here, too, there is an accepted prioritisation in which the marginalised get secondary treatment.

In other words, the socially influential class get their streets dry and cleaned before anyone else. One may argue that this is the way things work all around the world. True, but that does not make it right.

The majority of people belonging to the category that gets preferential civic service rarely engage seriously with the systemic and structural reasons that have made flooding common in the city. Their activism stops with using cloth bags, buying organic foods, wanting better roads, and garbage segregation. In fact, if water stops coming into their houses, the problem ceases to exist in their eyes. Chennai’s urban landscape includes three rivers (Cooum, Adyar and Kosasthalayar) and many man-made waterways, the best known canal being the Buckingham Canal. Though the class-ists complain about the stench around the Cooum and the Buckingham Canal, they do nothing but raise their car windows and look at the people who live around the waters with disdain. This section will also place all the blame for the filth squarely on those who live on its banks and have nowhere to go.

The Kosasthalayar river flows in the northern most parts of the city, far away from the more socially-privileged areas and is, therefore, ignored. In fact, most Chennai residents do not even know of this river! Suburbs in and around this river are dotted with thermal power stations and other toxic factories. This river is dying, there are obstructions along it and the Ennore creek connected to it. This prevents flood waters from draining into the sea. Further north, and part of the same wetland network, is the Pulicat Lake that is under threat from Adani’s mega-port plan on its Kattupalli Island. This entire region from Pulicat to Manali is a natural cushion for Chennai during the monsoons. I do not see the privileged middle-class participating robustly to stop any of these incursions or overreaches.

Many of the newer developments in Chennai that go under water very quickly are also occupied by the same classes. You will find them waxing eloquent about how lakes are being converted to plots, even sharing posts about private individuals reviving lakes. Yet, they will invest in properties that were taken out of lakes. The excuse that there are no other economically reasonable locations in the city is a false argument.

Then, there is that magic word ‘development’ that this group loves! The plan to build a new airport for the city, in a place called Parandur, has been approved. This airport will be built on agricultural wetlands and waterbodies. Building in this area will have a direct impact on the Adyar river, as Parandur is part of its rural catchment. Raise this issue with the fortunate lot and you will hear the usual gyan about such trade-offs being unavoidable. Unfortunately, the voices of the inhabitants of these areas are not listened to with respect. Though there are processes for consultations, these rarely work because political and corporate might wins. The upper middle-class will complain about political corruption but will vehemently defend corporate vulgarity. They will even go a step further and accuse all those who participate in protests as anti-growth, leftist and disruptors.

I write about my city but everything I have said here will be applicable to cities across India. Politicians are aware that the privileged can be easily placated. Even if their needs are not fully met, this group will avoid actively participating in the democratic process. I am not saying that the only way they can contribute to this dialogue is by coming on to the street. They can work with affected communities, influence changes in cultural mind-sets, educate or support legal challenges. But their inaction gives the powerful a free pass to diminish the lives of the disenfranchised. I am a member of this section of society and will admit shamefully that our refusal to sacrifice personal comfort for the sake of our collective wellbeing makes us the most self-serving section of society.