Bravehearts at work

On a bright Saturday, G Tamilpandi welcomes me to the Tambaram Fire Station in Chennai. He is the station officer (SO). He orders filter coffee and a lovely aroma fills the room.

. I see a Tamil novel by popular writer Balakumaran on Tamilpandi’s desk. He is a voracious reader. He has written 12 short stories but hasn’t published any yet. We are chatting about our common interest in Tamil literature when we hear a long bell. The station erupts into a flurry of activity. “This is a fire call. We should get going,” he tells me.

. The station has four kinds of vehicles. The team picks the 12,000-litre ‘Water Bowser’ for this assignment. We go behind the truck, hop on to a pedestal and get inside. I try to squeeze myself in with four firefighters. Firefighter J Sriram gives up his seat to me and occupies the space near the driver’s cabin. “Smoke is plummeting out of a two-wheeler near the airport,” Sriram updates Tamilpandi on the information they have so far.

. On the way, Tamilpandi apprises me of the protocol. “The vehicle should leave the fire station within 18 seconds of a long press of the bell. Even a few seconds of delay won’t do,” he says. Everything about an assignment is logged in manually and electronically.

. The airport is 5 km away and it takes us 14 minutes to reach the spot. The firemen jump out of the vehicle only to report, “Anti-climax”. There is no two-wheeler in sight. Tamilpandi orders his team to verify the information.

. A tender coconut seller offers an explanation: “The smoke was billowing from a two-wheeler for a while. That’s why they called you. But the vehicle owner put out the fire on his own and left.” After corroborating the story with others, Tamilpandi summons his team and yells, “The call is done.”

. We return to the station in 20 minutes. Not bad in mid-hour Chennai traffic, I think. But lead fireman J Naresh Kumar later tells me how painful it is to negotiate narrow roads in unplanned layouts. “When we look back, we wonder how we even got there,” he says with a smile.

. Snakes and catchers

. I return to the Tambaram Fire Station months later. Familiar scenes play out. The entry to outsiders is restricted. I am let in after a sentry alerts the SO. There are no women to be seen. Women are often posted in administrative roles, I am told.

. Except for lunchtime when the personnel laugh over jokes and Reels, the station is usually quiet. When they are not out rescuing, they inspect the fire vehicles, they attend classes on how to handle fire accidents without getting hurt, and they listen to pep talks by their seniors. It is a myth that the fire personnel have a lot of free time on their hands, Tamilpandi had told me on my first visit tersely.

. I am meeting special station officer (SSO) P K Ravichandran this time. Our freewheeling chat is interrupted by a call from Anakaputhur.

. Sriram speaks to the distressed caller, a woman, and hollers to his team: “A snake has entered a borewell at a house.” Four firemen hop on to a vehicle, equipped with torchlights and two snake-catching sticks.

. I learn that the firemen are also called to save people from floods and crashed buildings, catch snakes that stray into homes, and rescue animals that fall into wells and manholes.

. As they reach the spot, the woman rushes to inform them that the snake is peeking out every few moments. Sriram inspects the borewell and tells his team, “The snake has entered through a tiny gap. Let’s catch it.”

. Their composure contrasts with the panic that has gripped the onlookers. Sriram catches the snake in 10 minutes. It is a water snake, some three feet long. His team helps him dump the snake into a drum. They are closing the drum with a rope — the rope is a sign that there is a snake inside.

. “Snakes like cobras can bite even as we try to close the drum,” Sriram tells me as his team starts packing up. The snake will be released in a forest.

. Dual lives

. Not every day at a fire station is intense. The Tambaram station has got over 800 calls this year, mostly to catch snakes, rescue cats and cows, and save people from drowning besides fire accidents. Calls peak during Deepavali, and floods. It’s not uncommon for callers to fake urgency. A cow would have drowned already but the caller would say things like ‘It is struggling. You come fast’. Why? They know firemen are swift and they want them to come and remove the body.

. However, bad days can get really bad. In 2017, Sriram received the chief minister’s medal for daring to save two people from drowning inside a water treatment tank. After the rescue, he started suffocating inside the tank. He fell unconscious and woke up in a hospital. Sriram’s wife was surprised when her husband’s name was called out on the dais!

. “It is usual for firefighters to hide the highly risky rescue operations they participate in from their families. Otherwise, they will live in perennial fear,” explains the 33-year-old.

. His colleague G Madhan Singh doesn’t share much with his family either. He has rescued many people from flood-affected areas in Chennai but he avoids any photo-op. “If my wife comes across a picture where I am involved in tricky operations, she will not let me continue with my job. I lie to her almost every day. I tell her I attend only to ‘safe calls’. In reality, I can’t pick and choose,” he says.

. At the station, I see posters of the daring missions these men have been part of. But at home, they can’t boast about injuries, snake bites and other such “professional accomplishments” openly. “The injuries stay with us. Sriram still suffers from the back pain he developed during the water tank rescue,” Madhan shares.

. The fire station is a storehouse of untold stories. In the middle of the Covid-19 lockdown, a fire broke out in Theni district, nine hours from Chennai. A family of eight was stuck atop Thevaram hills. Tamilpandi recounts the operation he had led: “Since the fire vehicle could not go up the hill, we trekked up for about three hours. We carried torchlights, bed spreads, and the first-aid kit — nothing else. In times of fighting fire, even a stick comes in handy.” They lost two members of the family but brought the rest back to safety.

. I had expected to see memorial photos or plaques of firemen martyred while saving others. I see none on the premises. They hadn’t lost any colleague, they said.

. ‘Graveyard’ shift

. Are fire personnel given professional counselling to cope with the emotional trauma they face on the job? “No. I don’t think we can forget some of the incidents. We help each other come out of the ordeal. As officers, we ‘counsel’ firefighters,” Tamilpandi says.

. Even to this day, firefighter S Kaleeswaran chokes up as he talks about the Mugalivakkam building collapse of 2014. An 11-storey apartment block under construction was struck by lightning. It collapsed, killing 61 people, including many children.

. Kaleeswaran was with the Guindy fire station then. Fire services from across Chennai worked with the National Disaster Response Force to pull 27 persons out from the rubble. “Our team saved 12 people. We rescued a woman after four days,” he says.

. The rescuers were asked to rest by turns at a government school next to the collapsed building. “When I went there, all I could see were slippers and notebooks of the children who ran back to safety. I didn’t have the heart to stay there. I found a resting spot elsewhere,” the 35-year-old says. Tears start rolling down his cheeks.

. Some of his colleagues had to stay posted at the building site as “a precautionary measure”. “It was like a scene out of a graveyard. All I could hear was the screams of help and the wails of the bereaved,” he recalls.

. The “trauma” hits them only when they return home or to the station. “We can’t eat. We can’t sleep,” he adds.

. Back to school

. I visit the station again. This time, the personnel are getting ready to conduct a safety drill at a private school.

. “You take the front seat,” Naresh tells me. The steps to this fire vehicle are unusually high. I make it to the front seat with much trepidation.

. The vehicle comes to a halt in 15 minutes and climbing down isn’t easy either. I can’t reach the last step, so I jump. The firemen are trying to control their laughter — they don’t want to embarrass a ‘guest’.

. Tamilpandi asks his team to place a drum in the middle of the school playground. They then stuff some waste cloth inside the drum, pour kerosene and petrol on top, and set it on fire. Naresh takes up a fire extinguisher while Tamilpandi explains the PASS method to the gathering: “Pull the pin, Aim at the base of the fire, Squeeze the handle, and Sweep left and right.”

. He calls for volunteers. A Class 5 girl comes forward. She puts out the fire using a fire extinguisher, ably assisted by the fire services personnel. Seeing her fight the fire, other students feel enthused to give it a shot. Teachers have a tough time controlling the surging wave of volunteers.

. “What if the entire house catches fire?” a student asks. “The tips we have shared are to save yourself from a minor fire. If your house catches fire, wait for us to arrive,” Tamilpandi responds.

. It’s time to head back. I am worried about clambering into the vehicle again. I do better this time.

. Time for lunch

. There is no canteen at the station. The staff bring lunch boxes or order in. Today, they are getting vegetarian meals from a restaurant nearby.

. As we tuck into rice, sambar , potato curry, rasam , and curd at the SO’s office, the conversation turns to the sad news of the day — Tamil actor G Marimuthu’s death. “He was so popular. My wife liked the character he played in ‘Ethirneechal’ (a TV serial),” a fireman says. Tamilpandi adds: “He was also an author. He is from my native district of Theni.”

. How many become fire personnel by choice and how many by chance? I ask. This fire station has 45 personnel.

. Donning the khaki uniform as a fire service personnel was Sriram’s childhood dream. His father was a fireman too. He would crisscross his village in Kallakurichi in a fire vehicle, he reminisces. “My father is my only hero. I always wanted to be a fireman. But sadly, I got this job on compassionate grounds after my father passed away,” Sriram says. His grandfather fought in World War II and his uncle in the 1971 war with Pakistan. “You see, in my family, we love to risk our lives,” he says.

. Madhan joined the fire services after he could not clear the UPSC exams. Some firemen still study for competitive exams in the night shift. “But only a few make it as they are already in a high-stress job,” Sriram says.

. Tamilpandi joined the fire force in 1996. Settling down then meant taking up a government job. His son is not interested in following in his footsteps. “I go home late and come to work early. Maybe he doesn’t want such a life,” he says. Naresh’s son is not interested either, but if he does join the force, Naresh would like him to be a senior officer, not a fireman.

. Perhaps because firefighters aren’t respected in India much, at least in Sriram’s experience. “When Australian cricketer Glenn McGrath came to Chennai a few years ago, I requested a photo with him. He didn’t respond and got into his car. But the moment I said I am a firefighter, he stepped out and obliged my request. I felt proud that day,” he says.

. Safety upgrade

. The fire services department has undergone several changes in the past few decades. “We are much more confident now,” says station officer G Tamilpandi.

. They have high-quality Personal Protective Equipment that prevents serious injuries from fire. Their fire tenders can put out fire from a distance of 80 to 100 metres without any hose and from 200 metres by adding a hose. Earlier, they would tie a rope around their body to climb up and down the accident site.

Now, they wear fire safety harnesses like a belt quickly.

. And thanks to drones, they can now survey and assess the magnitude of a fire from a safe distance.

. Like this story? Email: dhonsat@deccanherald.co.in

Bravehearts at work

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