Disasters. The word itself is intimidating and going through them, unimaginable.
And then some are natural and some absolutely unnatural. Like this one I recall…

There was once in my life, a ‘Big uncle”. I used to call him Big Uncle, because, well, he was very big! We are a family of tiny people and anybody who has to bend and enter the main door or can touch the fan without lifting their toes is big.

One evening he was home for he had some work with Dad. And then Dad insisted that he stay back because it was not safe for him to venture out late in the evening. And Big Uncle shrugged. “No one can do anything to me. Mera size dekh ke dar jaayenge.” He laughed as he said this and left.

School was closed for two whole weeks now and to be honest I had started to get bored. Dad constantly watched news channels that spoke about some kind of riots. I heard about people being held by their arms and thrown before approaching trains on the railway tracks that were right across the road from where we lived.

“There are some trouble makers who have hidden weapons behind our compound wall. And they are using our building to get there. We need to stop them,” saying this he gathered some empty glass bottles, some sticks, and soon he was joined by our neighbours who had collected some big stones too.

“We will be patrolling the lane tonight. You guys be very careful,” he told us as he juggled a few bottles in his hand.

An hour later, our main door thundered and gave away as someone clad in black overalls entered the house with a sword and found me peeping out the window, as I looked out for my Dad. But he was nowhere to be seen. This shadowy being held me and threatened my mother and my blood still curdles thinking about that horrific night.

We somehow emerged alive from the episode but there were hundreds who lost their lives and families and much more in the ghastly Mumbai riots of 1992. When for the first time I heard myself being referred as a Hindu and my friends as Muslims.

But Dad was a Hindu and he patrolled the neighbourhood with Khurshid mama who was a Muslim and Big Uncle too was a Muslim. And everyone who patrolled was something or the other but all of them were essentially human; trying to protect their families and neighbours from the Skeletors, no matter which religion they belonged to. They protectively sheltered each other for days. Made provisions for clothes and food and lived together like one family till the evil storm had passed.

Whether we have riots, wars, acts of terrorism or natural calamities like the horrifying tsunami and earthquake in Japan, you realize that the one religion above all is humanity. That it’s the heroism in humanity that rescues us from the physical and emotional aftershocks of a tragedy. Japan has been exemplary in displaying qualities that are now helping them to defy all odds.

Homeless hotel owners are distributing free food to anyone and everyone who comes by. Others in shelters are sharing whatever they have got with strangers.
People are voluntarily watching their power consumption. God-sent doctors are managing more patients than they can with limited resources of medicines and other essentials, and many more cases of unsung heroes will be remembered for their acts of generosity and humanity.

Yes, the sun never sets on such people. For they have faith. For they have hope. For they see light, and not just the pain of loss in the crimson of the setting sun. For they see God’s sheltering presence in the cold and dark nights and hope in the stillness of the stars.

For they believe that goodness and humanity are still alive. That good Samaritans are not extinct. That, there lives a Samurai nearby.