The Flood
An introduction to my 1800 km walk across India
The publication of my book is coming soon. I don’t have a huge following to arrange any event, and moreover, my decision to keep myself confined to this village has made it difficult for me to move around and publicize it. Book Reading events, Book Clubs are common in the West. I remember going to a few when I was in the UK, but it isn’t a thing in India. Yes, maybe a couple urban centres can be an exception to this, but the fact remains that to get into these clubs is quite an elite phenomenon. You need to be friends with the publishers/distributors or at least need a relative in the field. I have had a terrible time navigating this from Delhi to Mumbai and that is part of the reason why I decided to self-publish.
One good thing about all this is, I am learning a lot new things along the way. I see the book market in India as a monopoly which is held on by a few publishing companies. I might write about the way it works someday, but today I am not in a position to pay £350 a month to keep 15 copies in a CrossWord bookstore. I cannot imagine how new writers, who want to self-publish, are paying this excessive fee, but anyways, I have told myself, not to cry over problems, instead find the solutions.
I am adding in the introduction to the book here, please consider buying it if you want to support my writing journey.
The Flood
I had vivid dreams for many nights that week. In these dreams, I could see myself with a rucksack on my back, walking toward the boundless horizon.
It had only been nine days since my return from England when the relentless thunderstorms and rain commenced. While it was not unusual for us to experience monsoons in the Sahyadri region, something was different this time. The unstable weather had made predicting floods nearly impossible. We had always thought that our home was safe from the rising waters, that it would never encroach upon our doorstep. But then, one early morning, it arrived with a ferocity that was beyond our imagination. Nature had unveiled its untamed power, and my father's urgent shout summoned us from our sleep.
"Quick, come down. It's flooding. Water has entered our gate," he exclaimed.
The same year, Germany faced flash floods that resulted in the tragic loss of 150 lives, a disaster that made headlines around the world. However, here in my hometown, where 209 souls had been confirmed dead, and many more remained missing, the national news remained eerily quiet. It wasn't just about the people who had perished; it was about the stark realization of the disparity between the developed and the developing world. It felt as though lives in this part of the Earth held less weight, as if we were replaceable statistics in a world of over a billion people.
The rain continued relentlessly for two days and nights, submerging our home, car, bike, and every other possession we held dear, beneath twelve feet of water. We endured those times on a diet of sugar and rainwater that we collected. When the deluge finally receded, the devastation that unfolded before our eyes was heart-wrenching. People had lost decades' worth of material possessions, and all that remained were their mud-soaked, stinking clothes. It was in these moments of despair that the kindness of strangers and the resilience of the community helped us rebuild our city.
I bore witness to the stark realities of corruption, political mishandling, and a meagre offering in the name of compensation. A mere ten thousand rupees were given to households that had incurred losses in the lakhs. This incident stirred something deep within me, a profound shift in perspective. I felt fortunate to be alive, sitting next to my family, and my recurring dream of walking took on new significance. It seemed as though my unconscious mind was urging me to let go and embrace a fresh beginning.
As I watched my grandparents, who had constructed this very house, grieve over the devastation, I thought, who was to blame?
I was a student in England, where such an incident could have made international headlines, garnering support from all corners of the world. It was then that the stark reality of what it meant to be living in the so-called 'third-world' became painfully clear. For three days, no one knew of my whereabouts. It felt as though the world was divided into two parts – one where even minor inconveniences made headlines and garnered support, and the other, the 'third-world,' where wars, climate catastrophes, and unimaginable suffering often went unnoticed.
I yearned to shed light on this 'other' world, to bring attention to the issues gripping my nation. I could have chosen to lead a comfortable life in England, but what would be the point? I would be just another face in the crowd, struggling to find a sense of belonging, working to pay exorbitant rent, trying to fit in as an Indian in the UK, all so my friends back home could say, "Oh, he lives in England!"
I began to contemplate the prospect of embarking on a walk, a journey that could illuminate the pressing issues plaguing my homeland. A voice within me asked, 'Can you walk across India?' It was a daunting question, one that felt nearly inconceivable and yet strangely doable.
"I can try," I responded to myself, albeit with little conviction. The weight of those words barely registered. What I did know, however, was that I had narrowly escaped the same fate that befell my family. If the water had risen another ten feet, our decades-old house would have been swept away, taking us with it into the depths of those turbulent waters. I would have found my corpse lying on the seabed, thinking about the fragility of life and wondering, "Is this it? Is this the end? Dead for what??" I had nothing to lose. It was as if life itself had spoken to me through that dream, offering a second chance to live a life of purpose and meaning.
In 2022 I left off on a walk across India and ended up walking 1800 km from Narvan on the west shore, to Visakhapatnam on the east shore. Initially to document the issues plaguing rural India, the project unfolded to become an unforgettable voyage of self-discovery; involving sleeping in unfamiliar places, venturing alone through the Naxalite insurgent jungles, and even being interrogated in a jail cell.
After contemplating on what is the right way forward, I have come to the conclusion that I will self-publish it. It is already with the printers and the first copies will be sent out all around the world this coming 25th. If you are interested in reading about my journey and supporting me to become a full-time writer, please consider buying “Journey to the East”- which is currently available through my website. www.ashutoshjoshi.in
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You can buy my first book “Journey to the East”, a memoir about an 1800 km walk through India, through my website .
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