Travelling through Chennai, it is not hard to find a row of empty pots dotting the pavements. Deep in the slums of Mylai, a long line collects behind a bright yellow tanker. The driver fills the public tank while people wait their turn to fill four pots of water. Any more than four is considered risky and can provoke clashes.
Geetha is in no mood for a fight and wants to stick to her quota. The 43-year-old stands at a distance from the crowd after filling her pots, undeterred by her youngest daughter chiding her for sending her late to school. “Why does the tanker have to tell me when to go to school and when not to?” she asks.
Geetha and her husband, Sarathkumar, have put their day on hold to wait for the water truck, much like every day for the past two months in Chennai, where water shortages have reached critical level.
India is facing the worst water crisis in its history. A government report estimates that 21 cities will run out of groundwater by 2020.
Chennai, the southern metropolis with a population of 10 million, is the first of them. Despite recent rains, the north-west monsoon has failed to fill the four main reservoirs – which are currently an expanse of cracked soil languishing under the sun – and the city is suffering its worst drought for 70 years.
Political parties are cashing in – the ruling AIADMK government dismisses the crisis as a media creation – while the opposition DMK party has taken to the streets to protest about the government’s inaction. Experts suggest that rainwater harvesting and proper management of groundwater resources could have and still can avert the crisis, but for families like Geetha’s it’s too little, too late.
Back in her home, Sarathkumar’s phone is aflutter with calls from one man: his boss. “He’s saying that I’m late to work again. I’ve been late for the past two weeks. The man doesn’t understand that I need to bathe before I go to work,” he says as Geetha brings out a tray with glasses of water. “I had to pay 38 rupees (£0.43) for this water,” she says.
The couple have three daughters: one studying in 12th grade, one training for a bank job and the eldest working in IT. “Sometimes the water comes at 10 in the night, and I have to wake up my youngest to catch water,” Geetha says. “She doesn’t get any sleep after. Her teacher keeps saying she sleeps in class and sometimes she has to pay a fee for coming late to class. Our whole life has been disrupted.”
Sarathkumar says new housing built near the slum two years ago has exacerbated the water crisis. “This is like an add-on. They completely diverted all the water supply from our pipes to the affluent complex, and since then we’ve been accustomed to this ritual,” he says.
Over at Koyambedu vegetable and fruit market, trucks come and go as men haul the produce off. Sitting at his desk, 32-year-old Anbu Kadavul is writing a bill for a customer. Boxes of bananas surround him and his men, who are clearing away the rotten produce. Two months ago a kilogram of bananas was 200 rupees. Today, in the midst of an unending water crisis, it is a whopping 500 rupees. Anbu sets down his pen and reads to himself the numbers of the vehicles that will arrive with bananas for the day. “We used to get 50 vehicles a day. Now it is just 20. No one wants to buy bananas in kilos any more,” he says. He has lost 100,000 rupees this month and says he will continue to do so. “The farmers are complaining to us that they don’t have enough to pay their moneylenders. I don’t have enough to pay myself, what can I do?”
In contrast, 48-year-old Chinnadurai is probably the only happy man in the market. He sells freshly cut banana leaves and caters to hotels and homes. In Tamil Nadu, where it is traditional to eat on a banana leaf, hotels mostly provide food on a thali – a stainless steel or copper set of cups, bowls and a plate. But there is no water to wash cutlery so demand for leaves is up. “The banana leaf is back!” he exclaims, adding: “This is a seasonal business, and it is only during weddings that leaves are in high demand. But today, there is no water, and that has changed my profits for the good, sorry to say.”
However, not everything is good news. “I would never wish for a crisis like this. I have a booming business, but still find it hard to get water to drink.”