Memories and Waves

 Kanyakumari, the southernmost tip of mainland India, had been on my bucket list for some time. It had been nine years since I last visited—a trip I made with my family when I was in the 8th grade. I thought December 26 would be the perfect day to revisit this place, as it marks the 20th anniversary of the devastating tsunami that struck the region in 2004—a tragedy that shook not only the nation but also the world.

Yesterday afternoon, I boarded a direct bus from Thampanoor to Kanyakumari and reached there around 4 pm. The beach was bustling with people, as it was the holiday season. The sight of the majestic Thiruvalluvar Statue and the Vivekananda Rock Memorial instantly brought back fond memories. I spent an hour wandering along the beach, where I had once collected unique seashells during my last visit. I remember proudly displaying those shells at my school exhibition in the 8th grade.

As I walked along the shore, I couldn’t resist the nostalgic urge to pick up a few more seashells. Later, I found a spot on the beach and sat down to gaze at the vast ocean, the waves shimmering under the golden hues of the setting sun.

My thoughts soon turned to the tragic events of two decades ago. On December 26, 2004, a catastrophic tsunami struck these shores, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Sitting on the very beach that bore witness to this calamity was a haunting experience.

Before leaving for Kanyakumari, I had asked my mother about her memories of the tsunami. She told me I was just two years old, and she was eight months pregnant at the time. Our family had been at my uncle’s home in Marthandam when the tragedy struck. She recounted how the news channels were filled with horrifying images of destruction. In India alone, the tsunami claimed around 11,000 lives.

I recalled scenes from Kamal Haasan’s movie Dasavatharam, which vividly depicted the tsunami’s devastating impact on Kanyakumari’s coast. My mind also drifted to my Geography lessons, where I had learned about the science behind tsunamis. The Earth's crust is divided into tectonic plates that float on molten rock beneath the surface. When these plates shift or collide, they release massive amounts of energy, often triggering undersea earthquakes that can generate tsunamis.

The 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake, which measured 9.1–9.3 on the Richter scale, occurred off the west coast of Indonesia. It was caused by the subduction of the Indian Plate under the Burma Plate, resulting in a series of devastating tsunamis that claimed thousands of lives.

As I sat on the beach, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the events of that fateful day.

Families and children were enjoying the festive season at the beach—kids playing, building sandcastles, and flying kites. The day seemed perfect until something unusual happened. The water began to recede, exposing the ocean floor. Curious onlookers stepped closer, unaware of the impending disaster. Moments later, an enormous wave surged forward, crashing onto the shore and engulfing everything in its path. Panic and chaos erupted, but for many, there was no escape.

I opened my eyes and sighed deeply. Before me was the same ocean, now calm and serene, as if it bore no trace of its former fury.

Before heading out, I noticed small children and their parents lighting candles and praying for the lives lost in the tsunami. A young boy approached me and handed me a candle. I joined them.

An elderly woman, likely in her 90s, stood nearby, silently weeping. The person beside me explained that she had lost her children and grandchildren to the tsunami. Every day, she visits the beach to pray for their souls. Her sorrow moved me deeply, and my eyes filled with tears as I silently prayed for all those who perished in the tragedy.

As the cool ocean breeze brushed against my face, I felt a strange sense of consolation, as though nature itself was offering its solace. With a heavy yet peaceful heart, I bid farewell to Kanyakumari, carrying with me a renewed appreciation for life and the resilience of humanity.