Vintage fake (pheku) news – September 24, 1970. It was just another Thursday, so it seemed, when I returned home from work. I had hardly changed when I heard commotion outside – people whining and screaming. I came out only to see men and women fleeing in panic for their dear lives.
I could make out from the rising din that the swollen Musi was submerging everything in its way, while another version was that Gandipet had breached and spread devastation. The Musi flowed barely 500 yards away from our place, behind Kacheguda station.
The family lost no time. We crossed the railway lines and hurried to the safety of Veerannagutta (Shyambaba temple complex) opposite the station. The spot commanded a bird’s-eye view of chaotic scenes on the station road.
An hour had passed without the trace of the death-heralding flood. Meanwhile, police vans went about assuring people there was no flood threat; it was just a rumour. But to the panic-stricken ears, it sounded like a red alert. Similar scenes were witnessed in many parts of the city. Residents of Nallakunta, Sitaphalmandi, Warasiguda, and the neighbourhood clambered up the Osmania University library and the Arts College buildings. The RTC bus my brother travelled in swerved from its charted path and hurried into narrow lanes to avoid being washed away!
Soon enough, people realised it was a rumour and returned home, laughing sheepishly for making ‘silly asses of themselves.’
From our side, the panic response seemed pardonable on two counts: one, the Musi flowed dangerously close and two, only 48 hours before, the city had experienced an unprecedented downpour, causing Afzalsagar lake to breach and spread death and devastation.
On that fateful night (September 21-22, 1970), I was in The Daily News office at Nampally (my former workplace) when it suddenly it rained, gathering intensity by the minute. Finding a brief lull, I made a foolish attempt to venture out. I was thrown off the bicycle by the swirling waters right outside the gate, while the bike was swept away and was luckily halted by a pole.
Stopping overnight at the Daily News, I pedalled back home, seeing clear evidence of the havoc the rain had wrought. Back at work (The Deccan Chronicle) in the afternoon, I learnt that thousands had been rendered homeless and a hundred people lost their lives.
Tail-piece: The false alarm cost a chief of bureau his job. Alarmed by the rumours, he asked the staff to close the office and go home. The head office lost contact with the Hyderabad bureau and did not know why, while news continued to flow from a wire services agency located close by. The management relieved the COB of his duties.
