Mumbai Mother Wades Through Waist-Deep Floods to Reach Daughters During 2005 Deluge

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In the chaos of the 2005 Mumbai floods that claimed over 900 lives across Maharashtra, Ruchira Gupta pushed through waist-high waters on flooded streets, driven by the urgent need to reunite with her young daughters. A former lawyer turned interpreter and devoted mother of two, she left her office amid warnings of halted trains, only to find the city paralyzed by unprecedented rainfall. Her determined trek home highlights how extreme weather can turn everyday commutes into life-threatening struggles, now increasingly tied to broader patterns of climate instability.

Heavy winds battered Gupta as she dashed from her law firm near Churchgate station, her umbrella rendered useless against the downpour. By the time she boarded the last departing train, water already lapped at the tracks, slowing progress to a crawl while leaks dripped from the carriage roof.

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The train halted abruptly at Bandra station due to submerged rails ahead, forcing Gupta to disembark into even fiercer rain. She crossed a wind-swept footbridge, eyes squeezed shut against the sting, clutching her bag for scant comfort as her clothes soaked through.

With no taxis in sight, Gupta set off on foot toward her husband’s nearby office in Bandra Kurla Complex, navigating ankle-deep puddles that deepened with every step. She flagged down a passing truck for a short lift to a gas station, then resumed walking across broad avenues now turned into rivers.

As waters rose to her knees and then her waist, Gupta pressed on without pause, oblivious in her focus to potential dangers like exposed wires or open drains beneath the surface. Across from the office, she spotted cars bobbing like toys in the torrent, a sight that shifted from odd amusement to gripping fear.

Inside the office, Gupta arranged for her six-year-old and three-year-old daughters to stay with a colleague’s wife, their phone pleas piercing her heart amid sobs of reassurance. Staff rationed meager supplies from the canteen—one spoonful of rice and dal each—as air-conditioned chill set in on drenched bodies huddling in hallways and cubicles.

The next day brought no relief, with muddy floods blocking all transport and ventures home ending in retreat. Gupta’s niece, interning nearby, eventually trudged back after an overnight office stay, tasked with fetching the girls to safety.

On the third day, asthma flared without her inhaler, prompting a sloshing dash to a hospital pharmacy across the road, where she bartered tears for a meal to ease the rationing back at base. That evening, carpools formed in surviving vehicles, ferrying Gupta and others through dark, debris-strewn paths devoid of streetlights.