The week has been dominated by thoughts of water: the careful hoarding of it, then running out of it, followed by participation in the ongoing discussion of what to do about it. It’s bound to come in any day now, it’s been two weeks…
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Last month, the local press reported that the Melamchi Water Project, which has taken its time but is absolutely a source of joy now, would turn off the flow for two weeks from the fifteenth of May “owing to repairs necessary at the origin of the water source…”
Luckily this announcement was followed by the anomaly of two consecutive nights where a LOT of water came in, so we got the building’s upper and lower tanks good and filled up.
Amazingly, all that water lasted very close to the full two weeks, and we might have been able to stretch it even further if a couple of the floors had been aware of the situation sooner—due to a miscommunication, they were later to hear.
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Two weeks came and went and the incoming pipes were still dry and then our taps were, too.
After a few days of reverting to the well water, now even browner—or does it just seem so because we’ve enjoyed these months of clear, Melamchi flow—the landlord steps in and decides we should clean the tanks in preparation for the imminent return of good water.
First the huge, underground sump, then the pair of 3,000 liter tanks atop the roof. There’s a man and woman here to do it and neither are people I’ve seen working in the area before. Is this a specialized, water-tank cleaning service? I’m claustrophobic just thinking about it and whatever they charge, it can never be enough.
That evening, water begins trickling in; not much but it’s a start. Pumps are switched on up and down the alley, the noise jumping from house to house.
I take a shower and wash a sinkful of dishes, catching the water for the balcony greenery: we’re not out of the woods yet, so the laundry’s being ignored as of now and yes, the plants are getting slightly sudsy water.
Everyone’s careful and all of us in the building make what water came in last much longer than usual, but the taps started sputtering again just a few hours ago. I was told that if we didn’t get water in volume by this evening, a truck was going to be ordered. But night has fallen and there’s no sign of it.
Fingers crossed that you won’t be reading about water next Wednesday.
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On the day that water returned to the neighbourhood, in addition to the hums from many pumps, I heard the splashing of water on dry earth. While the rest of us were washing our pots or having a shower, my neighbour M— was out with a hose, watering her garden domain: vegetables, trees, flowers, chickens.
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[And yeah I know I said that posts without appropriate available pictures would feature Marv, but I took the above today on a walk in Ranibari and found it glorious.]