I had a strange feeling as I walked past charred homes in Pasadena and Altadena, Los Angeles. Feeling like I’ve been there before. But I knew I didn’t do it.
What do I remember about brick chimney columns and arches? ruins. It was him. The ruins that I had seen in my travels or in postcards. What was once an era has now become a fading image.
In the residential areas of Pasadena and Altadena, where I was walking alone, on the deserted streets, the fire had pushed people’s homes, like the previous day, into the past forever. Their little civilization, which was their world, had ended. The brutal arbitrariness of great fires was such that a blighted house next door or in the next block might still stand intact, while others returned to charred voids, arches and chimney pillars, a chimney, the shell of a car. There is no telling what remains. Entire rooms would disappear, books, furniture, kitchen cabinets, utensils, clothes, sofas, tables, curtains, walls, ceilings, all would disappear without a trace. Perhaps, a bathtub will remain.
‘This is our entire community’
The process of rebuilding the lives destroyed by the fire may take years. With fire insurance becoming rare or prohibitive over the years, many people do not have financial cover. Those who can do so may want to rebuild in the same neighborhood community where they have lived for years. Yet, for some like Kristin of Palisades, there is no neighborhood left.
Kristin, who spent the last 15 years raising her children in Palisades, came home from the holidays to find that her home was gone, and so was her entire community. “I lost all my family albums, sentimental things,” she says, clutching her chest. “Like the watch my father gave me. The only stuff I have is the stuff I took on vacation in my suitcase. But it’s not just us. This is our entire community. However, I am grateful that my family is together,” she says, showing me photos of the flat land that was once a community church, a grocery store, a school. “I’m heartbroken for my community.”
Fire and tragedy bring people closer. This prompts people to talk to each other when they might not have done it before. This allows them to see each other for who they are and, to some extent, trust each other more. Early that morning, with so many roads closed, I had no idea how to get to the fire sites from my downtown hotel. The hotel concierge suggested a route to my Armenian American taxi driver, who then called his friend in Pasadena to see exactly which road to take. A police officer on duty believed me when I said I had a story to report and asked another reporter with a private car to give me a ride.
living with uncertainty
The reporter, who didn’t know me at all, willingly walked up to me and then gave me a mask. The winter air of Delhi could not leave any mark on these poisonous smoke. At such times, even strangers come forward to help each other. Recovering from this crisis will require a sense of community, if not infrastructure.
I pass bushes of bright white roses in bloom on the gleaming white picket fence, still guarding the house that has completely burned down. An unreal scene. But this devastation makes me wonder what an emotional impact this disaster has had not only on those who have lost their homes, but also on those who are living with uncertainty, knowing that more winds are expected this week. Well, it might be their time to leave.
Lee Roy Lahey, a renowned L.A. animation artist, says, “I sleep with one eye open.” Lee Roy says many middle-class workers in animation were hit hard by the Eaton’s fire, which hit Altadena and Pasadena. Has been destroyed. While celebrities’ homes are making news, many others in the entertainment industry have also been badly affected.
Residents are suspended in a state of constant vigilance and intelligence gathering, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy for their children. “We know that no calamity can come before children. Still, if we wait too long and something happens, trying to get out will be a really big problem.
These are daily conversations that young families who have not had to leave their homes face. But there is hope. Friends in the animation industry support each other on a community GoFundMe page. Storyboard artists, VFX engineers, illustrators, whose names are in the credits of some of my children’s favorite cartoons, have completely lost their homes and are left with nothing to rebuild. Still, it appears that each family has scraped together some money to help them restart their lives. And they are full of humility and gratitude.
Is gratitude a survival mechanism? The cynic in me sometimes wonders. Or, in this case, it is an instant stratification of one’s humanity brought about by life’s great teacher: loss?
(Amrita Gandhi is a television host, writer and producer)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
