Dear FO° Reader, The past weekend, the India Meteorological Department sounded an orange rainfall alert for Mumbai. The monsoon season has come back with a vengeance after a dry summer, and our reservoirs are full to the brim. The weather has been particularly capricious here in the past few years. The unpredictable monsoons have remind me of a particular incident back in the seventh grade that has been burned into my memory forever. Imagine, if you will, that you are sitting in a musty little classroom. Boredom makes the shapes of the desks and heads in front of you hazy. The only thing that comes into focus is a grandfather clock that probably lives up to its name in age, adorned by porcelain cobwebs. The minute hand counts away the time until you will finally be free. You glance out the window, expecting to see the usual languidly whispering trees and maybe a shy sun peeking out from the clouds. Instead, you see water. Rising, swallowing, angrily making its way up. And it’s coming towards you. My fellow students and I made for the exits. I was wiry and little and more agile than you’d think. I weaved deftly through giant seniors and minuscule juniors as we fought our way to the gates. And together, we beheld, jaws unhinged and eyes popping, the swimming pool of our worst nightmares. The water was a questionable color, and it had picked up everything from bricks to animal leavings. My friend next to me solemnly declared that the gods were weeping. Despite the danger, we knew the only way out was through, because the water would only get higher. I and the friends I had carpooled with barely made it to our car in time. Water was already pouring into the cabin. The driver started the engine and pressed down on the gas pedal and — nothing. The suction of the mud around the tires held us to the spot. We abandoned ship and made our way back through the maelstrom. Hidden twigs mischievouslyscraped out legs as we blindly groped through. My little brother, even tinier than me, had his head almost bobbing just above the water. He wasn’t tall enough. Our driver noticed this, and he didn’t hesitate. In a flash, he pulled my brother up onto his shoulders. He kept my brother out of the drink as I struggled just to keep my notebooks high and dry. Our parents always told us to refer to our drivers as kaka, uncle, like we called our domestic female help mausi, aunt. I never understood why we did that when we weren’t family, until that day. We are family, maybe not by blood but by their mere humanity. That day, Pawan kaka carried my brother on his (probably aching) shoulders the three kilometers back home. Today, I remember the ominous whirlpools, the drenched clothes and the echoes of thunder, but I’ll never remember them as clearly as I remember our driver’s smiling face as he held my brother’s legs to his shoulders, never showing signs of strain. FO° carries stories of climate change, floods and disasters. These are urgent problems that require serious thought and action to solve. But, as we strive to cover 360° of the story, we do not forget the human side. The compassion. The will to survive and to help others survive. Without this, the story loses its meaning. Here are some recent pieces from Fair Observer that highlight the human side of climate change and what people are doing to help each other. Great Compassion Shines in Brazil Following Its Horrific Floods   Young Kids Win Big Climate Lawsuit in Montana   Can Innovation Diplomacy End the Climate Gamble?   Delicious Tagliatelle With Love at the Origin of the Universe   I’m a Climate Optimist   Sincerely,  Tanisha Desai  Assistant Editor We are an independent nonprofit organization. We do not have a paywall or ads. We believe news must be free for everyone from Detroit to Dakar. Yet servers, images, newsletters, web developers and editors cost money. So, please become a recurring donor to keep Fair Observer free, fair and independent. Read from anywhere About Publish with FO FAQ Privacy Policy Terms of Use Contact