When disaster hits an area, we all want to lend a helping hand. Some do so because they feel it absolves them and others, to acquire the status of philanthropist and then there are the unknowns who work all day, every day, just because.

The tsunami that struck the southeastern coast of Indian on Dec 26 brought out this response as well. People gave whatever they could - clothes, utensils, shoes, cutlery, blankets and much more.

There were also bizarre contributions of halter-neck tops for women and make-up kits, in addition to items that were torn or damaged beyond salvage.

I was working then with an organisation which brought together volunteers from various parts of India, alongside its own team of extremely dedicated, assiduous workers.

Based at the office in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, it was insightful for me to observe the relief operations from within. As a group, we spent hours sorting through the donations, agonising over whether a particular object would get the green signal or not for distribution.

Having completed the first phase of retrieving bodies from the affected areas, the organisation concentrated on distributing relief supplies and counselling people in fishermen's hamlets and villages about 70km from the city.

It was ironic that, even in the face of disaster, fights still broke out among survivors over 'unequal distribution' of items. In one village, the people almost attacked us, so we had to leave the packets with the village head to distribute later.

In another village, the people were happy just to have us around. We were able to form bonds without so much as exchanging a word. Despite having nothing left, their hospitality left me speechless; they would insist on us joining them for a meal which was made from the bags of rice and lentils given to them.

The road south from Chennai passes settlements that are rows of blue plastic tents that make up temporary camps for those whose villages have been washed away by the tsunami. Even two weeks later, there were piles of debris all over the place.

In one village, what used to be a beach is now a shallow lake. It was pitiful to see a few despondent men wading through it, trying to catch fish. In another, all that remained of the headquarters of a factory exporting jellyfish to the United States was a large hole in the ground.

Chaos all round

I don't think a lot of people truly understand what it means to wake up one day and have everything you've spent your life building, washed away. Just like that.
The survivors are not exactly thrilled with a life where they don't have to work, and where food and other necessities are delivered free of charge to them.

They are used to earning between Rs 1,000-3,000 a day from fishing and have lived comfortable lives in their simple yet beautiful homes by the sea. All that has been taken away, and they have been reduced to live in flapping tents, dependent on organisations who come around now and then.

This loss of life, home, belongings and livelihood has left them with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The emotional scars are painfully evident on their faces as they queue up to await their names to be called.

The presence of several aid organisations in any village, simultaneously trying to distribute relief supplies invariably creates chaos. Every person trying to make himself heard only adds to the cacophony of noises.

I drifted off with the children who chatted animatedly with me. They showed me around the village and I listened to their versions of the same story again and again. Once, walking along the beach, I almost stepped on the body of a dead dog which was grotesquely swollen.

Since the number of missing persons remains substantial, it is not uncommon for bodies to be occasionally washed to the shore. One of the boys told me that, whenever that happened, the stray dogs would feed off the flesh. There is increasing fear among the survivors that, over time, the dogs might start attacking people.

Long-term needs

The immediate post-tsunami needs of survivors, it seems, are being taken care of, but it is really the long-term effects that I'd like to highlight. A string of problems need to be addressed simultaneously as they threaten to magnify later.

Before the tsunami hit, these villages used shallow wells for their main source of water supply. With the waves having come several kilometres inland, these shallow aquifers have been rendered saline. It will take several years for these to be useable again, although Unicef has provided water tanks.

Palm trees along the coast exhibit the effects of salinity in leaves which are turning red. These trees not only provide shade to villages, but their fruit is a source of nutrition and even livelihood in some cases.

Hygiene, sanitation and waste disposal require attention as well. Although latrines have been provided, they seem to be used sparingly, if at all. There is excreta everywhere and it is frightening to see people walking around barefoot. I saw lots of little kids left alone to play in the sand. They carry the faeces to their tents and close to food storage and preparation areas.

The longer they stay at these camps, the more dangerous the situation is likely to become. Come the rainy season, bacteria and virus will cause disease infections and disease outbreaks.

I'm concerned that the people there don't seem to understand that life in a relief camp has to be more disciplined than usual. Relief organisations that should be imposing strict hygiene seem to be largely ignorant of the problem. If preventive measures are not taken, the risk of epidemic will become a reality.

The rebuilding process, which should be in full swing, is unfortunately marked by hindrances. Media attention has served to retard the process as some people want to portray themselves in a pitiful light.

The sight of an unfamiliar face is a tacit signal to give them a tour, pointing out the ruins of houses, the injured members and destroyed belongings.

But most are just too scared and helpless to do anything. The children have developed a fear of the ocean. Their chilling stories of that fateful day, and how they ran to save themselves from the waves, make me wonder if they will ever be able to recover from the trauma.

Women's burden

Another local problem gaining strength is the dispute between tenants and owners of the destroyed property as to who is entitled to compensation, since they both claim to be victims in their own right.

Initially, too, I was surprised to find that the women were a lot less friendly than the children and men. They would queue up and obediently collect their relief package, but seemed to be carrying an emotional burden which left them pre-occupied.

The men have lost their boats and with that the ability to provide for their family; their pride takes a beating in having to accept a bag of rice from strangers. They are demoralised and fearful of the future. They play cards during the day and drink heavily at night to relieve their stress.

The childrenwell, they go to school and spend their evenings playing with whatever they find around them.

But it's the women who are confronted by numerous difficulties in the mammoth task of keeping daily life running smoothly until a more permanent solution is found. Apart from occasionally talking amongst themselves, they have nothing with which to distract their minds. In one camp, it was heartening to see an elderly woman had set up a tiny stall and was selling edibles. I had to stop and buy something.

Not surprisingly, I failed to notice a hand from the government. But its presence would have been the biggest shock of all. Many are probably busy making a lucrative income from the Prime Minister's Relief Fund, where donations from around India are accumulated. It would be a real miracle if even 80 percent of that amount reaches the intended targets.

There are many private aid organisations working with the people providing relief supplies as well as helping with rehabilitation needs towards self-sufficiency.

Donations should ideally be utilised to provided fishermen with nets and boats, so they don't become dependent on aid and more importantly, are able to regenerate their self-confidence.

It is not a pretty picture, but it is up to us we, who can, to add a little colour to their lives. The survivors need to rise from the ashes and it is our duty to help in any way we can.

KASHISH GUPTA, who holds a post-graduate degree in journalism, has been published in Indian dailies like The Pioneer and The Hindustan Times, and in British magazines like the fDi (FT Business) and The Ecologist.