Sample letter about a fire incident
A market place fire through a 12-year-old’s eyes
It is midnight, yet I am struggling to sleep. I feel I must unburden my feelings to let my turbulent mind settle down, and I get my sleep. So, chum, I am writing this mail to you.
Being born in well-to-do family, I had never seen an open fire burning anywhere. I faintly remember the fire of a Homa during my maternal uncle’s marriage ceremony. So, I was aghast when I saw a huge fire, almost the height of tree, burning with its full fury. It was an inferno! It made me dumb for a while. Believe me, I can’t get the horrifying sight out of my mind.
Today being a Sunday, my father took all of us out for lunch. We were heading towards Koramangala. About a kilometer away from our destination, my eyes fell on a huge plume of black smoke that seemed to touch the sky. I peered out of our car window to get a better view, but my father just ordered me in. As we drew near, it became apparent that it was indeed a wild blaze devouring a footwear shop with great fury. My father parked the car at a safe distance as I begged him to stop. My elder sister and I jumped out of the car, and ran to the spot where a crowd had already gathered to see what was happening. My sister grabbed my hand as we jostled through the flock of onlookers to get a better view. I went past the Fire Brigade truck, and lo and behold, I saw a person being dragged out of the shop that had been fully engulfed in flame by then. The Fire Brigade men wearing their fire-retardant suites, had managed to pull out a trapped man, apparently a shop assistant, from inside. He was alive, but badly burnt and scarred. The Ambulance soon arrived and whisked him away. For my sister and me, the sight was as saddening as it was depressing.
Then we turned our eyes to see what was happening in the shop. Fire Brigade personnel had turned their water hoses straight into the interior of the shop. Obnoxious smell of burning leather filled the air. We coughed and gasped for breath, but somehow couldn’t turn back. The owner of the shop was beseeching the Fire Brigade personnel to retrieve his shoe cartons. They obliged and braved the fumes and heat to go in and bring out as much goods as they could. Some of the onlookers joined in to stack the cartons being flung out by the Firemen. It was a desperate attempt to salvage the unburnt or half-burnt shoe packs. The frenzy of activity of the Firemen struck us as very remarkable.
At this point we heard the angry shouts of our mother. She was gesticulating frantically at us to return to the car. We had no way, but to obey although out feet appeared to be anchored to the spot. In the car, we talked animatedly about the fire, but our father strangely appeared so unperturbed. He said, such fires happen, and the insurance company would make good the loss. At our lunch table, I could barely eat as the angst-filled face of the shop owner and the blackened limbs of the injured man haunted me. I became silent. Since then, the fire and the sight of the shouldering ruins of the shop are tormenting me.
Dear Vanumati, come early morning tomorrow. We will go on a long cycle ride. Perhaps, that would be the healing balm for my charred mind.