Reporter’s Notebook -- Deepa Bharath

I remember the first time my husband brought home a fire extinguisher

from Home Depot.

It was about two years ago -- a day after we heard that our close

friends, a couple in upstate New York, lost their apartment and most of

their belongings in a fire.

They jumped out of their bed in the middle of the night, ran out into

the cold, snow-covered lawn in their pajamas and bedroom slippers.

Sometimes, the line between nightmare and reality seems very, very thin.

The day after, their clothes smelled of smoke, their new computer and

stereo system were damaged because of the water and the expensive couch

they couldn’t really afford, but had lovingly picked out anyway, was

burned.

But apart from all that loss, which was not covered by renter’s

insurance, what hurt my friends the most was the loss of invaluable,

little things and souvenirs they had collected over the years.

Photos from trips they had taken together and with their families, a

little, ornamental table her parents gave her for their wedding in India,

her precious red and gold embroidered wedding o7 sarif7 , the stuffed

teddy bears and Beanie Babies she collected. They were all gone.

It was hard for me to go to sleep after I spoke to them. I looked

around my apartment. Sure there wasn’t much stuff in there. But what

little I had suddenly seemed extremely valuable.

The next day we got our little fire extinguisher and purchased

renter’s insurance. My friends have probably somewhat recovered from

their traumatic experience two years ago. After the initial shock, I

didn’t think about it too much either.

But the fires that have ravaged the Newport-Mesa area in the last two

weeks are rekindling that horrible feeling that was buried somewhere deep

in my subconscious.

I’ve witnessed traffic fatalities and heard people talk in graphic

detail about murders and sexual crimes. Back home in India, I’ve seen the

devastation caused by floods and hurricanes. Here in California, I’ve

seen the terror of earthquakes.

But nothing affects me more emotionally than seeing people and their

possessions destroyed by a fire. Take, for example, the relatively small

fire at Robertino’s, a tailoring store on Newport Boulevard.

The owner of the store, a young woman, stood watching tearfully as

firefighters cleaned up her store. It was her fifth year owning the

business -- a shocking anniversary present.

The Monticello fires shocked an entire townhome community in Costa

Mesa. Two unrelated fires in the same complex, one that killed a man and

brought people scurrying out of their homes with its thunderous

explosions and another barely two days later that gutted a home and

killed five pets.

Then another fire that destroyed a Lido Isle home left six people and

their pet homeless.

The most recent one was the biggest shocker of them all -- a

spectacular blaze that destroyed a two-story commercial complex in Costa

Mesa. They were not homes, but there were businesses in there that people

had owned and cherished for years.

One of the employees kept a ring that belonged to his late father in

his office. Another man had plastered his office walls with a whole

collection of family photographs. All that remained of that building was

charred wires and bent beams.

All these five fires in the area happened within two weeks and

officials say they were unrelated.

Sure, a fire is a disaster like any other. And I have often asked

myself why it gets to me more than the sight of a man lying dead on the

street after a traffic accident or the scene of people’s homes crumbling

after an earthquake or a hurricane.

I guess it’s because, in my mind, traffic accidents are so common that

I somehow got desensitized to them. Earthquakes and hurricanes -- those

are not under anyone’s control.

I guess fires set my feelings ablaze because I always feel that they

could have been somehow prevented or controlled. The waste of life, the

loss of possessions that can never, ever be replaced seem meaningless and

unnecessary to me.

A part of me thinks I’m superficial for mourning the loss of the only

business a woman owned or feeling sad about a man who lost his family

photographs or another poor guy who is missing his dad’s ring.

I guess I’m just a sentimental fool.

* Deepa Bharath covers public safety and courts. She may be reached at

(949) 574-4226 or by e-mail at o7 deepa.bharath@latimes.comf7 .