Beyond a certain point, the human mind simply cannot grasp the enormity of numbers. I can imagine the pain caused by a single death. Or the demise of several members of a family.

But the reality of entire villages, towns and cities wiped out is simply incomprehensible. So as the numbers of victims of Black Sunday's tsunami mount by the hour, the mind converts the horror into mere statistics.

I am writing this from Cochin on the southern coast of India, and seen from here, the tragedy is much more immediate. Although this town was spared the killer wave's fury, areas close by have not been as fortunate. Just a few minutes ago, our group was warned not to venture out on a boat because of the possibility of turbulent waters.

Watching news telecasts about the tragedy several times a day, my mind still cannot absorb the extent of the death and destruction caused by the underwater earthquake and its aftermath.

Some video clips showed the tsunami hitting the shore, and its sheer power was a humbling reminder of nature's destructive power. In our arrogance, we have convinced ourselves that we have conquered nature, but every so often, it unleashes a powerful message to put us in our place.

During the last five years, I have visited Sri Lanka six times. In particular, I have been spending time at a beach called Mahwella near the small town of Tangalle, around 190 kilometres south-east of Colombo.

The coastal road is narrow and full of traffic, so it takes around six hours to make the journey. But the beauty of the beach is worth every bump and close shave along the way.

Over the years, I have come to know a number of people along the secluded beach which is only a kilometre wide, and forms a small bay. Some of them are part-time residents who had built holiday homes for themselves; others are locals who have lived here for generations.

So when the news of the disaster reached me at a remote nature park in Karnataka, my first thoughts were with those Mahwella residents who lived just a few yards from the beach. And as this is the peak season for Sri Lanka, I knew all the foreign contingent would be there.

While sheer numbers blur into meaninglessness, familiar faces make tragedies personal in a way no news broadcast can. So I tried to call friends and acquaintances in Sri Lanka frantically to find out if they had survived. For the first couple of days, I could not contact anybody. Finally, I got news via England that the foreigners, at least, were alive.

Alain, the French architect who spent half the year at Mahwella, has survived, but his charming holiday home had been washed away. Manuella, the Italian owner of the Surya Cabanas and an excellent Tuscan restaurant on the beach, was also alive, but her establishment was wrecked. We were booked to stay at these cabanas a week from today.

Similarly, the Mahanara Cabanas, a hundred yards away, are in ruins. I hope the kind manager and his friendly staff have escaped alive. The fishing village next to the cabanas has taken a dreadful hammering, with most of the boats beyond repair. The small fishing harbour at Tangalle, too, is in ruins.

Many readers must have seen televized images of a train in Sri Lanka that had caught the full force of the killer wave as it sped along the coast from Galle to Colombo. As many as a thousand passengers are reported killed.

I have often seen this train chugging along, packed in the way only trains in the subcontinent are, and promising myself that I would try it one day, if only to escape the tedium of the road journey. Now, the tracks are twisted and the coaches of the ill-fated train lie at grotesque angles.

Galle is an old Portuguese coastal fort that has been declared a world heritage site. The ramparts of the old city have stood for centuries, and its buildings and streets have a distinct charm.

The city fathers have resisted the temptation of commercialization, and refused to permit high-rise buildings, or any change in the character of the buildings. This magical city bore the brunt of the tsunami, and is still counting its dead.

Colombo boasts many expensive five-star hotels, but my favourite is the Galle Face, a splendid 19th century establishment right on the sea shore. It has large, high-ceilinged rooms and an open veranda overlooking the sea where you can have breakfast or a drink.

Many famous people, including the old Aga Khan and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto have stayed here, and it remains relatively inexpensive when compared to the smarter and newer establishments in this part of Colombo. But its pedigree did not save it from the tsunami: I was distressed to see an enormous wave engulf its stately front.

Further up the coast from Tangalla is the famous Yalla Nature Park, home to elephants, leopards, deer, wild boar and innumerable birds. Last year, we visited the park and although we did not see the elusive leopard, we were enchanted to see herds of elephants, and many of the other animals.

The coast here is entirely sandy without many trees to protect the park from the tsunami. However, news reports suggest that the animals were warned by their sixth sense, and made their way to high ground.

Perhaps the worst aspect of the tragedy is that technology exists to provide early warning of such a catastrophe, and a number of countries around the Pacific rim are members of an association that warns them of the build-up of a tsunami following an underwater earthquake.

Had the Indian Ocean countries hit by the recent killer wave been part of this association, it is entirely possible that the death toll could have been significantly lower.

Now, of course, there is much talk of some of the devastated countries joining the early-warning system. But I doubt that this will be of much solace to those family members who survive the tens of thousands of victims.