The Sea Movie

I touched the damp material to my chest. It smelt mildly of saline and something else. Nostalgia. Barely four hours after I had had the time of my life. This is bordering on the perverse, I thought. I could be forgiven, though, because I had no other proof - no selfie with the diving equipment on, no facebook photo with a 300 likes and 164 comments with a pic of my being suspended in open water, watching fish of all shapes, sizes and colours dart past me, and no words to explain the feeling of being 50 feet under the sea, watching an alternate world at work.

I did not want the material to dry. I wanted it to retain some of the famous Andamans magic in it. Every time I touched it, I wanted to get transported back to those moments, those special moments when I knew beyond a doubt, that this was what made it all worth it. The splurge on a four day trip, for which I had paid the equivalent of almost ten, thanks to the flight tickets, an internationally certified course, and premium accommodation so that I could stay at the same place as the dive site. 

School of Bumphead Parrotfish

It had felt, alternately, like driving on a whole new road with new rules and new vehicles; like watching strangers going about their day through a one way looking glass; and like starring in a movie about the sea, a movie like Finding Nemo. Neither of these comes close to what it actually felt like. Maybe it was a combination of all three. But then again, the mind can only conjure what it already knows. Who knows what all colours were there in the fish that passed me when we dived near a ship wreck, looking all stately and purposeful? Who knows what the majestic Sea Horse was thinking when it popped out of the sea bed as we hovered a couple of metres above, almost like as if it was waiting for us to arrive? 

Black Sea Horse on the sea bed. The diving team said it was rare sight. 

It was surreal. And I was grateful, for being allowed to view the magic up close. To all the creatures of the sea, who made me feel at home in their home. To the schools of parrot fish that majestically wove their way through the water right above us. To the three black and yellow striped fish, swimming in decreasing size in front of me as I descended particularly choppy waters, tired after a hard won battle with waves and wind at the top. They fluttered along in front of me as I descended slowly, a mild ear block preventing me from moving any faster. I looked at them and moved closer, wanting to study their colour pattern and look into their eyes. A little further and then a little more further, till I reached the bottom. And then again in the last three minutes of the dive, during the safety stop. There they were again, fluttering along next to each other in decreasing size. Almost as if wanting to know how my dive was and whether I would see them again soon. 

The clown fish which zig zagged between the live coral, and Long Fin Banner fish, of Finding Nemo fame. Schools of different kinds of fish zipping in one direction and another, reminding me of a busy highway. 

Long Fin Banner Fish

Sea Urchins, Scorpion Fish, Lion Fish and the lone Banded Sea Krait. And many, many more whose names I did not know. So many colours and so many shapes. I could have spent the whole day there, just watching them. Each one of them so beautiful, so graceful, so perfect.

Banded Sea Krait. We saw one hiding in one of the many caves created by dead coral. Its venom is one of the most toxic in the world, but it is very shy and non-aggressive.

Back in the room after a scrumptious lunch (diving is rigorous and I was always left with a healthy appetite after), I wondered what to do. We started the day early, going out on the boat by 7am, and we were back by 1pm, after two dives. So the whole day stretched before me, languid. I could read, write, go to the beach for a swim, walk to the market. Eventually I settled for sitting on my bed, looking through the little holes in the mosquito net tied to the poster above, to the painted pattern on the sloping cloth roof and reliving those moments underwater. When I awoke, it was past five. Ah, the perfect time for a walk on the beach to watch the sunset. And to say goodbye to my new marine friends. 

A bientot. 

P.S. All the pictures are from the internet. 

The Longest Walk of My Life

I must admit to thinking that the title sounded very ‘Chetan Bhagat’, if you get my drift. His books are the a-b-c of what to do to make people turn the cover to the read the first page and not put it down till the last. No mean feat, as anyone who tried to write a book could tell you. If you don’t know any such person, the millions of copies that each of his books sold should be enough to convince. 

Nevertheless, I would persevere in calling this the Longest Walk of My Life in my recent past, because I have a short memory when it comes to forgettable experiences, and most of them are well, forgettable. So, the question here was not about what I was looking forward to, but of what I was willing to risk to get to what I was looking forward to. 

Ten minutes, the friendly person at the Reception had said. Only four minutes had passed. The longest four minutes of my life (not counting the one minute I had to swim in 20 feet deep sea without my mask, but more on that later) and I had six more to go. Six and a completely dark and lonely stretch of road ahead. With possible redemption at the other end. 

Behind me, the Greats beckoned. Gold End, Havelock Favourite, Symphony Palms, Holiday Inn. The here and now, looking good. Did I dare? Did I dare venture into the unknown; did I want it badly enough to take an immeasurable risk to my safety? I stood in front of El Dorado, indeterminate. To the right stretched adventure, dark and mysterious. To the left, the familiar, brightly lit and warmly welcoming. 

I remembered Santhosh, the receptionist’s expression when I asked him, Is it safe for me to walk? Is it safe for a woman to walk, all alone on the road after dark? His answering smirk spoke volumes. Of course, what kind of a question is that? I am disappointed. I had rather hoped that you would ask what I would recommend you eat. Pah! Go away now, allow me to get back to my game of Solitaire on the computer. 

Switching on the flashlight on my phone, I turned right and started walking. A lone tube light shone a few metres away, banishing the dark. I walked faster, my eyes on it, unwavering. The sound of a motorbike behind me, every thud of the engine sounding like my heartbeat magnified a 100 times. I swallowed and concentrated harder on the tube light. Then capitulated and turned. Just in case. Looking for escape routes. A narrow lane turned into a few houses, bunched at right angles to each other. A child played in the lane, its buttocks bare. 

The motorcycle vroomed past, the two travellers too engrossed in their conversation to look hither or thither. The tube light illuminated the grubby interiors of a small room of around 30 square feet with a low wall facing the road and an entrance of about three feet in width at one end. Red plastic chairs caught my eye, as did the dark shape of a man in a nondescript shirt and lungi, his pot belly creating a gentle curve in the in the lower half of his torso. I looked ahead and saw more tube lights. I looked back to see the incredible feat I had accomplished, the proverbial walk on fire. It seemed irrelevant now that I had crossed it; ordinary even. All that courage and nothing to show for it except a sweat soaked shirt. I licked my lips and tasted Odomos. 

The phone glowed two minutes past the ten minutes it was supposed to take me to reach the best place in Havelock to have dinner (I supposed non vegetarians may venture to have their own opinion on this matter considering that it was an island on the Andaman Sea, but vegetarians had to be content with what was handed on from previous travel accounts of like minded individuals) I continued walking, the tube lights and the stray motorist passing me. I noticed the words “COCO” painted in blue on a red board, the nearest tube light putting the part above this line in the dark. I walked faster, unconsciously, my eyes riveted on ‘COCO’. The dark parted to reveal ‘Anju’ painted in the same faded blue paint. More lights, this time within an enclosure in which a few blonde heads bobbed.

Twenty minutes later, I scooped a spoonful of Paneer Makhani into my mouth and tasted sweet, sweet victory.