An Evening at the Beach

The young men enticing children to take horse rides - they themselves, with their taut bodies and princely posture looking regal. 

The group pf women - mothers, daughters, sisters, holding hands anticipating the waves. 

Older women sanctioned off to look after valuables and slippers; who, though some may feel sorry for, are actually happier there than at the sea.

The daughter who wanted to call her mother to the water, but was dissuaded by her brother. 

The sundal sellers moving on quickly from one customer to another.  

The myriad selfies that were taken, families, friends. 

The burkha clad family at the beach. 

So many new languages around me. 

Stylish women in sunglasses. 

The sky spread like thick, smooth velvet - greyish blue with tinges of pink like the faded mardaani on a woman's hand. 

The moon direct, staring at me, but with a softness that reminds of all the times that my mother was understanding towards me. 

The constant ding-ding of the soan papdi man - a shrill reminder of the buzz behind me. 

The group of adolescent boys who were behind me made me a little nervous. Don't know why. 

I'm constantly scared that a horse is going to go haywire and come running towards me. Any movement in my peripheral vision alerts me.

I feel like I'm sitting on a quilt. The sand is stuck on some parts of me. But, I'm not bothered because I know when I dust it off, it'll go. I feel like there's an analogy here about troubles and trials and whatnot. Maybe. 

The moonlight reflected on the waves makes me joyous. 

The sea is a vast grey expanse. 

The breeze - the cleansing breeze. I feel it wash away my cobwebs. I feel it unburden my lungs, straighten my shoulders. 

People are getting more and more comfortable with the ocean. The waves are now waist high and they're laughing. 

The policemen in their smart horses came whistling asking people to move away from the water. Within seconds of their retreat people were back in the water. 

What is it I smell? It's the ocean, I know. Is it the salt? Where did the salt come from? Does amniotic fluid have salt?

Of everyone, children seem to love the water more than life itself. 

Now almost the whole expanse is covered in moonlight. It reminds me of nights in Anilady* and Ayandur*. Ayandur mostly. Just thinking about those nights, those memories teared me up. Like how one would miss a dead parent..a good parent. Maybe those villages brought me up. Their mud roads, their down to earth people, the food smelling of firewood. And family. I was its and then it died. Now I'm living and I remember them on a night like this. 

Like that mole on my chin, there suddenly appeared a planet by the moon. 

The night sky expands over me. Tight and taut. I can't make out the details of the faces around me. But, I see that we are all one. Same calf muscles, same skeletal frame, same voice box, same pain, same grief, same joy, same beach. 

__________________________________________________________________________

While cleaning up my cupboard, I found a notepad from many years ago. I just typed out the notes as is (mostly) from notepad to blog! 

I remember taking it to the beach one evening when I was deep in the throes of exhaustion from being a new mom (might explain the melancholy). I remember walking around Madras, aimlessly, not knowing what to do or how to be without my infants on my arms - it was my first time out alone after giving birth. Life has moved forward and I can say with gratitude that I am in a place where I feel closest to God and better about life. 

*my paternal and maternal villages respectively

A world apart

There are certain bus routes, on some days, at specific times in Chennai when buses can be half empty. On such rare occasions, sitting by yourself at the window seat, cruising through streets lined with trees on both sides and sea breeze cooling the back of your neck can be very calming to the senses.

It was at one such time that I was waiting for a bus, accompanied by Frederick Forsyth (thankfully, for the bus was pretty late) When the bus finally made it to the stop, I was beyond surprised! It was absolutely empty! I mean, it was so empty that it took me at least three minutes to decide where to sit! In fact, if not for general decorum, I might have very well pranced around, experiencing how it feels to sit on every single seat! (Umm..maybe I did do that to a couple of seats.)

I finally chose one right in the middle of the bus, on the left side, bought my ticket and went back to my Forsyth novel. The bus moved on and we crossed three empty stops in a row. Just as I was relishing this once in a lifetime experience, the bus slowed down at a stop and I noticed school kids. Sheesh. Going from their uniform and the black ribbon on the girl's pony tails, they were probably children from a Government school. I knew that meditation ambience was over. In fact, the opposite of meditative atmosphere was about to begin.

They all got into the bus, grinning and waving at the conductor and the driver. 'Ah, great,' I thought since familiarity with driver and conductor breeds obliviousness to noise-making. I went back to my book- at least I was learning how to become a first class assassin.

I think about five minutes had passed before I realized that something was really, weirdly, out of this worldly wrong. Noise. There was almost nil of it. More shocked than intrigued, I gave the bus a sweeping glance (as discretely as possible). And what I saw remains etched in my memory and will always be. Giggles and friendly punches punctuated their very expressive sign language. It was a silent cacophony.

It was a different world that I had been transported to. Just the occasional clap and grunt. I felt like an outsider in that world. Pretty much the way they would probably feel in verbose mine.

But, a happy outsider I was. Maybe it was the positive energy that children always emanate. But when I think about it now, I'm quite sure that it was the experience of being a part of a world where I could feel the stories and conversations without having to hear a word.

Get, set, weird.

On Saturdays my auto pilot usually switches to full blast mode. That the roads in Chennai aren't bursting at their seams and I'm not invading anyone's vehicular personal space, is all the more reason for my subconscious to really do its 'thang'. So, today, when I was just enjoying the kind of empty roads and pretending to be a signora, I saw a car, with "Anti- Street Racing Force - Government of India" stamped across its rear. Now, that really woke me up. I've never, ever heard of such a thing, and that too in India and that too in Chennai. I mean, sure I've scrunched my eyes, stamped my feet and hollered at the many young adults and late teens who seem to make dangerous riding their one-thing-to-do-in-life. But, an actual FORCE, that too by the government, against street racing?! My wheels were turning, I could feel it.

And suddenly they stopped.

For right at that moment, a really saucy looking yellow bike cut across my path.

And then they started moving at high speed.

On the bike was inscribed the following,

"Come behind me,
Honk Thrice,
The race begins."

Ironic?! Maybe. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeyerrrrd? More like it!

MBA

Seen on a T-shirt this morning:

"MBA - Master of Bad Activities" =D

Road signs

Ever been shown the finger?

There are a million interpretations of this one crude gesture, each one funnier (or cruder, to the humorless) than the other! As a teenager, fresh as a dew drop, when I witnessed the malicious 'finger', I was unaffected, innocent as I was, like a dove! However, a few days later, when curiosity got the better of me, through earlier enlightened peers, the intended sentiment was gleefully revealed!!

Recently, I've noticed people venting their anger and emotions on the road. Road rage is probably one of the easiest ailments to affect you, if driving on Chennai roads. Some drivers are simply not human beings. And the bus drivers...if you've seen Ice Age 2, you'll remember the lady mammoth (Ellie) who thinks she is an opossum and hangs from a tree. As do the MTC bus drivers. Its hilarious to see them try to slip through a 'cycle gap'!! So, given the fact that we are all racing at 40/60/80/100 kmph on roads that are overflowing with vehicles and since its difficult to convince a bus driver that he is a 'bus' driver, irate commuters have taken to 'showing the hand'!!

Not as rude as the finger, but intended in a similar fashion, the hand is a trademark, road user's finger. It could mean anything. From 'what do you think you're doing' to 'if I ever see you face to face, without the helmet'. From 'you silly goose on the bike' to 'have you told your people at home - (This is a classic Tamil one!)'. Not limited to any particular genre of people, it's freely used by men, women and children. By cyclists, two wheeler riders, auto rickshaw drivers, car drivers, bus drivers, share auto drivers, pedestrians, traffic police, just about everyone!!

Behind my shades, snug in a Wrangler helmet, while stuck in a traffic jam, watching the signal turn from red to green at least thrice, its quite entertaining to watch evolution in reverse.