A couple of months ago, my friend’s status update on Facebook led
me to think about us. She pointed out the ‘deep connection between the ocean and love’, and described
the way lovers from different walks of life all hold hands in the same way by
the ocean. “Love belongs by the ocean,” she declared. And I thought how true it
was for me and love, especially with you.
I rewound back to that late
September evening around the turn of the century. It was our first time at the
beach together. It may have been a Sunday evening because I remember how crowded
it was. My first impression was far from romantic, what with so much noise and all
those people milling around us. We walked a bit and then sat down on the sands.
It was dark by then and as I looked ahead into the distance, I could see the
frothy white waves being sucked to the shore. I began to focus on what the sea
means to me. It’s always been the same – vast and mysterious, unchartered and
relentless, calm and forgiving, heavy and beckoning, aloof and still, but
always brimming with emotions; just like life, just like the pathways inside
our hearts.
I’ve always loved the sea and she’s
graciously always loved me back. I remember once lying on the soft white sands
all by myself, on a beach shaded by a canopy of dancing coconut trees. Each
time the palm leaves moved to the beat of the lively ocean, I would catch a
glimpse of the full moon – large and luminous in all her glory. I remember
thinking then it was the happiest I had ever been. I thought I would never
forget that feeling, and I was right. I hadn’t even met you then but as I lay upon
that magical shore by the Arabian Sea, I could feel you by my side. Or maybe it
was just the idea of you or that elusive ‘someone’.
Back to that Sunday evening on the
crowded beach and the sea was once again the mistress of my fate. I was facing
the same ocean but this time it was the Bay of Bengal, and you were by my side.
We were silent for the longest time and I presumed, like me, you too were
captivated by the sea. Then I turned toward you and found you looking at me,
your dark eyes smiling as though they’d uncovered a happy secret. “Look at the
sea,” I urged, but you insisted on looking at me and saying things that I’ve
always had a hard time believing. Now, all these years later, I remember none of
your words but I can still tap into the way they made me feel. Everything’s
different now, but that moment, those words, that Sunday evening – it’s all the
same. Locked up inside a bubble that’s still bouncing around on that beach.
We shared many more moments by the ocean,
and if I put a little effort into it, I could probably recount them all. But some
require no strenuous recall, like the time we got into a little boat with the
fishermen at dawn and sailed straight toward the rising sun. I remember how terrified
you were and how tightly you held on to me. I wonder if you’re still afraid of
the water or if you’ve since managed to step out of your fears, like you’ve
done with so many other things that used to define you. I remember feeling
alive and exhilarated and thinking that I would never love you more. And I was
right. I don’t think I loved you more after that because love, like everything
else reaches its peak, and then you either choose to balance yourself
precariously, or you make your retreat. Then I remember the time we took
another little boat to see the dolphins on our way to that tiny island in the
place I love the most in the world. I remember the man plucking tender coconuts
and scooping out the milky white flesh as he handed it to us. I remember the excitement
on your face as you ate it. I remember the smile on your face as you clicked
pictures of me doing goofy things. And as always, the water was witness to it
all.
It’s ironic how everything we meant
to each other ended by the ocean again. It swam down South and then moved up
North towards the West, only to dissolve into the Arabian Sea. It was the same
ocean, just a different sea, but one that made all the difference I suppose. I
remember how I felt that night when I found you there unmasked and ashen faced.
I’m still haunted by that look of fear on your face, like a stunned, trapped
animal. I remember having an out-of-body experience. I was saying things and
moving my hands but I could not contain what it did to my body – the cold sweat,
racing heart, and rage-filled eyes. I had to step out of my skin and float
above to watch what we had turned into. It was so unimaginable and
unrecognizable that I found myself wishing to be swallowed up by the sea, just
like it had sucked in the people we used to be. My mind rewound to that day when
we were coasting down the street in the place we once called home. I remembered
us making up our own silly songs and singing them out loud. And I remembered
how you said that that was us, and that was how we would always be. But we
weren’t by the ocean that day. If we had been, perhaps it would have warned us
about how the ticking of the clock coincides with the receding of the tide.
So that’s how we came to be
swallowed up by the Indian Ocean. You, me, and that thing we imagined would
last forever. Some call it love.
2 comments:
...because love, like everything else reaches its peak, and then you either choose to balance yourself precariously, or you make your retreat...
Beautifully said..and so true.
Thank you Himanshu :)
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