This Goan or a Kerala backwaters’ setting was the least I expected from this frenzied, hustling city. The sun had softened in the sky. I walked under its gaze, and sat on a bench in a small, partly open church. An old man was seated at the end of the row of benches. I didn’t notice him; I just carried a memory of a blurred figure, clad in a white vest as I hurriedly went past the door of the church and headed to the shore, ignoring a fisherwoman’s warning. On my way back, I found him resting against the wall of a temple next to the church. He noted the indifference in my eyes, but followed it up with a friendly grin. I unloaded the backpack and sat beside him. Greeted him with a big smile and a warm hello; receiving a warm smile and a nod in return.
***
“At what time do you people go out for fishing?” I inquired.
He smiled and replied, “At dawn”, pointing a finger up in the air.
We smiled at our informal togetherness. He told me everything about fishing in that village: from the meager market prices of fish to the prediction of weather using conventional wisdom; about the rich history of that place and the mundane world of Worli Kolivada.
***
“Hey, you have spent many days in the sea. Ever got stuck in a storm?” I asked.
“Oh yes! Yes, there was a storm once. A big one,” his tone rose in excitement. He continued, “There were the two of us, far away in the sea. He was an idiot; I warned him about the possible storm. You know the small orange fish? Whenever they swim close to the surface, there is always a storm coming. There were a lot of them that day. We did catch about 30 fish and it was our third day in the sea. We would have sailed back but for that greedy b…..d.”
***
He paused and then gazed at the sea for a long time, with an expression that was part-smile and part longing.
“It was two in the night when it started raining…very very heavily! We were stuck in the middle of that monster storm. It slapped our boat very hard…from every side and we fell over the deck. I tried to steer the boat out of the storm, but I couldn’t see anything except the sight of my partner who lay on the deck, holding the bottom of the mast. He was crying-that greedy idiot!” he grinned, and continued, “It got worse with every minute…scary too! But I didn’t let go of the boat. I kept steering it…until that final blow of a satanic wave flipped the whole boat. We lost all our fish and we fell in the sea engulfed by a storm.”
***
He didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared at the sea.
“This is the first time that I ever mentioned this incident to someone,” he said, swallowing a heavy sigh.
I didn’t utter anything; I just kept listening.
“I was born and brought up here. Inherited fishing as a profession from my father who was a great fisherman. Our lives here were ordinary, switching between this sea and land. We longed for happiness, for money, for a future that would be devoid of even the slightest remnant of our present,” his voice grew deeper.
“…but happiness eluded us. We merely survived-like most of the people in this world,” he smiled, and stared at me gravely.
He chuckled, and said, “But time went by and we prospered. We were good, quite good. I started working in a cigarette factory after my marriage. I’d even go fishing during the weekends. I love the sea.”
***
We were silent for a long time, and with a voluntary internal reflex he pointed his finger at the sea and said, “…and then, that day we were stuck in that monster storm that threw us into the sea. We made out alive, I am no spirit talking to you, don’t make serious faces!” he laughed, and patted my back. He paused, and his smile started to vanish, “I think of that incident every single day of my life”, he continued, “…I felt myself engulfed by the stormy sea, a few feet under the surface. I couldn’t see anything-it was dark, pitch dark. I was losing my breath, the rhythms were slowing down, my heart started to beat faster and I felt that I’d drown…and then I saw something, deep in the sea: I saw death”, he said, pressing upon the last word.
***
“I don’t know how, but we made out alive. He keeps thanking me to this day, that idiot.”
“How does it feel like… seeing death in the face?” I interrupted him midway.
He remained silent, and gave a stern look, sighed and said, “It was the most majestic sight I ever saw.” He said, pressing down upon each word; he tried to continue but faltered, and then said involuntarily, “I never understood what life meant, what this world is, why we all went out for fishing and returned, drenched more in sweat than the sea…and then, in that moment, I saw my life, not death: this was the majesty of that sight.”
***
“You know what- death defines life. It’s not the dread of death: it’s the fear of losing a life, measured in years, to a single miniscule moment, where everything seems bland, and no matter what the quality of life is..it remains outside that single moment but the will to live exists…it always has.”
“…and when I reached the shore, escaping from that tiny little moment, I felt myself to be a better man.”
***
“Aah, no matter what you do-earn a million bucks, travel round the globe and thrive in a palace, or lead the world-the essence of life lies in that secluded moment, and for me, it’s far away in the sea, deep down the surface,” he said, and laughed, incessantly.
I followed up with a rusty smile, and asked, “How is your family?”
“I had one”, he said with a look of indifference.
“Oh, I am sorry”, I said.
“It’s ok”, he smiled. “She used to wait for me, on that shore,” I followed the direction of his hand.
“…-every single time I returned from fishing. And one winter morning, when I returned, I couldn’t find her. They told me she suffered some illness and… like that, she was gone.”
I put an arm around him; he continued, “…it’s ok. I was disheartened at that time. But it was all fine afterwards-I didn’t lose myself, didn’t even worry…after all its life”
“How are your children?” I asked, dreading any response.
“Never had any,” he said without a moment’s lapse.
We remained silent and looked at the setting sun, and the boats that returned.
“How do you live? ”
“I gave all my property to my brother’s children. They live there, and they are quite good to me. I just ask them for food. My body resists, but sometimes I manage to set sail in the sea. No I don’t go for fishing anymore! I stroll across the whole city on weekends. I have been to the Colaba causeway… No! I never drink! You are wrong here son, it’s the lane adjacent to the Flora fountain that goes down to the gateway…Are you in love? Heyy! C’mon! Tell me…I can see it in your eyes!”, and we talked on and on, discussing things that brought back the informal togetherness we had begun with.
***
“What’s the time?” he asked, and lighted a beedi, and continued, “jab samudra me jate hai to waha thand hoti hai, hamara boat pe chaat nahi hai bhau, to ab isse kam chalana padta hai”, and laughter erupted from every side. This was the lightest moment of the day, lighter than the one at the edge of that brackish rock where the sun kissed the hazy horizon and the sea diminished in the dusky darkness.
“It’s about six thirty,” I answered, and stood up to take his leave.
“I live there…in the third lane from the main street of our settlement”, he said and started to walk.
“…hope to see you again”, I said,shouting, at which he laughed insanely, stopped, turned,and said,
“agar upar nai gaya tab tak to pakka.”
Rohit Inani lives in Nagpur and is currently studying Civil Engineering. He has been a writer for as long as he can remember. For he believes writing to be an art that is not about mastering a language but about nurturing a different perspective-even distorting reality sometimes. Hiking and running are his companions. Currently, he is penning down philosophical fiction and is also a big fan of everything satirical.
http://www.rhohitinani.wordpress.com