"How big the sea is and how small we are!" "You expected the sea to be smaller than you?" There, she pricked my bubble of creative impulse. We giggle and kick each other, do a titanic with hands outstretched, run around, get wet. Feel the sand, at our feet, dress, everywhere… Eat Bhel, sit quite and observe. Admire the St. Mary’s island, ripe-green with promise at the distance and the boats going towards it. Try to discipline the knots in the hair teased by the breeze around. Burn off a stick each of Rothmans King size supposedly mild and meant for ladies given by somebody to whom somebody had given. Decide it’s too old an age to start a bad habbit. Nothing great about doing it or not doing it.
Get up again to run towards the surging waves and away from it. Dance in rhythm a la Sharukh and Kajol in Baazigar, act hawaiin, eye a couple and how the guy give up his right to die in some adventure as his wife forbid him to go deeper into the sea. Everytime his camera turn our side; we pose far behind the lady, happy to be the scenery in a perfect picture with a spurious air of gaiety.
Leave imperfectly perfect footprints on the sand; write romantically with our toes ‘A+B+C+D’, ’J loves… the beach’ (no better lines. Sigh!) and await the buoyant waves to wash it again. Laugh with gay abandon over what we wrote.
The skies invite themselves to our merry-making with tactical ploy and shoot raindrops from above. Everything becomes one and united, the sea, the sand, the trees, the breeze, the clouds, the rains.
We rush to the resort, ’Paradise Isle’ with rippling enthu, sit by the open pane and look again at the vast expanse, the fleet of boats embarked on the bank, the sun coming out shyly safe now from pursuit and capture by the clouds.
scoop down our icecreams laden with fruits, fresh and dry, caramels and a lot of nuts.
Malpe Beach, Udupi. No photographs, only memories!
Allowed myself to be bewildered. Stopped to question and never ceased to observe.