oceanshine
we walk on by, past stores displaying handcrafted jewellery, handbags, wall-hangings, stone sculptures, chillums, second-hand books and bright coloured clothes- kashmiri salesmen wearing 'come on in' smiles. the wind against our skin feels like being baptised in icy cold spring water after the sultry, sunny day. children, wild-haired and dreamy are running hard on the soft loose sand, chatting, chanting and playing games with no real rules and zero purpose. foreigners with lonely planet and rough guide paperbacks are choosing their restaurants meticulously to consume masala fried calamari, tiger prawns in hot garlic sauce and a choice of brews for wash down the sea-spills.
the shore is scattered with catamarans and a few power boats. the ocean is dark except for one section where the three-quarter moon is doing a fiery dance on the waves. moonlight reflects on the black depths appearing like slivers of sliver dashing against each other in a languid mating sequence. magical fireworks inside the bay's belly. where the ocean is not lit by the moon, it appears raven winged in flight.
there's a single soul squatting near the water's edge, motionless, gazing into the distance. we seat ourselves on one of the catamarans behind the man so as to not disturb his meditative pose.
there are two men standing a little away from us wearing jeans and loose shirts directing their actions and attention to a small handset flashing an sms. upon reading it the men display immense amusement and guffaw intensely. we are joined by two more men in the boat behind us, locals in lungis and faded shirts, sitting crouched and conversing loudly.
we sit in zen like silence and listen to the symphony of the sea, never missing a beat as it roars, rises, recedes and falls with a sweeping shhhh. the man, squatting awfully close to the ocean's entrance now lifts himself and pulls up his trousers, which we had missed in the pale moonlight, bunched up around his ankles. shit happens. he walks away oblivious to us and the others around.
the men in the boat are joined by a third, with a bare hard sun-burnt chest.he jumps in and starts beating up the older of the two and then the whacks the other, who screams," what i have done," in tamil. the bare torsoed man unhands him and starts to focus all his attention on the older man. his hard hands land squarely across the other's face, thock, thock, thock. he then holds him by the collar and bangs his head on the wooden surface of the boat, repeatedly, till he tries standing up, uttering a soft cry of sheer anguish. macho-man resumes the fisting, one blow on older-man's jaw lands with such brute power that he's knocked off the boat. as he tries to flee the scene he's met with the machismo dripping stranger's knee smack in the middle of his chest.
we move away as the victim runs towards our boat and watch from one of the restaurants called sea-side(the owner must be a whiz with words). the backpackers are knifing and forking away their sea-chow unmindful of the bloody action a few metres away. the children continue chasing each other, shouting joyfully and brimming with enthusiasm. the two jean clad men are trying to get the phone to work after it has been dropped into the water after a suprisingly big wave doused them with a salt-shower.
we are hand in hand as we watch the two black silhouettes against the foaming waves, two figures, one riding the other,they could be easily mistaken for amorous lovers who overcome with passion started making love on finding a secluded boat.
as we walk away, i look back one last time to see a strong hand lift a comatose head high and then drop it down with a loud thud. the symphony of the sea, however remains unaltered. the shore temple in the distance, is standing proud on its high embankment, gazing,stone cold