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My first encounter with tides was hilariously humiliating.
It was a bright sunny winter morning in Vizagh with not a speck of cloud in the sky.
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Well, there, I am exaggerating. Bright and sunny is ok...but not 'winter'.
There is no winter either in Vizagh or Muthukur or any other south Indian coastal town. It is either 'hot and humid', or 'rainy and humid'.
The only woolens I saw in my school days in Muthukur were two.
1. My Nagpur Auntie brought what she called a 'woolen sweater' that she had knitted as a gift to my father. It was not a pullover, nor a turtleneck, nor a cardigan. It was like what we now call a T-shirt (without 'slogan'). Father wore it at once to show it off to Auntie, but grimaced, and took it off, saying: "Beautiful! Beautiful". He never wore it saying it was too hot and 'sweaty' (Humpty-Dumpty of Alice would say that is why it is called a 'sweater').
2. His uncle "Kashi Mama", who was a practicing 'Giant Panda' in Varanasi brought what he called a "బూర్నీసు" (rough cheap red woolen blanket) as a gift to his fond nephew. Father never used it...saying he was allergic to wool and the 'rug' was itchy.
And none of our classmates and friends in Vizagh ever wore sweaters, or shoes, or socks, or monkey caps, forget about rugs and rajais.
All this stuff I got to see first in Kharagpur.
There I found the hands of most of the ladies of my North Indian friends always busy while sitting in front of TV or in a cricket stadium. They had balls of wool on their laps and were busy knitting pullovers for their pathetic hubbies and kids, while chatting away with their friends.
Once there was this musical performance in our Faculty Club at KGP. As usual I went late to the hall and found all chairs occupied by ladies while their hubbies were standing in the verandah gabbing and smoking. I found my friend Bidhan Mohanty standing behind his wife dutifully; and joined him. Mrs Mohanty was sitting on a chair in the last row, knitting a sweater for him (and listening to the music 2-in-1).
And I whispered in Bidhan's ear: "Your wife reminds me of Madame Defarge".
And he burst out laughing. He had read his "Tale of Two Cities" which was all about the French Revolution:
The knitting represents the start of the Revolution. Madame Defarge knits a "Hit List" all day in the wine shop which serves as a list of people the Revolutionists must kill during the Revolution.
Mrs Mohanty turned back and both of us shut our traps like a couple of turtles withdrawing into their shells:
यदा संहरते चायं कूर्मोऽङ्गानीव सर्वश: |
इन्द्रियाणीन्द्रियार्थेभ्यस्तस्य प्रज्ञा प्रतिष्ठिता ||
One who is able to withdraw the senses from their objects, just as a tortoise withdraws its limbs into its shell, is established in divine wisdom.
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Anyway it was a bright sunny cool morning in Vizagh. There were only 7 such mornings there in the whole year (starting Christmas and ending New Year), when one would love to sit down for a couple of hours in the sun and enjoy his sunbath.
I looked out from my window and found the sea as still as a millpond. No roar...just a hum. No waves. No huge breakers. And the water sparkling like a million jewels reflecting the sun.
I picked up my copy of "Man-Eaters of Kumaon" and walked down to the beach and to a rock just beyond the Scandal Point. This rock was about 7 feet high and had a flat perch on its top, ideal for sitting down and reading...my favorite haunt to escape the madding city crowd.
The beach was vast with the sea far away to about 50 feet.
I got up, sat, opened my novel and started reading it. It was about 10 in the cool breezy morning.
And I got completely lost in the charming world of strange and melodious names:
Chamoli, Champawat, Haldwani, Devprayag, Rudraprayag, Pithorgarh, Tanakpur, Almora, Naintal, Tehri Garhwal....
Two hours passed by and I was through.
And I wanted to get down the rock and go home.
But found that my rock got submerged meanwhile to a height of about 5 feet by swirling sea water that must have encircled it in a silent embrace meanwhile.
There was no way I could jump into the water without getting fully drenched...pant and shirt.
Moreover I was not fully aware of my bearings...I may slip and fall down and get dragged into the sea.
The edge of the beach was now about 20 feet away.
Luckily I spotted a few fisherman sitting and knitting their nets on the beach close to the road.
And I shouted and flailed my arms in a desperate gesture that must have been familiar to those smiling fishermen.
One of those kind souls waded into the water and reached my rock. And stood by it and asked me to get up his neck, hang my feet round his chest, and hold his head firmly.
He knew every inch of the beach like the back of his palm.
And then he waded back to the shore with the precious load on his shoulders.
And bent his head down and asked me to jump off and get lost.
I paid him all of ONE rupee (good enough for a plate of upma, a dosa, and a plate of four poories with free side dishes of chutney, sambar and curry; and a cup of coffee to top them all, in the Ajanta Hotel).
And I walked glumly back to the RK Mission Bus Stop, boarded a Sputnik Bus #10 and reached home wondering what happened to me and why:
"I wonder why.
I wonder why.
To be continued
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