had he been aware of the tryst, he might have lived differently even, but the fun lay in not knowing until everything had come to pass. well, almost everything. right now he was rowing illegally in the middle the arabian sea, trying to reverse-trace vasco’s route to his hometown. he did do some good along the way to his current predicament though. buying a dilapidated fishing boat off a malayali fisherman for a sum enough to last him for a life time being one of them. watching the fisherman scurrying to his wife in a joyous yelp, being the better one, to which he gleamed showing off his non-existent incisors. after a crash course on faq’s about the arabian sea, amidst the setting sun and a wide-V-shaped-easy-to-draw three bird dotted skyline, into the salty azure waters, he set sail. oh yes, he did, really did believe in living out art-works and fairy-tales. the fisherman had offered to accompany him, or at least send a help along gratuitously, both of which he earnestly refused, claiming he had never needed help, albeit that realization had come not too long back. right now, rowing in the middle of nowhere, amidst flashes of lightning, thunder and the brunt of the monsoon low pressure, he was out living another tale altogether, this time quite ironically on his own terms. how many people ever got such an opportunity? maybe a couple if you believed in indian mythology.
now it’s about time, i gave you the history behind the non-existent incisors. it had been three years, four months, three days and a sunset ago (for the sake of precision), on a drive back from pondycherry. it would suffice to say, he never got back in his car that night. but then, it wouldn’t really; amidst torrential rain, full blast vipers, eye piercing headlights from the opposite side, slipping and swerving, he crashed. and as the tryst would have it, it was outside a highway hospital designed precisely for such situations. two weeks in a comatose state, a broken rib and shoulder, and two missing incisors later, i picked him up from hospital and got him home. he had changed in several ways in appearance and thought after his near death experience, of which i could only attempt a dispassionate description. he rested for about a month, and i visited him several times during this period. whenever i would ask him of the accident, he wouldn’t respond coherently. instead, he would claim being awake during his coma. “flashes of headlights, dreams, a sub-conscious journey”, he had said. and he would say one other thing, never offering an explanation for it – “rain”. it went above my simple head then, but over the next three years for which i had been around, i saw a transformation in him, which i could attribute only to his ethereal journey perhaps. in the coming days, he wasn’t going nuts as many who knew him said. he was merely tuned to a frequency different than most.
he had rowed for almost five hours into the darkness of night, since he had seen the malayali fisherman’s back. his throat was quite parched, thanks to his own idea of not carrying potable water. he tossed his empty water bag into the sea. water pollution, he thought, just passing by. he decided to break for a couple of minutes to carry out a location check. as though, the waves would wait, but they did. he pulled out a small piece of paper and a torch from inside his backpack. as he unfolded it, a huge drop of rain fell squarely onto the map hitting the spot marked “V”. he truly did like trading in fantasies. a quick calculation and he realized, he was about a couple of hours away from “V”. of course he had given leeway for rain. that was what he had come for and it was here now. ha! he looked up at the gloomy skies and smiled. lightning struck and thunder boomed from the closest of distances which a man could survive and he barely flinched even. other times it would have been luck – not today. rain fell on his face, and he drank it as he smiled wider and more.
the last time, he stared rain in the face with such bliss, it had been a benevolent camouflage to his misery. that moment almost five years ago, was one of the flashes he had seen before crashing. it had been quite a moment in his life. all he had come for was to see her one last time before they parted ways for good. she had been his everything, teaching him to love like he had never known before, give like he had not done ever before. but he had learnt only so much and that was that. they hugged on some steps under a shade and he couldn’t stop wailing. he was shaking while she held him with strength like she always did. she was always stronger. they pulled away and he stepped out of the shade with tears streaming down uncontrollably. he looked up into the glum skies then, and the drizzle that had been for so long gave way to a downpour. at that moment, he felt an engulfing comfort. it was listening to him and crying with him as they walked away for what would be forever.
and now, back in the middle of the vast sea, he acknowledged it’s presence, standing up with a steady wobble countering that of the boat, opening his arms wide and welcoming the rain with an almost theatrical air of self, staring at it face upward . yet another lightning cut through the pitch black air, illuminating his stage as he stood in the centre of it all. that moment imparted to his stature, a graphic novel villain-ish aura. his missing-incisors-smile, a desaturated colour scheme. it was a graphic japanese motion art, QT style. i miss that as i don’t want movies anymore, not here. maybe i would once he got here soon enough. after the melodramatic self appeasing hullabaloo, he sat down and got to the serious business of rowing towards the “V”. the weather obviously got rougher. wrestling desperately with the waves for the control of the boat, every instant it grew tougher to row. he was running out of strength perhaps, or maybe he had been wrong – either way, the tryst was taking its toll. sudden flashes of lightning had confounded his senses leading him to doubt his convictions perhaps. but he knew it to exist from legends – the “V”. he was drained now, and every push of the oars seemed to take the life out of him. with one last push, his pupils dilated, his vision blurred losing focus, and everything got darker. with one last flash of the lightening, he swooned, flopped face down to the floor of the boat. the thunder followed then. the boat now, travelled the course the wind, waves and rain dictated. this was the tryst taking over, as he lay there unconscious.
after his accident, he decided to travel. and by that, i mean, he literally made a profession out of traveling. he quit his job, strapped on a back pack, and walked off. he spent seven months in jaisalmer, teaching local tribals how to handle snakes, and to differentiate between poisonous and non poisonous ones. i recall, he called me from a pco and said, “can you believe it, it’s raining here! it hasn’t rained here for fifteen years. what did i tell you – rain.” i saw a connect some where, but i didn’t understand why he was doing what he was doing. then he called me from kutch once, and boomed from one side of the telephone on the calmness of the aridity at the rann. it had rained there too. he went down south to the parched areas. he travelled upwards, towards the middle, teaching locals how to control man-eaters, and handle bears. he was a helper to the forest ranger at the gir for two months and then got himself transfered to the sundarbans. life was on the move for him, and for someone of his “potential” in the eyes of lots, he was wasting it. but he was far beyond reasoning now.
then sometime later, he was in town again and i visited him. flooding him with questions, to which i knew i would get answers which my parochial outlooks could never accept. all the same the sense of thrill from the perceived deviant acts from societal orders tingled my curiosity. at least, i would live a drifting life in passing just by hearing him out. he said, “it had come calling. the accident, and before that even. the rain. even after the accident, it called – again and again. in fact, almost all through my life, it had been. my first day of school, it had rained, my first day of college it rained, my first day at office work, it rained. these weren’t the days you forgot so easily. hell, apparently the heavens opened out even on the day i was born. what else did i need. at first, it seemed absurd even. the journey changed that. that was the first time, i had felt the connect. i dreamt about those first days. i re-lived every moment during the crash. the rain, the near-death, and as though, lying to die right on the road outside a hospital. it wasn’t all chance. i could no longer accept that. i needed to question my loyalties to my life, the path i needed for it to take, the path it was being governed by. and i took off. i decided to travel. i went first to my ancestral home. it had been a land parched and starved for several years. and i fell into such deep contemplation then, whether the rain would come now? would this be it? was it going to be calling me in reality, and not from some re-collected arbitrary past or a chance accident. two days later, it rained, and i stood right there on the street smelling the soggy dusty scent, as several kids came right out played and danced, cows mooed, farmers rejoiced, old ladies sang, old men looked skyward and prayed, and that was that. i left the next day. that moment, right there, was my conformation in real-time, on demand.”
the booming thunder shook him up from his slumber. he had dreamt perhaps. he saw a shimmer afar in this deep darkness, and a smile spread across his face. he was witnessing the mirage. it was here finally. what he had come for. he rowed now, with a renewed gusto. a pumping adrenaline to augment his excitement, he could see it with his eyes if he went just a little closer. he rowed the malayali boat for just under a mile, when he saw the outside edges of the gigantic inward swirl. trees grew in deeply saturated greens, silvery flocks of water fell from mountains majestic, the sun rose with piercing rays, and idyllic wooden houses stood fuming from chimneys, and boats were tethered at meandering river beds. imagining that his boat might be an addition to the collection, he swirled inwards on his own terms, passing on to the other side, even as a rainbow appeared in the wet skies. he rowed to the first house, pulled to a stop on the embankment, tied his memorable malayali boat, walked to the house marked “V” and knocked. at last, he had reached his final destination on his own terms. the door opened, and amidst a mild drizzle, my smiling face greeted him.
