When the Ocean Stays Still in Pasikuda...

The very thought of the ocean evokes many feelings; a great sense of liberation; vastness; cosmic; unreachable; infinite depth; mystery and a lot more. Moreover, standing alone watching the sea is the most humbling experience – to think how powerless we are in front of those mighty waves! Can only marvel at the rhythmic roar of the waves and how they fade away...

If the sea is connected with the sound of roaring waves, ‘Pasikuda’ in Sri Lanka is an exception to the notion.

Last week end I made a trip with friends to the East coast, Batticaloa District (Batti). For those who do not know about Batti was once a hot spot of the protracted conflict. The Province is also the rice bowl of the country. Has its charm and is unique in its weather conditions and of late has become prone to the changing climate patterns with flash floods disrupting livelihoods.

This is a new phase for the country since the armed conflict ended and this is the early recovery phase. The post-war dividends are becoming apparent. About 230 kilometres away from Sri Lanka is the Pasikuda beach – one of the best beaches in Sri Lanka and probably in the world as well.

It was like a thousand imageries coming together to create an unbelievable dream come true. Had only seen one other beach before, where the water stays so still. That was in Trincomalee, also in the Eastern Province.

In Pasikuda, there is hardly any sound of a wave; if at all, merely a hum – that too music to the ears – when you relax by the beach and watch the divide – of the coast merging into the sea and then the vastness of the sea joining the sky at some point– and beyond... the eternity! Up to a kilometre (I guess) one can just walk and the water is only up to the knee –clear and pure sea water– yes, the water looks slightly green and clear that one can see the clean sea bed.

If one can float, this is the place to get lulled – any lost childhood memory of being cradled will come live. Yes, the sea becomes a cradle, gently rocking, lest it hurts you, its hum a soothing lullaby - you just float like a wispy leaf, and let all the cares to melt away in the salty, deep sea. I did leave a few worries in the sea bed and came out lighter thinking the ocean is so huge to take my small cares away.

We stayed in a recently opened resort ‘Maalu maalu’ – the name resonates with Sri Lankan day-to-day life – and could not have been more apt. ‘Maalu’ means fish – and saying it twice is something that you hear common – especially when the small fish vendors knock on your door on their bicycle. The resort has tastefully done cabanas, with large rooms and exotic bathrooms. Perfect place for a perfect abandon. As you get out of the room, you walk into the sandy beach and then to the incredibly beautiful ocean.

The sun has decided to wake up early here – by about 5.30 a.m. The rising sun, splitting through the deepest crevices of the sea beds is an incredibly energising sight. Picture perfect. Marvel. Soon after, the sun is up, the heat becomes brutal and stays that way until you are ready for the lull of the evening. Then again, it is a dream-like evening.

Pasikuda, sure is a must- see beach in Sri Lanka...

Changing Worlds

You were small
Your world was tiny
I was your world
I wished to remain there as long as I could.

You grew up.
Your world changed.
I became a spec in your large world.

I watched you grow.
And wished to remain a spec
That you could return to
In times of need.

Years have passed by.
Sure I am a spec to
You do come to.
Now my world is you.
---
Whom am I saying this to
Who is saying this to me?

Changing Music

I wandered.

And I wondered Why.

The implausible rhythm of the beat –

Of thoughts. In unison.

The discordant notes were muted

By the inexorable passage of time.

But alas! The strings remain the same

The chords unchanged.

Only the music has changed.

And the tone.

When did the Clock Tick?

It feels like yesterday.

It was raining. The torrential monsoon came ripping through the clouds splattering on the earth with a rhythmic thud. I ran to check whether my jak leaf was still intact. I had placed the leaf over that small mount of earth under which that soil bug had hidden itself. ‘That soil bug.’ Actually, I don’t know its name. We call it Kuzhiyaana – which literally translates to ‘elephant in the pit’. And for all I know, I believed that it really was an elephant, relegated to live under the soil, due to its stunted growth!

Our little minds yearned to protect the Kuzhiyaana, lest it will die in the rain! Jak leaf was the make shift shelter to protect those ‘baby elephants.’

We used to take bets, incessantly, insanely, as to which pit will have the elephant inside. Needed precision to the T, speculation, inspection, earthiness and what not! The more the number of elephants collected, greater the hero one became -to draw a comparison – like a successful stock broker! We kept those fellows in the middle of our crouched small palm, and put them back on to the soil – to watch them dig into the earth and vanish in no time. Only the mount remained.

Coconut leaf was the best one could get hold of to play with during vacation! Now, it was just the raw material out of which came a whole gamut of products – wrist watch, snake, clarinet, spectacles, spoons, stars, parrots, wind mills, necklaces, shapes of crackers and the lot. How to fell a coconut leaf was the greatest problem we had to solve. Any other form of toy was unheard of. If a parent returned from ‘foreign’ the girl will bring something to show off in the class. And the rest would go ga gag a. Those fanciful girly toys were right out of our dream world and something we would let our fancy take over and dream about until the next exams were round the corner.

Getting married was a great mystery to solve. Watching umpteen numbers of weddings in the family, one soon wanted to mimic the act of getting married. The make- up, the jewellery, the feast! For me the most gorgeous act in the whole ritual was the exchange of garlands! Man! That was the most incredible thing I so hopelessly wanted to put around my neck – snatch it from the couple, put around my neck and take a picture! It had a nice shiny, glossy cover to protect the flowers. Well, talking of late 70s!

So, my playmate and I (she was a few years older to me) decided to get married. The ritual was only to exchange garlands. My penchant for garlands she understood probably. We were about to get ‘married.’ Then came the anticlimax. Her worldly-wise attitude and the comparative advantage due to sheer seniority by two years, brought out the crudest truth. “When we exchange garlands, you get pregnant.” Now, the last thing we wanted the public to know was that we got ‘married’ and one is pregnant due to the infallible, irreversible act of exchange of garlands. ! Sacrilege it would mean and shame on families – we thought. Even in our small minds, we did not want to bring ignominy to our families! I must have been about 6 years, and she, about 8 years! So we postponed getting married at that time.

And it never happened between us, until many years later, I realised the heaviness of that garland around my neck and my life to follow.

Treasure seek was the next best alternative to coconut leaves. Had a bizarre hobby of collecting stones of jewellery –fallen, found, thrown away, etc. This was a girl’s thing. At one time I had over 50 small sized stones in my collection! Those were most secretly kept, wrapped in 4-5 small coloured sheets of paper and hidden under the clothes, and only shared with whoever mattered, on a ‘need-to-know' basis. They meant treasure, you know!?

The book exhibition at the primary school was the annual event that I so enthusiastically looked forward to. All kinds of books – that open with music inside, and shapes popping out etc. It meant the world for me to steer through the collection and finally make an informed choice as to which one I wanted to own! Believe me, I still have those, and treasure them ... my priced possessions...

Once in a while, a break from chores meant, visiting an uncle who just lived 3 km away or even less with a kilo of red grapes (well, grapes aren't red really, we were colour- blind in childhood)! Holidays were unheard of!

Mostly spent my early childhood thinking that my mother is probably Hitler Incarnate, only to learn years later that she is the best thing that EVER happened to me...and that for all children at one time, their Mothers are Hitlers in Manifest.

Tooth extractions were the most horrendous things I did ; at home... string and pull....let me not get there!

I lived in a small world. Now looking back, its smallness was also its largeness and richness. Growing up did not seem fast enough... The green and white of the school uniform was the most prized identity. The national anthem was the most soulful music.

I lived in a world, where I hardly knew what it meant to be different.

And now, live in a world, which only shows me the difference.

When did the clock tick away so fast?