A Lesson From The Sea
With Nightcafe
Being a beach bum is hard work.
Ask the retired Brits who hit the sunbeds at 9 sharp, to work on their tan, and trudge back up the dusty road to the super-market at 5 pm. A full shift.
As for me, when they express surprise that I’m heading into the shade at 9 in the morning, I tell them, “I? I was born with a tan.”
Being a beach bum is also kinda addictive, and makes the ‘real’ world seem somewhat pointless. This is by way of an excuse for not writing about what has been on my mind, namely - what really counts. I will put that out later this week, but meanwhile, here is a little lesson I learned a few days, ago, when the full moon brought on strong tides, and the wind was pushing the waves down the coast:
Both Lakshman and Ajay were at the life-guard station, and whistling people out of the water the moment they got in deeper than their navels. As I pulled on my goggles, Lakshman suggested I swim with the current, down the beach.
“But that will be no fun - and then I’ll either be huffing and puffing on the return leg, or have to walk back.”
Lakshman’s impassive face acquired a resigned grin, and I waded in, ducking under the breakers till it was deep enough to swim. Fifty meters out, the sea is like glass in the morning, when I normally swim. Now, with the sustained wind from the west, the waves rose and broke without warning.
I gritted my teeth, and fought the waves. Every time I saw one coming, I dug deeper, pulled stronger, tensed my body for combat. Every time I got pushed, I pushed back. I can easily swim for an hour, but within minutes, I was exhausted, my breath was coming hard, and I could feel the burn in my shoulders.
“You can’t sustain this. And if a wave hits you when your shoulder muscles are rigid, you could even get hurt.” I fought every instinct, forced myself to go loose and relaxed. When the waves pushed to the shore, I rolled with them, till they passed from underneath. When they rose, I allowed myself to be lifted, waited till I could easily drop my hand into the water, str-e-e-e-tch for the long pull, kick my leg deep and slow, then roll for the other arm to take over, the other leg to push down.
In a minute, it felt like the water had changed its nature, melted from a harsh, punishing force, to a being that said, “I change every hour. Can you?”
For that sunset hour, I did.