Sunday, February 24, 2008

The Sea of Fantasy

“I want to go alone to the beach next Tuesday,” I said to mom. “You know that’s not possible, sweetheart. Moreover, we do take you there every week, because you love it so much”

“But it’s not the same with you all around!”

I had decided firmly at that very moment that I wanted to go alone. I have had a close affinity towards the sea ever since as long as I remember. It began when mom and dad took me there for the first time. They had thought that I would like it there. In fact, I had fallen in love with it the very same day. Then week after week, they have been taking me there every Sunday evening. And of course, with every other visit, my love for it has just grown. There are a lot of people and a lot of chaos on Sundays. At times, it irritates me since then I cannot enjoy the visit wholeheartedly. That’s why I wanted to go on a weekday. I didn’t want to share the place with other people, not even mom and dad. I did not want the sanctity of the moment to be spoilt by other people’s presence.

Mom always holds my hands as we walk towards the shore. I didn’t want that. I wanted to touch the waves with my hands. I wanted to feel the waves as they touched my feet – the waves I’d heard so many times. They sounded so magical, as if calling out to me. I would jump on them a hundred times and splash water all around with every jump. It would be fun to have the water splash on my face. The water would then trickle down my face and I would feel it against my cheeks like a kiss. I wanted to walk the entire length of the beach; all by myself. I wanted to feel the sand playing with the back of my feet, trying to mingle with my toes, teasing me. Then, when I would grow tired of walking, I would just lie down on the sand and go to sleep for a while. I wanted to feel the coldness of the sand below me. I wanted to feel the warmth of the setting sun above me. It would feel like a tight embrace from someone you loved. After I wake up, I would buy balloons, the gas ones. And I will stand on the shore, and right when the waves kiss my feet, will fly them away. I will stay back till late evening. I want to be there when the sun sets.

It has always been a fantasy to watch the sun-set with my own eyes. I had heard mom and dad always talking about the sun-set looking so beautiful. They used to describe it as one of the most beautiful things they had ever seen. They say the sky looks orange and the sea glows in the light as the sun tries to touch the sea. I have always tried to give people and things a face; a face which would not necessarily be theirs. But I associate them that way. But it is a challenge for me to give a correct picture to the sun-set. I have seen the sun-set so many times in my fantasies and it looks different each time. I don’t know what orange is. I don’t even know, how the sea, which I have always loved so much, looks like. I can just feel its vastness. I can hear its constant turbulence. I can only touch it as it advances towards me with some kind of an exigency; perhaps it will always be a fantasy to see it outside of my eyes.



- Divya Shetty
divya_infinity@yahoo.com

6 comments:

Janvi Gandhi said...

Beautiful! I like the fact that you've concentrated on the idea of the sea and built on other aspects like freedom emerging from it. The flow feels uninterrupted that way.
Although I'd like to see more polish to it, it scores big time for me. And hope to see more of your work in the coming issues:) Keep writing!

Samir Bellare said...

Nice last para Divya.

speedaholic said...

youur last lines and para's always take home the prize.really nice ending.

Anonymous said...

Thanks Janvi, Samir and Harshal
@ Janvi: seems like Mihir is paying you to encourage other writers! ;) lol

Janvi Gandhi said...

Lol, I wish it were true! But encouragement does not come with a price tag so I do it, irrespective of anything really.

Unknown said...

A brilliant piece of prose! The last paragraph really clinches the story. All her feelings roll out with a sweet momentum and there's the final purgation in the last line. Really very well written. I would like to quote a critic who said something about an author in the 18th century in an altogether different context, because I think it applies very well to your writing: "...never deviates from (her) track to snatch a grace, seeks no ambitious ornaments and tries no hazardous innovations. (Her) page is luminous but never blazes in unexpected splendour." It's always a delight to read your writings - both, in the process, as well as the final product.