Beauty on the beach – I

The kid holding yesterday’s balloons

Saturday morning on Juhu beach. Not looking for, nor seeking out neither actively engaging and yet, there are things that I see. The people, things that stand out, beauty between the blue and the boring by the beach. 

I begin. I pass them by. Morning walkers, runners, kids playing soccer, senior citizens admiring the sea. And then…

3 women walking together holding hands. 

They were swaying hands and walking in gay abandon — their backs to me. Joyous sway of the hips, the uneven sand making buttocks sway lopsided, making them shriek as young kids and yet, refusing to let go. I smile as I walk on. 

Again you have football. More kids playing football, runners in running gear walking, a couple bickering yet walking, serious football players and…

A freaky-hair couple. 

She has green hair, he has blue. He wears a pony, her curls fly wild. He’s bare chested, she clothed head to toe. He’s chain-smoking,she’s holding a radio. A Kishore Kumar song about life and loving plays on while they walk in circles not talking to each other. Not one word.

I have reached the section where people are sitting down for picnics. Couples, a family of three, a family of five, a family with help all picnicking away. In sand and sea kids have fun, mom-dad play along or be, the help helps or is on  stand by. There are a few pets too loitering around. All this is everyday and cute alright but does it stand out? Nah. Till I see her. 

The kid with yesterday’s balloons.

She was barely 3-4 year old. She didn’t care about the picnicking folks or the sea or the pets. She was most obsessed with the soft balloons in her hands. They were white and blue in colour. Hawk-like she watched over them and kept them away from her younger brother. He fought and wailed, complaining to their father. She didn’t care, didn’t let go. She left the beach, walked away with her balloons, her father urging her to share. She kept on walking, her brother trailing, teary eyed. She knew the balloons wouldn’t last forever, unlike her kid brother. I felt a little sad, yet with a sense of pride as she walked away from me.

I moved on, only to discover orphaned coconuts on a cart. That’s for next time.

Published by appamprawns

soni writes about children and people in controlled spaces, in his quest for appam stew. homi writes in the hope of being able to buy prawns to make patiyo.

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