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Beauty on the beach – II

Orphaned coconuts on a cart

I reach the touristy parts of the beach. Crowds, selfie takers, people in water, people on sand and people praying in the sea. I move on. Past the crowds, past the photographers, past the hawkers, past hung-out neon life-jackets, past lifeguards wearing those life jackets, past the noise. I move fast, vey fast. Till I see it. Then I stop.

Orphaned coconuts on a cart.

They lay there, cozying up one next to each other, holding on against the cool sea breeze. Calmly, they lie in wait, for nothing in particular, without want or complain.

I begin to jog. Back to the regular set — joggers, walkers, runners — more footballers, a few foodstalls, some spiritual signboards stuck in sand (at one time they would have been a find, though not anymore). I jog harder till I pant, realising how unfit I am and slow down. I admire the sea. Then I hear the words, “Sir! Sir!” I turn to look.

The mixed-gender frisbee team.

I found a very young man with young unruly hair had shouted out the word “Sir,” before completing the sentence, “Please walk outside the boundaries.” Usually, I am never happy to hear that word. It means I am getting old. To add to my misery, he said it again. His respect stung me. Hmpfh! I looked at them, young boys and girls, clearly waiting for me to clear out. I resentfully, and respectfully, stepped out of their boundary lines. They forgot about me and played on.

I moved with “Sir” hanging heavy around my neck.

The crowds started to thin. I could see coarse rocks, hear the birds and taste the sand. I slowed down. There were people, each lost on her own island. I had reached a point. From here I could turn back or turn to sea. I chose the sea. I’m glad because I saw …..

An empty boat bobbing with saffron flags.

It lay low — blue raft and white tails — the flags stacked up. Some touched the water, a few waved around. “Hop aboard,” they said.

Let’s go to sea
Places never seen.
Good to go,
Go out to sea

I heard them flags. Heard them loud and clear. But not today. Not with life behind me. There is time. For I want to write. I want to witness, more beauty on the beach.


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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