Curtain Raiser:
Adventure has never attracted me. The one time I went on
a 90 degree gravity thrust from 205 feet above ground level at a 80 miles per
hour speed in London’s Thorpe Park, I went numb, my heart split in to fragments,
brain tissue sprinkled over mother earth. It was the end for me. An end that
deprived me of that final right of a scream with my vocal chords clogged up in
a messy shock inside a hidden corner of the throat. The only open organ, my
eyes; witnessed the horror that day that developed in to lifelong vertigo.
Vertigo for me then was acquired. But the fear of water
was inherent. I have been ultra and acutely phobic to deep water; still and
moving since I can remember. Since the 2004 Tsunami struck Sri Lanka my
recurring nightmare has been ever since, the final thoughts of the victims who
were engulfed and swept straight in to the bottomless endless sea, framed in by
gigantic monstrous tidal waves that recorded more than 98 feet in height. I had
prayed to die by being hit by a truck, by being shot or stabbed but never by
drowning. I would never have a peaceful and a restful soul and my ghost will
wander aimless reliving that horrific moment wailing like a banshee.
The Protagonists:
Yasara
has a commanding physique with a long neck and lean statuesque legs. When she
and I stand together she towers over and pushes me in to oblivion of sight. (Of
course I know my intellectual height makes up for most of those lost inches).
Yasa’s frame albeit intimidating at times did not alter the constant child in
her. Adventure for her is life’s gospel. She is fearless, headstrong and
fabulously unselfconscious. For Yasa, a paper rocket is a product of NASA and a
basin of water is an ocean for a paper boat. Everything she saw had color, a
new meaning and is a quest to unfurl.
She wanted me to watch “The Impossible”. A movie
co-directed by a real life Tsunami survivor where the deaths of the catastrophe
is shown as not mainly by drowning but by collateral damage caused by the force
of the tide. The gory wound of Naomi
Watt’s left shin, torn apart by a wayward piece of furniture thrust at her and
later as a festering gash made her fight
for her life. Moral of the film; people didn’t only die by drowning during a
Tsunami.
The Plot:
‘The Impossible’ was
Yasara’s dress rehearsal for me. A week later she manhandled me in to
accompanying her and some of her friends to Bentota. That weekend her life revolved
around curing me from hydro- phobia which I was happy to live with and Water
sports was the least of the last I wanted to engage myself in. But the shame of
being the coward in the crowd took the better of me and by the time I realized
what I had gotten myself in to, I had already been strapped in to a life jacket
and was planted on a Yamaha speed boat to doom. I remember my eyes
watering and clutching the arms of Yasa and Chatz on either sides of me. The
familiar stanzas of “ithipiso” got mixed up under breath when the boat roared off
the stillness of the Bentota river. The rider showed off his skills to my
horror not once or twice but on innumerable occasions where the boat glided,
bobbed and landed on the water with forceful pressure and speed. The two ladies
on either side of me was going in to hysterics as expected, shouting and
clamoring their release from the daily mundane. Oh I loved my mundane. How good
was mundane.
As the boat got to the banks I envisioned that
the worst was over. Like hell it was. I was hustled to the water once again and
found my ass on the water this time sitting on what they called a Ringo.
My final inquiry from yasa
who was seated parallel to me on an identical, bottomless, inflated circle
beaming like a 7 year old – was if there was any risk of being tipped to the
water. “ No.. don’t worry. Just enjoy” her last words flew away in the speeding
air as the motor boat towed the ringo as fast as that rollercoaster I dreaded
10 years ago. The only difference was this was thrust horizontally and the
frequent slapping and lashing of blades of water against my inexperienced bum.
‘Wooowweeeee… eeeeeeeee…hahhahaaaaaa … wooooweeeee..’ Yasa’s excited shrills wafted in to the watery
vapor surrounding us gushing about throwing us high at times and pressed down hard
on the surface of the river at others while the motor boat in front of us sped
on. ‘Pleeeeeeese stttttttopppppppp…. I want to go hommmmme’!!! were my first
soprano pleas that drowned in the cacophony of slashing and sloshing force of
the water, which I was supposed to be ‘enjoying’. Against my fancy, on the Ringo,
I closed my eyes. How ironic. I wished I went back on that motor boat and closed
the chapter on ‘water sports’ leaving a better taste in my mouth. On the inflated circle, I was only decimals
away from that eerie bottomless, endless river with the constant reminder
facilitated by the repeated sprays of foamy streams against my face. Couldn’t
there be any uglier cue to the phobic of the very element of her life-long
dread?
Then came the Banana Boat
ride. Oh that looked easier than the Ringo. Emboldened by two watery
experiences, it was my perfect end to a horror-ridden day. The Banana boat
carried all five of us in a row, one behind the other. Towed aggressively by a
motor boat like the ringo, the Banana ride
assumed itself as steady and supportive; or so I thought until the boat took a
sharp turn and tipped us all in the Bentota river. The moment was so sudden and
shockingly unexpected that my id and ego debated what had happened. I remember
looking at the expansiveness of colour blue and gulping some of it clumsily
before a hand jerked my head through the surface of the water. When I came to,
I was hanging on to both Yasa’s hands as if doing kiri kiri bole.
‘Arent you going to slap that man for not
doing his job right? He tipped us!!!’
I went in to a bumbling fit referring to the
boat rider.
‘That is what you call a Happy banana ride. The tipping is part
of the game’ she was ecstatic.
While hanging on to Yasa for precious life
still in the water, I could not fathom how I allowed myself to be completely
man and mind-handled by her. In a corner of my mind as I turned and looked
closely, the monster had softened. But my super ego was in control. No. I was
not going to be lured.
The epiphany:
Back on the Yamaha speed
boat. Spent, but curiously alive with novel perceptions of adventure. Ok so it
was not that bad. And it’s all done. Or so again I thought! The rider took a
corner and glided in to a steady stream of water throwing glances at me
sideways. A wink passed and we were crossing the river delta and venturing in
to the sea. The boat took a steady upbeat rhythm, and my heart sank as I found
myself screaming in disbelief! “Are you serious? We are in the sea! you are
riding away from the shore!” my companions whoosh and whooped as the boat succeeded
tide after tide plunging us deeper and deeper in to the ocean. Physically
shaken and shaking from the sheer psychological exertion, I realized that the
boat had infiltrated itself into the deep waters maybe only inches away from crossing
the maritime border of the land. The happy sunbathing sand-playing ocean lovers
now indistinct at my vantage point. We were completely and utterly alone
without any other living creature in sight except for the sea and aero life
that surrounded us with eerie callings. I was waiting. Just waiting so everyone
would come to their senses and turn back to go home.
And then the boat stopped.
Engine off.
The negligible swishing
noise of the water caught by the occasional sea breeze made the loudest noise
we’ve heard in our lives. And then again it fell so very silent.
“all right. Jump then” the rider’s
instructions were well received by Yasa, Chatz and Tarik. Under my disbelieving
gaze, every one jumped in to the sea. In my heart of hearts I was thinking. Oh
chicken! I am in the middle of the sea. There is no one to help me except for
these 4 people whom I have learnt to trust. Yes I trust them. They are my
friends and they will take care of me.
Slosh! There I jumped.
I
have seen the 4 seasons. I have seen the first sprinkles of formy snow in the
snow capped mountain highlands. I’ve seen the break of dawn from adam’s peak,
the silvery clouds giving way to the piercing rays of the early morning sun. The
only most beautiful thing that could top it all could be the first glimpse of
my first born straight out from my womb. That first sight of my baby could only
be subordinate to the beauty I saw that day. Floating in the middle of the
Indian ocean watching the fiery ball of that magnificent sun being devoured by
the edges of the horizon. The horizon that looked close enough to reach out and
touch. The pinky purpleness of the late evening sky reflecting gloriously on
the face of the water. ‘A call of a seagull. The sprays of birds flying in
groups just above us, in retirement after a day’s living.
I felt sedated. Tranquilled and
lost in a dream. The five of us made a ring holding on to each others’ hands,
twirling making childish noises, spraying water at each other, tickling feet
under the surface of the water. I could live like this forever. The ocean, the
setting sun and maybe Yasa for company. Yasa, my beautiful, annoying
adventurous playmate. Thank you, for opening me to a world that I never knew
existed. This was a moment I lived. Really and truly lived. I don’t know if I was
completely cured of acute hydro-phobia.. But if someone asked me if I would to
do it all over again;
Yes.
I would.
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