Don’t Tell Anyone !

‘Are you sure that we have the correct address?’, I could not hide the hint of nervousness in my voice.

“Turn Laafft on Kalapana Road” , the much familiar GPS  lady’s voice crackled across the car. On our left was a thin winding road that cut its way through what looked like huge a coal mine spread along the ocean. 

Shiny black rocks lined the road and small thorny bushes occasionally erupted from the cracks between the rocks, accentuating the eerie landscape. On our right, the Pacific Ocean was fiercely splashing against the shore adding a somber soundtrack to the surroundings. The setting was quite a deviation from the huge velvety green mountains and lush green vegetation Hawaii is known for.  

“Drive 3.5 miles to your destination. On your Laafft” , the computer generated voice cracked again as I took the left turn.  On our left was an expanse of ugly black volcanic rocks. On our right were uglier black volcanic rocks that were being incessantly pounded into jagged shapes by the ocean.

 Anita had booked the accommodations on the Big Island of Hawaii. “It’s a surprise”, she had said with a mischievous smile. I am sort of a person who does not enjoy surprises - especially on vacations. After great coaxing and cajoling, she had divulged that we will be staying close to one of the best black sand beaches in the world.

And it was indeed a surprise. The drive along the road was like witnessing the geological evolution of the earth unfold in front of our eyes - the big volcanic rocks got small and smaller; making way to black soil that was ferociously claimed by lush vegetation.  Mangrove trees materialized near the coast and a lush green evergreen forest sprang almost out of nowhere. The road winded cautiously through dense canopy, as colorful ferns stood guard on the either side of the road and creepers with huge green leaves hung down from the branches of the trees.

*****

“How did you find out about this place?”, the resort manager asked us as Anita elaborated on her goggling skills. “Kehana Beach is just across the road.  It is the best black sand beach in the world. ”, the manager said proudly, as Anita beamed a smile at me.

“The kids will love it !” , Anita said as we headed toward the famed Kehana. Rishi and Tanu follows us hopping through the ferns . The kids seemed much more interested in chasing the small frogs that sat camouflaged under the bushes.

‘Hurry up!’, Anita implored as the kids sat crouched next to a Ama’u fern trying to trap a small frog.

‘Why can’t  we just play with the frogs?’, Rishi complained as the small hopie frog jumped away , dodging the enthusiastic  admirers.

‘Don’t you want to see a beach that is black? Anita said widening her eyes and dropping her jaw wide to emphasize the wonderful new experience we had in store for our kids.

 ‘Where is the beach?’, Anita asked expectantly as we walked across the small parking area perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I had no idea. We were on a cliff that was at least a hundred feet over the ocean. Precariously balanced big boulders were scattered along the edge of the cliff, leading down to the ocean which was lashing itself incessantly on the volcanic rocks.

‘Let’s ask’ , Anita walked briskly to a woman who was walking towards her car with two toddlers in tow.

“They are so cute’, Anita pointed to the chubby two year olds, who looked like twins. Not identical though as one was a boy and other girl. We could tell.

‘Why are they not wearing their chaddis?’ , Tanu asked, tugging my arm for attention pointing at the kids walking in their birthday suits. ‘They must have wet them in the beach”, I tried to explain glancing at Anita who was having a conversation with the lady as she loaded the toddlers in her car. The car was covered with decals of all shapes and sizes.  After what seemed to be a very long conversation, Anita was back with directions. ‘That way’ , she said pointing to a narrow opening between the trees.

There was a narrow path that led to the beach, the path lead to a trail the made its way down the cliff. I offered to lead the expedition and we made our way down.  As we were climbing down the rocky path, the surroundings seemed familiar.  And then I made the connection as I recalled a beach Anita and I had visited when we were just out of college. 

It was a long time ago and that beach was in Goa.

*******

‘I have to pee’ , ten year old Rishi, declared as we were near the end of the decent.

‘You can go in the restroom on the beach’, I offered.

‘Why can’t I go right here?’, Rishi  insisted “ I need to go bad ‘

‘You cannot do that type of stuff in public … in America  ... ‘ , I tried to explain.

This was not the first time we were having this conversation. Rishi had this knack of springing this surprise at the most inconvenient locations like the top of a crowded trail end or in middle of the lake on a fishing boat.

’Why can’t I go right here”, he would say on these occasions. 

'No indecent exposure... you can get arrested' , I would joke , as we would hurry towards the closest  restroom.

My eyes were searching for the restroom as I was the first to step off from a big boulder into small makeshift steps made out of rocks, on to a beach that was jet black.The secluded beach was guarded on all sides by towering cliffs and the only access was the narrow winding trail that we had just descended from. Soft black sand stuck on my toes as I helped Rishi down the rocky stairs. 

Then I noticed something unexpected as I glanced along the expanse of black sand. We were on a nude beach.

********

There were several  stream of thoughts that ran through my mind as I realized that I was standing on a nude beach with my ten year old son who was desperately looking for a place to pee and my wife and five year old daughter would be joining me in the next few seconds. 

‘Look at the black sand!’, I said widening my eyes and dropping my jaw wide. The decoy did not work.

‘Dad there are naked people on the beach’, Rishi remarked almost as casually as he was commenting about a hopie frog.

Anita and Tanu had descended down the stairs. Anita’s expression changed from the feeling of awe (seeing the black sand) to surprise  (seeing the bare bottoms on the black sand) to worry (seeing her kids standing next to the bare bottoms on the black sand).

‘The best black sand beach in the world!’, I remarked, smiling sheepishly as Anita stood still, fumbling for words.

‘I cannot see a rest room ‘, Rishi’s voice was surprisingly contained as his sister Tanu pulled his arm and said something in his ears giggling incessantly.

‘Can you see that bush?’ , I asked pointing towards a grove towards the back of the beach – just where the cliff started. ‘Do it there’.  Rishi gave me a smile and walked confidently towards the grove to relieve himself. For once I was not worried about indecent exposure.

We took a few pictures of the black sand cinematographically editing out the occupants and headed back up the cliff.  

****

Anita and I had climbed down a similar cliff several years ago.  Along a winding path through rocky ledges to a secluded beach in Goa in India.  One of my friends had recommended this place.

’ Calangut and Bagha beaches are for tourists – if you want to see the real stuff, go to Ozran’, he had said.

‘Where are we going?’ , Anita had asked we drove along the winding roads on a rented Enfield  motorcycle.  ‘It’s a surprise’, I had said.

 We had parked the motorcycle on a parking lot at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea.  A narrow path had wound down from the parking lot, makings its way to pristine white sands. That morning, Anita and I had descended down that path to right in the middle of a nude beach.

‘I swear – I did not know about this’ I had tried to explain with a sheepish smile.

‘Who are you kidding!’, she had responded mischievously.

****

The kids were once more busy chasing the hopie frogs as we walked towards the resort from the beach. Anita and I sat down under a mangrove tree watching them. We had not spoken to each other since our recent adventure unfolded. 

Anita looked at me and started laughing. I joined her, our laughter echoed along the deserted Kalpana road, interrupted by excited squeals of children who had just caught a frog.

‘We are even now’, she remarked, catching up her breath,  ‘and about this Kehana Beach adventure … Kisi se nahi Kehana- OK! ‘  

‘Kisi se nahi kehana’: ‘Don’t tell anyone’ in hindi.  

A Bullshit Story ?

‘Are you OK babuji?’  a tight knot  of vegetable vendors surrounded  Golok Babu as he lay sprawled over a pile of potatoes.

‘Throw some water over his face’, shouted one. ‘I cannot see his face, help me turn him around’, shouted another as he tried to turn Golok Babu, who lay face down on the pile.  The heaving sent him rolling down the pile of rounded tubers - the limp form glided down the heap and stopped against the sack of cauliflowers stacked at the back of the mud and straw vegetable shack.

‘Abe Bhaag!! Saand vapas aa raha hai!’ (Run!! The Bull is coming back!) The loud shout ended the humanitarian activity in the busy corner of “Budhwari Bazaar” – the weekly farmer’s market that congregated every Wednesday on an open ground next to the Government Intermediate School of the sleepy little town of Rampur. 

The vendors left their wares and dispersed as the big bull charged down the muddy lane of the Bazaar. Golok babu stirred slightly as the sound of the mud squelching hoofs came closer and closer…

****

There were seven farmer markets scattered around the town of Rampur, one for each day of the week.  Golok babu sometimes found it confusing as he had to recall what day of the week it was, before heading out the appropriate market. His job as the manager of the busy petrol pump and automobile service station, did not give him time to reflect upon what day of the week it was. Every day was equally mundane and boring – except Sunday, which was his only day off in the week and the day when he partied with his friends.

‘Why can’t they setup a permanent farmer’s market’, he fumed as he waded through the muddy slush from rainfall that occurred last night, clutching on to his big jute bag with bamboo reinforced handles.  

‘Bull Shit!’, he muttered under his breath as he maneuvered around a big bull that was sitting calmly on the middle of the muddy road. The black bull with a brown hump on its back, was chewing cud calmly as its glassy eyes gazed into a distance. The Bull turned its head lazily towards Golok babu as he jumped over a puddle, holding up the trousers of his tight Safari Suit, rolling up the big red jute back tightly under his arm.

His wife Savita had bought the bag especially for Golok Babu from Belgachchia when she had gone to visit her sister in Calcutta.’ He always loses his shopping bag ’, she had complained to her sister. ‘Why don’t you get him a brightly colored one – that will be easy to spot … even in a crowded bazaar?’

Golok Babu was bent over picking up medium size Haldwani potatoes from the big pile in front of him when the commotion broke out. Amidst screams and yells, the sound of mid squelching hoofs got louder and louder. Bang! The Bull’s horns grazed Golok Babu’s buttocks, barely missing it, as it’s forehead whacked into its target. Golok Babu went flying head on right into the pile of shiny yellow potatoes.

****

Golok Babu had just turned forty last Sunday. He had a small party at his home, attended by his close friends. ‘You don’t look forty at all’, his best friend’s wife squealed handing Golok a wrapped present. It was a tee shirt that said “It is all downhill from here”. She and her husband had laughed in glee imagining Golok’s face when he would open the gift.

‘It is the black hair’, Golok beamed flicking his dyed hair, ‘I got it from my grandfather’, he lied as his grandfather ashes squirmed in their resting place in the bank of river Ganges. Golok put up his best mock laugh that would put “Gabbar Singh” to shame as he opened the gift and showed the tee shirt around.

‘He was promoted yesterday’, Savita said beaming to the guests, who feigned a polite smile. ‘He is the General Manager now!’. The guests had to try harder to retain their smile – their hosts were really making them work today.

The fact was that Golok babu had been doing exactly the same work for the last ten years which was basically making sure that the workers of the petrol pump did not sleep at work and maintained their fear of getting fired.  ‘Bull Shit’, Golok Babu would roar in his squeaky voice to an erring service man.

‘Bull Shit’, he would roar again to a dozing pump operator, before slipping back into his air-conditioned office and dreaming about what he would have for dinner.

Every three years or so, the owner of the petrol pump would come up with an innovative designation and announce it in front of the grumpy staff wearing dirty overalls. The people at work hardly cared about the designation change – at least from the bigger scheme of things about getting work done. Neither did Golok babu care whether these people cared or not. Strangely, the people who he really cared about if they cared about his designation were the guests he met at the Sunday parties.  

****

The sound of hoofs stopped suddenly. Golok Babu turned around, the potatoes digging into his aching buttocks. The hustle, bustle and commotion had strangely dissolved into an eerie silence. Then it happened. The big black bull widened it's snout before opening up its lips to show a row of blackened teeth causes by years of cud-chewing. It spoke.

‘Do you even know what Bull Shit means?’, the squeaky voice was grossly out of place. Besides the fact that your don’t expect a Bull to speak, say if it did - you would  expect it to sound something like Simba’s dad in  Lion King, or in the worst case like the donkey in Shrek. This one sounded like Mickey Mouse!

‘You said Bull Shit when you passed me at the entrance of the farmers market ...’ the Bull continued.

Golok babu looked at the Bull with a dazed expression. ‘It is a hhhabit’, he squeaked ‘I say it all the time…’

‘ But do you know what it means?’

Golok did not know how to respond to that question. His brain told him to answer the question with specifics about the etymological origin of the slang - how it originated in England, its close cousin “Bollocks” and how he had picked it up at college and had used it frequently since then.

His smarting bottom told him otherwise. 

‘Let me tell you what it means’, The Bull sat down on the muddy path in front of the vegetable shack and plucked a bunch of radishes that had been neatly arranged in front of the vegetable shack with their green leaves sprawled like a headrest for the shiny white roots. He finished chomping as Golok babu watched in silence.

‘It means saying half truths to impress others’, The Bull gave a quick snort as he wagged its tail to smack an ant that was climbing up his muddy rear. ‘They taught us in Bull Shit 101. Can’t become a Bull until you clear the course …’ , he added with pretentious humility. The Bull then lowered his neck and wiggled his hump. ‘Bull Shit has a significant strategic importance for us ‘, he said in a lowered voice, quickly glancing around him.

‘We the Bulls of the world are really counting on you humans to restore us back to the fame we had in the past. Those were the days - companion of Lord Siva, a whole constellation to ourselves’, the Bull sighed, ‘We are counting on the affinity of the human race for Bull Shit to make that happen again’ the bull looked straight into Golok Babu’s eyes.

“I do it all the time Mr. Bull’, Golok was quick to spot an opportunity ‘Saying half truths to impress others …’ , He boasted offering the Bull a leafy bunch of spinach, ‘I don’t stop even there, when there is no one around …  I Bull Shit to myself’, he added in a lowered voice.

‘Good’, the Bull said breaking the eye contact ‘Super. That is how it should be. It starts with you and before we know families, societies, town, cities and countries start bullshitting to each other. The entire world drenched in the sweet smell of bullshit’, The bull grabbed another bunch of radish and started chewing it slowly.

 ‘Out of all the people that you could have goaded with your wise head – why did you choose me?’, Golok babu could finally muster the courage to ask the question that has been sifting through his mind.

‘I can’t say ... I spotted something …’

‘It is was the red shopping bag – wasn’t it?’

‘No – not that’, The bull replied lazily ‘It was your red underwear that is showing through your ripped suit’

Golok babu sprang on to his feet and examined the big rip in his favorite suit. The suit that had gotten tighter over the years as the dinners he dreamed about during his work piled up in his body. The white suit had become off white after years of work and Sunday parties.

The pant of the safari suit was torn right along his buttocks showing his red underwear !

The End

How does that matter ?

RRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRR!! The engines started and the plane started moving, going fast then faster then the fastest it could possibly go. The plane took off. I thought about my homework, then suddenly, ppppppsh! The plane flew through a cloud so fast that I felt sick. I tried to get my attention off it, so I started to play my DS …

‘How is it?’, Rishi asked his mom expectantly.

‘It is great Rishi …’ Anita said as she browsed through the story her fifth grader son had written.

‘Which part do you like the most ?’, Rishi asked. He was now peering over Anita’s shoulders, breathing down her neck.

‘Hmmm, I will have to go with this …’  

When we got to the Emerald bay,  I pretty much dived in the water because I was in a hurry to see the fish and when I did I was aghast. The fishes were all sizes; shapes and colors, there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!! I saw at least 1,000,000 fish.

‘But you need to fix the grammar in a lot of places’, Anita winked at Rishi. Just then Rishi’s five year old sister who was hovering around the room, decided to jump into the action.

 ‘I want to read that story too!’, Tanu declared, trying to grab Rishi’s notebook.

‘You cannot even read!’ Rishi responded cruelly ‘besides, I won’t share my story with you – go write your own’ 

Tanu and Rishi’s ocean of sibling love was currently under low tide. The trouble had started about fifteen minutes ago when Tanu refused to share the candies from the goody bag she got from a birthday party of her classmate.  Rishi had been fuming all morning that he was not invited to his sister’s friend’s birthday party.  Tanu's refusal to share goodies from the party had pushed her brother over the edge.

‘How about I tell you both a story’, Anita suggested jumping into the couch. The leather couch felt warm as the late afternoon sun shone through the patio door. Tanu and Rishi snuggled around their mother.

Once upon a time, there was a huge lagoon overlooking vast expanse of blue Ocean in the western coast of the island of Oahu.  Huge volcanic mountains guarded the sandy beach along it’s coast, their mossy green slopes casting an emerald shadow over the sparkling water.  

In the lagoon were white corals and colorful fish. The fish were all sizes, shapes and colors; there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!!

‘That part is from my story!‘, Rishi exclaimed, grinning ear to ear as Tanu glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

‘I told you I like that part ...’, Anita smiled and continued with the story…

But this story is not about the green mountains, the emerald lagoon or the colorful fish. It is about something just across the bay, deep in the Ocean – two little waves. A small wave called Honu and his friend Meha. 

‘Was Meha Honu’s girlfriend?’, Rishi interrupted.

‘How does that matter? Shut up!’, Tanu was getting back her pound of flesh.

Anita resumed the story quickly, averting the impending flare up.

Honu and Meha lived with millions of other waves in the ocean.  They spent most of their time jumping in and out of the ocean with other small waves, making the ocean look like a giant trampoline. 

‘I can’t wait to a become a big swell’, Honu said eying one of the big swells lazily rolling around the surface, not too far from them.

‘They say that one has to learn the language of the winds, and follow them to faraway places before you become big – it that true? ‘, Meha remarked plopping next to Honu.

‘Yes that is true’ , Honu replied ‘ And don’t tell anyone ...’. He added with a hushed splash,‘ I have almost learnt the language of the winds. They say that westerly winds will pass again this way soon. I am going to follow them … ‘

‘I don’t want you leave me alone’, Meha was almost in tears. It was difficult to detect that though because the tears looked pretty much like rest of her – salty water.

‘I won’t.  I will take you with me.’

Several waves had followed the westerly winds a little while ago. Honu had watched in admiration as the first wave had set out on the ocean following the wind and as other waves had followed. He had been preparing for his own excursion listening to the incessant splashes of the big old wise swell that ebbed around the little waves, sharing with them drops of wisdom.

‘The wind takes us out on our journey – without it, we are nothing’, the big old wave had said, ‘Never forget that’.  Towering over the little waves, the big swell looked remarkably peaceful as it rolled around on the surface of the ocean. ‘Also, it gets a bit cold when the wind gets strong – put on your white caps if that happens’, the old wave had said.

But the words of wisdom were forgotten as soon as the wind had picked up. The waves had scrambled out on the ocean surface with a rush of excitement.  Like a giant roller coaster through the ocean – the ones on the front riding under the illusion that they were leading and the ones on the back under the illusion that they were following as the winds heaved them towards their destiny.

‘Why did the small waves forget about the old wave’s words?’, Rishi asked

‘Is the Old wave Grandpa of the small waves?’  Tanu chirped in.

"How does that mater?" it was Rishi’s time to get back at Tanu.

Anita smiled and continued with the story…

So the westerly winds arrived shortly.  It was a clear morning and a wise old wave was telling them about stories from faraway seas when the wind had started to pick up.

 ‘Hey !  I am shining like a diamond!’, a small ripple shouted, basking in the reflected glory of the mid morning sun. ‘Of course you are!’  The wise wave did not want to dampen the enthusiasm of the small ripple, ‘You must see the waves near the emerald lagoon which is just down the horizon though …‘, he continued as he patiently rolled around the restless ripples, ‘ I have heard that the waves there look like red rubies !’  

‘How can a wave look red?’ Meha had wondered but she was too shy to ask.  Both Meha and Honu were less than a day old which almost made them teenagers in wave years. They had not seen a sunset yet.

Just then the winds picked up again. ‘Follow me’, Honu shouted at Meha as they set out in the open sea.  Meha followed Honu and along with countless other ripples, started speeding up towards the horizon.

‘Do red waves really exist?’ Meha asked Honu as they glided through the ocean surface. She had been wondering about what the old wave had said just before they set out, ‘I would love to see a red wave.’ 

‘You don't believe in the old wave’s stories, do you ‘, Honu laughed ‘He is mad. Blue waves, yellow waves, even green waves I can imagine. But how in the name of floating kelp can a wave be red?’

Honu laughed as he swelled with the wind – he was getting bigger.

They cruised along for a few more hours. The winds were picking up and the waves had put on their white caps. ‘The old wave did talk sense sometimes ... like putting up the white caps ...’, Meha sort of  liked the old wise wave - his quiet roll was different from the restless ripples surrounding her.

‘Ha ! everyone knows about white caps’ , Honu shouted above the wind ‘ How about the other rubbish he talks about -  like all of us being connected ?  You, me and every other wave being just a small part of the ocean … do you remember that ?  That old wave – I tell you … it’s time for him to evaporate.’

A faint outline of a shore appeared far away near the horizon, and with it a swarm of pelicans who glided noisily past them. ‘


Watch out’, Meha shouted as a row of Pelicans dived towards Honu. Before Honu could realize, the pelicans crashed through his ebbing form as he watched them in disbelief . His quiet disbelief turned into horror as the pelicans reappeared, each of them flying out with a squirming Anchovy in its beak.


‘The old wave did say that there are treasures hidden in the ocean- just beneath the waves’, Meha  said excitedly. A visibly subdued Honu took off his white cap and rolled silently towards the shore. 

It was getting dark and the familiar blue sky had started to turn orange. The distant shore was getting closer and closer as mossy green mountains loomed above them. Just then Honu crashed into a big reef that guarded the emerald lagoon. Meha crashed shortly after, creating a big splash of salty water.

The spash of water spilled into the lagoon filled with colored fish- The fish were all sizes, shapes and colors; there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!!. 


The splash started small ripples in the lagoon. The emerald ripples danced in joy as the sun set across the ocean.

The End

Anita, Rishi and Tanu lay quietly, basking in the late afternoon sun. ‘You used that part again – the part with colorful fish’, Rishi said breaking the silence. Tanu was staring out of the window at the sun which was setting behind the woods.

‘I really liked that part’ Anita replied poking Rishi on his side.

‘Did Meha and Honu Die?’ Tanu asked, still looking out of the patio door.

‘The pretty red ripples in the emerald pool … they were new waves , weren’t they?’, Rishi  asked looking at Anita.

‘How does that matter?’ Anita hugged Tanu and Rishi and rolled over in the couch, playfully pinning them down. The room was filled with delighted screams of the two children.

Getting There

‘Why don’t you ask for directions from that man?’, Sonia suggested, her voice mixed with  excitement and frustration.

We had been driving around the Mount Desert Island when I had spontaneously decided to take a detour into a thin winding road close to the entrance of Acadia National Park.

It seemed like a good idea at that time as we travelled down the road, surrounded with lush greenery, Sonia and my hair blowing wildly in the wind flowing across the car windows. Kids were busy watching Jurassic Park 3, clutching on to their headsets to block the wind noise out of their universe they gazed at the ferocious T-Rex in the screen of the DVD player.

Once in a while we could spot log huts tucked deep into the woods, wisps of smoke spiraled out of the chimneys and faded into the twilight sky.  The smell of the wood smoke hung in the air for a long time before getting displaced by the misty fragrance of pine

.

‘I wonder what the guys who live in these houses do for a living?’, Sonia pondered aloud with a smile ‘ Must be writers or folks like that’, she continued ‘ How much I envy these people …’

‘So why don’t you become a Writer?’I joked.

‘If only it was that easy’, Sonia rolled her eyes in feigned protest ‘ I am sure I cannot be a writer  in this lifetime’, she said looking out of the window as we passed another log hut that was perched on a hill next to a lake.

Just then disaster stuck. The navigation system suddenly stopped working. The much familiar LCD screen showing the icon of our car winding down an orange road cutting through a tacky shade of bright green- went dark.  We did not have any other form of maps in the car. I slowed down as we travelled down the winding road in twilight.  The wind was getting chilly so I closed the sun roof and the windows.  The romantic woods were somehow magically transformed into a threatening forest conspiring to ambush us.

‘If we head towards north, we will eventually end up around the ocean – right?’ Sonia asked expectantly. We were in an Island – well almost, save that bridge that connected us to the mainland, so we would end up near the ocean irrespective of which way we were heading. But I did not want to point that out to Sonia as I glanced suspiciously around at the pine forests surrounding us.

We had arrived at Acadia National Park yesterday after a six hours drive from Boston.  The park was situated in an island which was scattered with pristine glacial lakes, spectacular mountains and granite cliffs plunging into the Atlantic Ocean.  We were living in a quaint B&B near Bar Harbor, the largest town in the island. Our host, a charming, garrulous lady in her mid forties had given us a warm welcome and a long overview of the Park’s history and tips on the culture of Maine.

‘Don’t laugh if you hear a Mainer say - You can’t get there from here’, she said with a smile. The old saying in Maine was apparently used in several settings, including providing directions. Many attributed this saying to the old roads in New England, several of which could trace their origins to ancient cow tracks. Destinations that seemed straight ahead in the road, often stood separated by valley or streams.

‘You can’t get there from here’ was an easier alternative to reconcile oneself with, as compared to laborious process of finding another road that goes around the valley or finding a bridge across the stream.  ‘You will be surprised if you know how many people actually believe in that sentence ‘, our host had said laughing. I found the concept amusing. I imagined entering a destination in my navigation system and getting a response ‘You can’t get there from here’ – flashing in bold red letters.  I had laughed aloud with her.

 ‘Why don’t you ask for directions from that man?’, Sonia’s voice rang through the car as she pointed at a man who was walking beside the road with a huge Labrador. I was not too fond of huge dogs. I was also not too fond of asking for directions - in fact I detested it. But today was different; I gulped my pride, put up a feigned smile and walked towards the elderly gentleman. 

‘Excuse me’, I asked politely, ‘We are a bit lost– can you tell us how to reach the Frenchman Bay from here?’

The man looked at me for a few seconds and replied in a thick Maine accent ‘You can’t get there from here’. I continued to look at the man with a smile ‘Nice sense of Humor’ I thought as I waited for his directions. But the man was apparently not joking; he gave me a polite nod and moved on as his huge Labrador yanked him away from me. 

I stared at the old man with a feeling of nervous excitement bubbling through me, as he walked away around the bend of the road. I had just witnessed a ‘You can’t get there from here’ event ! I forgot that I was lost in this desolate part of an island as I trotted back to the car and opened the door excitedly to see a smiling Sonia.‘You won’t believe what that guy said to me when I asked him for directions, I exclaimed flashing a huge smile.

‘And you won’t believe what I just did ‘she said pointing to our navigation system which was apparently working again! ‘I whacked it hard and it started working!’. The tacky green forest in the navigation system’s LCD screen had magically transformed the threatening forest back to friendly woods bathed in twilight mist.

Just around the bend of the road was a spectacular log hut nestled on a grassy patch next to a mountain stream. 

‘Another writer’, smiled Sonia. I smiled back at her and looked at the log hut, conjuring up images of the imaginary writer occupant, sitting in front of a warm mahogany table with quill in her hand, staring out of the window at the sun setting beyond the cliffs.  ‘I am sure I cannot be a writer in this lifetime’, Sonia’s words rang in my ears breaking my chain of thought.

‘By the way, what amusing thing did that man say to you?’, Sonia asked looking out of the window.

Ten Little Goldfish

Ten little goldfish scuttled around restlessly in their individual fish bowls as a pack of excited children stood around the table peering at them.

Each of the small fish bowls had a handful of gravel and ten colored pebbles. Ten packets of goldfish food lay neatly arranged next to the bowls.

‘That big one in mine’ squealed Peggy pointing at the biggest fish out of the lot.

‘I call that one’, Baljeet screamed, pointing to the next biggest one.

‘No that one is mine’, Rishi shouted over the din.

‘But it is your birthday’, Baljeet protested ‘ Birthday boys don’t get goody bags – they get all the gifts’

It was our son Rishi’s birthday party. Anita stood beside the excited children with an amused smile on her face. ‘Goody bags with candies and board games are so boring’, she had said yesterday evening as we scanned the toys aisle in Wal*Mart. Her eyes had lit up as she saw the small pet store just across the road from the mall. ‘How about we gift the kids goldfish?’ , she had suggested excitedly.

The gold fish “goody bags” had been the center of attraction in the party. They were more popular than the pool or even the Pokémon cake. Anita and I had to take turns to send the small, wet partygoers out of the dining room where the fishbowls lay neatly arranged on the dining table, back into the backyard swimming pool.

Finally it was time to go home with the new pets. The kids had not only managed to agreeably allocate the goldfishes among themselves , but each of them had a name as well. Rishi provided a small demonstration on how to feed the fish and cleanup the bowl and the guests were on their way, carefully holding their fish tanks even as they were strapped to their car seats.

‘I am glad that you guys did not pick up pups for party favor’, Rohit joked as his wife tried to convince their seven year old daughter Kavita to hand over her new pet - Maya. ‘Just for the car ride darling – you will spill the water and hurt Maya’ 

‘The kids surely liked their goody bags’, I joked as Anita and I sat in the backyard after the partygoers had left.

Rishi had also managed to get a goody bag for himself and was apparently more interested in Mr. Anderson, his new pet, than any of his birthday gifts.

                                                                  *****

‘Mr. Anderson is dead’, Rishi’s voice rang across the hallway. It was six am in the morning and I had to literally force myself to open my eyes. A teary Rishi stood next to the bed looking at me.’ The goldfish is dead’, he sobbed. Both Anita and I were still a bit disoriented, probably due to the physical exertion of yesterday’s birthday party.

Anita and I pulled ourselves out of the bed and followed him to his room where the golden fish floated in the fish bowl. The goldfish stirred slightly, as our hearts skipped a beat. It then went quiet and floated lifelessly in the water.

‘Don’t worry, we will get you another one’, I said reflexively, hoping to comfort my sobbing son. Anita looked serious. ‘What happened?’ I asked her.

‘What if other goldfish die as well ?’, she had a scared expression in her face ‘ All of them were from the same aquarium …’, she stared at me blankly. ‘We need to alert others’, she said grabbing the phone and walking down the stairway. ‘ But it is six o clock … on a Sunday morning…’, I protested weakly and followed her.

We called Rohit first and were greeted with the wail of crying Kavita. ‘Maya was dead’ she sobbed into the telephone. It was a goldfish apocalypse. They were dying, left right and center. ‘Don’t worry Sweety, we will get you another one’, Anita tried to comfort Kavita.

In the next two hours, several calls were made to the birthday party invitees. We were relieved that besides one more casualty, all the other goldfishes were alive.  We had already Googled for all the different reasons goldfishes could die and had asked the pet owners to take out the colored pebbles and change the water – in case the pebbles had some contamination.

‘ Hey sorry for the trouble’ , I giggled sheepishly as I gave instructions to a half sleepy Rohit. ‘Dude , I am going to gift you folks  a kitten AND a puppy as a party favor in Kavita’s next birthday’ , Rohit said yawning loudly as I narrated the instructions on how to take out the colored pebbles and change the water in the fish tank once we got them a replacement pet.

We were glad that the pet store opened on Sundays.We reached the store a little before 10 AM, when it was supposed to open. The owner was surprised to see the waiting customers as she opened the store. ‘It happens sometimes’, she tied to explain. ‘Goldfishes are sensitive to the quality of water – that is why we recommend proper aquariums for them – I can give you some recommendations….’ She continued as Anita jotted down notes. We were out of the store armed with three replacement goldfishes and a small aquarium for Rishi.

We drove to the two houses which had suffered the loss of their newly acquired pets and nervously offered the replacement pets much to the delight of the mourning pet owners. ‘You may consider buying this small aquarium. This store sells water filters cheaper than any other place in Massachusetts …’, Anita summarized her notes for the parents.

‘Well, I am happy that it is over … finally .., Anita yawned as we drove back towards home. Rishi was busy tapping the plastic water filled  bag that held the replacement Mr. Anderson.

‘I will call all the others and tell them to get a proper aquarium …’ she said almost dozing off.

                                                                *****

We were wrapping up our dinner when the phone rang. Usually we don’t pick up calls during dinner, but today was different. It could be another goldfish emergency. The caller ID showed that it was Rohit. I lifted the phone with trembling hands and put the call on the speaker phone.

It was Kavita. She was crying. My worst fears had come alive. I could almost imagine Rohit standing on our driveway with six pups and six kittens, ‘ I got them specially for you from the shelter …’, I could imagine him saying with a mischievous grin, almost in slow motion ‘ have fun dude !’

‘Raj Uncle, I have a bad news’, Kavita sobbed, ‘Maya got stuck in the filter pump of the new aquarium ... she is dead again…’, her voice boomed loudly across the kitchen into the dining room.

‘There is a reason why the birthday goody bags have board games and candies’, I thought silently as  I looked at Anita. 

'I have to call the pet store ! ', to my horror, Anita was up on her feet dialing her cell phone!

Twenty eight chairs and twelve bouquets - A Tribute to my friend Ivan

‘Mild, Medium or Hot’, the waiter asked as Ivan and I looked through the menu.

It was late afternoon and we had decided to try out an Indian restaurant for lunch. It was Tuesday – my vegetarian day and therefore I had declined Ivan’s first choice – an authentic Schezuan restaurant  that apparently was run by an opera singer from China.‘The owner is a known opera singer – and the food is hot – as it should be’, Ivan Shen said with what I used to tease him as his Chinese accent. 

We used to often have this fight on who had a more authentic accent – his Chinese or my Indo-British. Ivan had introduced me to Opera. Thanks to him, I had unlocked the magic of Pavarotti. We had spent time together mourning  a few years ago when Pavarotti had passed away.

Today was Indian lunch day.  The waiter was looking eagerly at Ivan for his response on how hot a Lamb Vindaloo he preferred.

‘How much hot can you get it?’, Ivan  asked the waiter with a straight face .

‘Do you know Vindaloo is synonymous with HOT in India’, I joked.

‘I know’, was his response ‘ But it is never hot enough – can you get it the hottest you can ever make it ?’ , Ivan asked the bewildered waiter.

When the dish was served , I could not help but take a small bite from Ivan’s  plate – in spite of the day being my vegetarian Tuesday. After all, Indians are renowned for their capacity to handle hot food. I took a small spoonful of the curry and had to wash it with two glasses of water.

Ivan ate the dish as if it was strawberry ice cream.

‘Hmm , Not bad. Could do with a little more hot’, he said as I continued to wash my mouth with cold iced water as I could almost feel my hair standing up on their roots due to the hot curry.

*******

‘This dish is called Macheer Jhol’, I explained to Ivan as we started dinner.

‘Here are some green chills’, my wife offered a bowl of fresh green chilies to Ivan. She had heard about the gastronomic exploits of my friend.

‘Nice and refreshing’, Ivan said biting into a couple of chilies.

I had always wondered why Ivan wore his hair so short.  His hair almost stood up on their ends. Today I was convinced that his hair must have decided to give Ivan a permanent standing ovation on his taste of hot food.

We had already finished off a couple of bottles of wine and my wife offered to drop him home after dinner. His apartment was close to home.

‘You know what … this car is a very popular model in Japan’, Ivan disclosed sitting in my wife’s car as we drove towards Nashua, ‘This is the most popular Taxi there’, he said laughing. He went ahead to narrate the details of the engine, body, variation of the transmission, shock absorbers and various other parts of the car. By the time we dropped him home, we were thoroughly educated on the internals of a Lexus IS-250-AWD.

‘Thanks for the taxi trip’, Ivan laughed’  I have a bottle of great Sochu , why don’t you guys come in and have a couple of shots’, He offered as we dropped him.

‘We will do it next time’

                                  *******

Twenty eight chairs and twelve bouquets adorned the room in the funeral service I sat in last Saturday.

My friend Ivan was lying in his coffin, surrounded by the bouquets as friends and family paid him last tributes. He had been diagnosed with advanced stage cancer and had succumbed on August 15^th after an aggressive treatment that lasted five short months.

‘Anybody else has anything to say about Ivan’, the funeral coordinator asked in a somber voice after the tributes had been made.

The Discovery

On a clear day, the passengers sitting in the left hand window seats  of an aircraft flying west from Boston, should be able to see the meandering Merrimack river soon after the take off.   Close to  a particularly big bend of the river, one should be also able to see  two distinct blue colored water tanks, on the opposite side  of a small lake.  

The two blue tanks, the river and the lake are so distinctly visible from the air, that they are used  as a marker by the local flight training schools teaching Ariel acrobatics. It seems it is impossible to lose sight of the tanks and the lake even when the planes do  twists and turns and stalls in the air.

We had been living in our house for more than two years, when my mother, who was visiting us from India, walked into the house after her morning walk, visibly excited . “Do you know there is a lake at the end of the cul-de-sac ?”

Amazing,  but true. That was the first time we came know that there is an access to the lake just six houses down the street! 

The access to the lake had been hidden by a white wooden gate that blended into the wooden fence of the property next to it.  A narrow path led up to the gate. The path was partly obscured because there was a hill right next to it. On the other side of the gate, another narrow path led down to the lake where it ended into a small wooden jetty. There was a narrow road around the lake that covered half of it’s perimeter, with some pretty houses scattered along it.

The “discovey” of the lake was followed by unlocking the heap of treasure it had to offer. We started by exploring the quiet path along the lake. The beautiful path was sheltered by trees with the quiet sound of rustling trees broken by an occasional cry of a blue jay or a goose.  

“Should we get a boat and explore the lake “ I asked my wife one day. Both of us had a fare share of experience of boating from our college days in India, so we quickly converged to an affirmative decision.

We initially bought a small yellow boat just to “test the waters” literally.  The boat was great for individual exploration but It was a bit small for two adults.  

We soon upgraded to a fishing boat. The new boat had wooden bottom offering a relatively stable ride with two small kids.  It had a battery driven trolling motor that facilitated quiet exploration without disturbing the fauna around the lake.

Beside the encounters with otters, snapping turtles, fishes and water birds, the lake offered spectacularly quiet moments. Drifting in the lake, far from all the shores with sun’s reflection on the water scattered like million tiny diamonds.

****

My  son and his friend J , who is our next door neighbor’s son, accompany me often to the lake. With them around it is more of a noisy exploration time. We playfully chase water birds away from an area we know a school of fish lives in. Get close to a snapping turtle basking in the morning sun until it sees us and jumps back into the lake.

   

“Dad , can we give J the old yellow boat ?”  asked my son one day.

“Why”

“We don’t use it anymore” it is just lying there in the basement” he replied, ” J  loves  boating and he will be able to go the lake if we are not around”

 “OK – but I will have to ask his mother if it is OK with her first”

So J got the yellow boat.  We also conducted a test run in the lake. Both J and my son were thrilled.

*****

Last summer, me and my son were exploring the marshy end of the lake when we noticed an opening  between the bushes we could just squeeze the boat through. We had not noticed this opening before. It had rained a lot this year and the level of water was higher than usual. This had perhaps opened up this new area within the lake which was otherwise inaccessible.

“I wonder what is on the other side “ , said my son excitedly.

As we navigated the boat through the bushes, we saw an opening  leading into a brook. It was a small stream that was about six feet wide, meandering it way into the lake.   

“Wow!  a Stream !! ” , exclaimed my son. “Lets explore ! we may discover something interesting ...“

The sun was about to set, and I was not up for an adventure. “ We will comeback again”, I said.

Just as I said those words, the small opening between the bushes exploded with action as the small yellow boat suddenly pushed it's way through .  J and his fifteen year old brother were furiously rowing the boat, their mother sitting with an amused smile.

“J , Look we have  a stream  to explore !” exclaimed my son, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Yes !!  let’s explore !”  exclaimed back J.

J’s mom and I exchanged amused glances and joined the noisy twilight exploration.

It was discovery time once again.