WHEN I WAS LEFT ALONE

The waves crashed into the rocks, about a couple of hundred feet below. White suds flew into the air, some returned to the waves to become a part of the next set of crests. Others landed on rocks and turned to water drops. They would stay there till the sun came out the next day and wiped them dry.

I stood by the railing with my steaming cup of filter coffee. The chill in the evening air caused the coffee-scented vapours to hold their shape a few seconds longer. I didn’t blow at the coffee to cool it before taking a sip. It would manage that by itself given the space and time. And there was plenty of time here in Kannur, Cannanore for the British.

Plenty of time to do nothing.

For two days I had slept waking up only to dig into puttu-kadla and appams and stew fragrant with fresh coconut. R and her friends would spend hours at the table chatting about this, that and the other.

You are going back to sleep? one of them asked me as I rose from the table after lunch.

It was a fair question. I had only woken up minutes before lunch had been served.

Let her be, R said. She has barely any free time in Bombay. She is here to do what she wants, when she wants.

Technically, I was there to be a part of R’s 60^th birthday celebrations but R’s description of my itinerary sounded much better. I retreated to my single room, a luxury, considering that everyone else was sharing, including R, our host.

 

I took a sip of my coffee and waved at R and her friends who were chatting with the neighbour. He was the supplier of both, the cup of joe and the view of the endless cliffed-coastline that stretched on both sides of me.

The wind carried the susurrus of their voices to me and swirled it with the whispers between the tide and the coast. Whispers punctuated by the silence when the tide rolled back. Maybe that was the secret of their relationship – time and space between uttered confidences.