CHASING MOMMA

Momma Sea is acting difficult nowadays. She’s getting more illusive by the day, and today, well, she took me for a nasty joyride.
Momma had always been there for me during my childhood. My best moments were spent frolicking in the salt water, swimming vigorously towards the large waves only to dive inside their belly, being tossed in the shallow side to end up with sand and salt in my eyes, nose, and inside my shorts pockets. The only time I cried in public was when I was denied a rendezvous with Momma Sea by our instructor who took us out for a swim. That was the worst imaginable punishment ever, worthy of shedding tears and of course undergoing the humiliation of being spotted in the act. Boys don’t cry, but I believed that I, a girl, should never ever be seen crying in public.
The shore slowly disappeared over the years. Soon, gentle Momma had become rough and even claimed a few lives. A board was put up in three languages saying that swimming in the sea was prohibited. The big ugly black rocks now stood between me and Momma and so did the law. I didn’t know what had hit me. Why was Momma no longer accessible? Some people told me it was some submarine tunnel responsible for it, others spoke about erosion. All I knew was that I couldn’t bob up and down with the gentle waves nor feel the thrill of discovering a shallow spot deep into the sea. It was like a large part of my life was unlived because I couldn’t meet Momma. I waited for the day to come when someone would tell me that it was all a bad dream, or that the shore would soon reappear and that I could swim again.
I couldn’t meet Momma for six to seven years. But strangely enough, I stopped missing her. The pain was only renewed when I later met her far from the usual spot where I used to swim as a little girl. Momma was waiting for me a few kilometers from town on the East Coast Road. But our meetings were annual, at the most bi-annual. This hurt more than during that long absence of six to seven years. Our reunions were also marred by the angst of growing up, the loneliness of being the only girl familiar with Momma. While the boys helped out the other whimpering girls, I was left alone with Momma. But I couldn’t do her justice. My heart was not in it.
A few months back I found Momma closer to home near the submarine tunnel area. It was just like the old times. Though I was alone with her for a short while, I did the justice of feeling the water around me, keeping me up, slapping against my sides, surging over my head and plastering my face with wet strands of hair. I enjoyed every moment of it. It felt like homecoming.
But since then the appetite has grown. I often dream of Momma in weird forms, with walls, with scary, mighty, unpredictable waves, with deep ends. But I can’t meet her alone. I need others with me, and to gather a bunch of Momma crazy boys and girls is a near impossible task.
The urgent hunger to feel salt water on my skin was too strong today. I decided to visit Momma with a most unlikely bunch- my parents. They agreed on the condition that I swim alone, which was fine with me. My destination was the submarine tunnel. But guess my luck, not a soul was present in or out of the waters. I can’t handle Momma all alone. Somebody has to be around. My heart began to sink. I had a feeling Momma would let me down. Then we spotted another strip of beach far to the right, with families strolling about. The sea was bluer on the other side.
The detour to the other side was through the dusty Cuddalore road to Veerampattinam. And since it was a national holiday, the vehicles seemed to be celebrating by being all there on the road and letting out toxic fumes. What made it worse was the angry face of my tired mother chasing my father and me on her bike, wanting to stop us and take us back home. And to my bitter disappointment, the road to the Veerampattinam beach was blocked by an unruly, drunken crowd. Vehicles could go no further. I was so angry I could kill somebody. Luckily I didn’t have a weapon in hand. We affected a U-turn. Instead of the eagerly dreamt wet, fresh feel, I was having a layer of dust on my face. On my way back all I could think of was my bad luck, the long ride which hurt my butt, my mother’s explosive anger and string of harsh words and the wild goose chase to meet up with Momma. I even weighed my chances of bumping into her in the future. The odds were against me.
I don’t know when I will be fortunate to meet Momma again. All that I can hope for is that the shore comes back or that I shift to a place where Momma is easily accessible with a bunch of Momma’s own kids like me. Till then the dark hours will be spent tackling big waves and coming up against a wall and the daylight hours in wishing I become a fish in my next life. 15-08-2008