He sat there. His chin resting on the palm of his right hand
while his elbow rested on the knees, the other hand laid across his lap. The
beach wasn’t rocky. There were no rocks to be seen around except for the one he
sat on. It was big enough to sit on but small enough so you didn’t have to
climb. His hair though normally dark took a strange red dye from the glow of
the dying sun that now bathed this part of the world with his calm resignation,
tired but content in the knowledge that this wasn’t the end. It would fight yet
and it would fight till one day it can’t fight no more and then it would but
consume this world like many others have been consumed in the fury of
destruction. The dark may win but only ruins of what it fought for. Fragments
of the universe broken into pieces, shredded into non existence. He held on to
the watch in his left hand, holding it in his palm while his thumb traced
mysterious patterns on the glass dial. An absent minded gesture of a man lost
in his thoughts, his gaze directed towards the waves that didn’t come crashing
but rather sneaked in on to the beach. Silent but for the murmured apologies
they offered to the small crabs as they filled up every hole the little
creatures dug in the sand, first with water and then with sand as they
retreated to join the ocean, pregnant with earth. It was a strange battle to
watch. The crabs dug holes with ease in the wet sand. The waves filled them up
without effort. And the crabs surfaced as each wave passed and dug themselves a
new one. “You don’t build a house on sand” murmured the waves each time. The
crabs didn’t mind the lesson. They just went on digging. And while this battle
of ages raged he sat watching. But he didn’t have eyes for the crabs, or ears
for the murmuring waves. Oblivious to the gulls cackling in the sky and
unmindful of the sea breeze that ruffled his hair, he sat watching her. These
sights didn’t hold his interest anymore. He had become used of this
environment. The serenity was gone, the peace lost, this place had turned into
a painting on his wall. It used to mesmerize him once; the brush strokes
brilliant, the colors bold, awe inspiring and he sat and watched it for an
eternity. The canvas was still untouched but rusting under his gaze the brushstrokes
went limp, the colors faded, the inspiration shrunk into nothingness. If
anything, he learnt this. That one grows accustomed to everything. No matter
the beauty or bliss, no matter the hideousness or sorrow. Man grows accustomed
to his environment. Give him time, give him patience and his senses grow numb
to what once prevailed upon his existence. It’s always a matter of time. Who
could claim to know this better than him, or her? And now he gazed at her,
resting in her movements, despairing at every step she took. Watching her
He kept her with an intense gaze as she walked towards the
waves. Slow in her strides but each step sure. She didn’t look around. Neither
did she look back. He wished she would. It had been so long since he had seen
her face. Beautiful but expressionless. And that was a moment so long gone that
he now couldn’t even recall the color of her eyes. They were a strange brown.
Or were they hazel? He couldn’t be sure of it now. He couldn’t even recall or
count the number of years either, he realized with a smile. How old was he now.
He was 27 the first time he had sat here, watching her. Many times he had tried
to will her into looking back at him. In the hope that this strange moment they
both shared must have linked them somehow. But she didn’t. Or maybe there was
no connection at all. Maybe he was just someone she had chanced to meet while
on her way to death. He wondered if she ever thought of him. She must have.
Long evenings he had spent mulling over similar thoughts. He watched her now as
she walked towards the sea, her small feet crushing the water laden sand with
ease. Not studying her as she moved. His gaze didn’t bounce off her curves,
didn’t linger on the swell of her breasts, nor got entangled in her auburn hair
flowing with the wind. It tried to penetrate more than her clothes. It tried to
peel off the skin, the appearance in an effort to solve the puzzle of her
existence. Short lived as it was. His gaze held on to her till the very end.
Watching every step she took, as slowly her ankles and then her knees
disappeared underwater. The waves were soon lashing around her waist. Her tunic
bunched around her now floating in the water leaving her naked for the sea to
ravish. He kept watching as slowly only her head remained over water, never
turning away to look at the wave that suddenly rose large and crashed on her.
His gaze held on to her till the last moment, when suddenly the sea tried to
pull the last strands of her hair away from him. He let go, so she could sink.
She didn’t struggle, she never did. She just went underwater as if she were a
fish. Letting go of her breath and swallowing the saline water willingly,
letting the sea claim her for her own.
“Just like the last time” he thought. Nothing changed. He
could play the scene in his mind now, having watched it time and time again. He
always came back here, choosing to start from the start. And every time he’d
start again he would watch her, repeatedly. She always died and he always
watched.
She sat on the chair, rocking it with her feet. The motion
soothed her, comforted her, and reminded her of him. She had spent uncountable evenings
sitting in his lap while he sat on the chair reading stories to her, while her
hands played with his beard. The stories used to fascinate her, as did his
beard. But that had been long ago. The books were here but the voice was gone, along
with the grey beard and the comfortable lap. Burnt to ashes and scattered in
river. She had held him in a brass pot. The last time she had held him she
couldn’t even grasp his hand with hers. He was a big man, but death had reduced
his existence to nothingness, fire had claimed his person and all that was left
were bony fragments of the lap she had grown up in. She had reached to see the
fire dead and then waited for embers to die out. She had waited as they picked
the ash for his remains. She wasn’t allowed to do it. And when they collected
his ashes and poured them into the brass pot, few bones that hadn’t burnt
clanked against the brass. They had then handed over her grand dad to her. She
sighed at the recollection and looked around in an effort to stop her tears.
The chair sat opposite the window. From here she had a clear view of road. She
watched the traffic and wondered how many evenings he had spent waiting here,
watching for a familiar vehicle to drive up to the porch. It was the first
floor of the two storey house and a perfect place to keep an eye out for
visitors. 10 years, 10 long years with only letters, emails, phone calls and an
occasional video chat. 10 years of waiting for the only family he had to come
and see him. He never asked her to come. He simply asked what her plans were.
His affection was nonchalant but strong. He would never inquire too much or
become emotional. He was more like a fond friend then a grandfather. He seemed
strangely detached from life. Even as a child she was able to sense that. He
would let her sit in his lap and read stories to her if she asked, but never
would he do it on his own accord. Left to himself he would sit and write. She
had once asked him what he was writing. “Oh! I’m simply trying to remember all
the lives I’ve lived” he had said smiling at her. He would write no more she
thought, and she would never ask him that question. The thought brought back
the memories of his funeral. It had been too much for her. And she had cried.
The memory made her chest constrict. She couldn’t breathe. The room overwhelmed
her. She tried to stem the tears and breathe but couldn’t. Her lungs grew
tighter and her vision clouded. She surrendered herself to the waves of sorrow
that crashed within her and a cry of anguish escaped her lips as she exhaled
and tears started flowing from her eyes. It lasted a few minutes and she lost
all consciousness of her surroundings. When she came to she realized she was
breathing heavy. She let out a sigh and tried to compose herself. She realized
she was clutching the box with both her hands. Once her breathing became
regular she glanced at it. She wanted to open it and see what he had left her.
But it made her feel bad. She loathed herself for being selfish.
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