Category: Humour

The Golden Moments of Spring

I was walking on the beach one morning. One glorious morning. The waters were glittering in the morning sunlight like a million little diamonds had been sprinkled on the waters. Maybe it was the effect of the rose-colored glasses I was seeing the world through, or the fact that the world felt brighter and more colorful that day, but the beach was filled with … Gold? I scrubbed my eyes beneath my glasses and looked again. There was no fooling me. The sands sifting beneath my bare feet, and glistening with what looked like gold particles.

Fool’s gold?

It must have been. For if not, I am sure, there would have been quarries there, and not contented looking seagulls trying to bully smaller sanderlings out of the way. I admired the unruffled sanderlings – holding their own, outnumbered as they were by the aggressive seagulls. It was a pleasant sight.

Golden Hour

A few evenings later, I strolled during sunset drinking in the fresh green after the rains. Really, I have raved about this before so often, I feel like a bit of broken record myself – but spring in the Bay Area is the most wonderful time of the year. The hills are bursting with tiny yellow and purple flowers set against lush green grasses. Entire hillsides of it. Simply waving and swaying in the mild breezes of the season.

I sat upon a rock to take in the sight. There were deer grazing nearby, and I turned my serene senses towards them.

“To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment“ – Mansfield Park, Jane Austen

What’s this?

I was composing a pedantic piece for my blog on the tranquillity of the lives they lead – blah, blah, blah.. when they started to, I kid you not, fight. Fight! Like stallions in heat – on their hind legs, kicking each other. I started laughing, and sensitive as ever to human sounds, the deer audience noticed me. The drama in front of them was too much to resist, they turned back. The smaller one walked away, and taunted from a distance, to which the older one rose up again.

Golden Truths

In geese, I rarely stop to notice anymore. Aggressive as they are, they are always chasing each other off or splashing off. But, so often have I gazed upon deer on my walks. Always drawing from them beauty and grace. It was different seeing ..  was it a display of power, anger, annoyance, or just dispelling of nervous energy?

I would never know. Not until our human systems make headway into animal cognition and translation. Apparently, some of our big and beautiful AI models can now decipher whale sounds.

https://www.npr.org/2024/05/20/1198910024/ai-sperm-whales-communication-language

Really, nature knows how to entertain us almost endlessly – if we stop and watch. Sometimes, in slow waves, other times in passionate displays of spring time, and maybe in the future using the ultimate lure of humankind – through stories.

Nature’s Sense of Purpose

Cloudy Skies : Inspiration or Melancholy?

The week-end was fabulous in terms of weather in the Bay Area. The rain-washed Earth was beginning its early spring blooms. The trails were scented heavily with sage, eucalyptus, and the occasional squashed lemon or orange. The clouds made for a perfect backdrop – lighting wise. Cloudy skies do give the best pictures even if the blue skies lift one’s spirits up better. Feeling in the mood for a bit of rumination or deep thought? Cloudy skies are there for that. Or maybe it is the other way around- the melancholic strain inspired by the cloudy skies. Either way.

The son and I started off on a bike ride when the skies were cloudy, threatening rain. We pedaled, each lost in our own thoughts, when some fat droplets reminded us of the rainy day forecasts. The son, always the mature one, when it comes to things like this, insisted we turn back, and so we did. Though, I did try my whining first: “Let’s try for some more time – maybe it is just a drizzle, and we shall be ready for it to break into mild blue skies afterwards. “

The skies doubled down, and so we started back away from the lakes, and the bay, towards our home.

But the rains were taunting us. They came, and then didn’t. Then came again and didn’t again.

By the time we made it home, the clouds had said their good-byes and didn’t shed a single raindrop for another 2 hours.

Oh well.

The Next Day

The next day, I set off on my own. This time, the cumulonimbus clouds had given way to cumulus clouds, and the day felt bright, clean and inviting.

I biked on. By the river. To the bay. Through the bay, and finally emerging on some hills.

It was beautiful. I had the trail to myself. Probably because most folks had attempted and wrestled with the ‘will-it won’t-it’ the previous day, and decided to stay indoors. I felt my spirits rise, like the ebbing of the bay waters. I sang – my pitch nowhere  as shrill and clear as the blackbirds, and nowhere as cacophonous as the ubiquitous geese, but enough to make me happy.

I am a sap when it comes to nature. Every one knows it. Everyone indulges me with it when I get going. But even I felt all nature had a purpose that day: a purpose to make those outside to feel grateful, to feel fulfilled. The mustard flowers threw their stalks back and danced with that intent. The blackbirds sang with a kind of devotion that saints wish for. The deer grazed looking at you as if daring you to find fault with a day like this.

What would Mary Oliver have done?

Mary Oliver would’ve written a book by the time she came back. That’s the sort of day it was.

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” — Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

What was to be done with such a sense of purpose? I yielded and gave myself up to this – pedaling, humming, looking every which way. One time, I wobbled looking at the hawk overhead and straying off the trail. I swear the hawk smirked. I heard it’s laugh or cry.

Another time, the heart gave a few lurches and sputtered and stuttered, as I spotted a dead snake on the trail. “Would you have preferred a live one?” whispered Mary Oliver, and I genuinely had no answer to that. I shoved my hammering heart back to its spot behind the ribs and pedaled on. Eyes resolutely keened away from the dead snake. 

When finally I reached home, sighing with the contentment, I knew the aching muscles were a small price to pay.

What is your favorite post-rain activity?

Fractals of Thought

Who remembers the scene in Big Bang Theory where Sheldon breaks cutlery and breaks out of a rut? This one.

Sheldon Breaks Cutlery

Well, it was a bit like that. I tottered down the stairs with a pile of books, an iPad, a phone, and a cup perched on top. How is there always a cargo load being carried up and down the stairs in a home like ours? 

The Bird’s Eye

There is something marvelous about taking in a room as you gingerly step down the stairs. The bird’s eye view. The critical eye – is that a cobweb in the corner? Oh – that’s a bird’s nest on the porch – how marvelous! This time, I noticed my elephant ear plant sagging somewhat and went to investigate with the fragile pile in my hands. It was only meant to be a second, and before I knew it, the glass cup perched on top my tottering pile fell.

I know people talk of moments slowing down. Moments when the feeling of being in a bubble is broken, and all that. What I am trying to say is that the moment the glass cup shattered was one such. It slipped and I saw it crash. Not exactly slow motion but it felt like one. I couldn’t catch it on the way down could I? I’ve broken my fair share of things in the past. No one can claim to be that perfect as to not have broken a few things, and Yours Truly is certainly a flibberty-gibbet with enough enthusiasm and speed issues to have broken a few things – bones included.

So, it really shouldn’t be a blog-worthy event. Except it was fascinating to watch.

Kintsugi

What is that they say? Kintsugi – the beauty of broken things and so on. Trust the Japanese to have a philosophical term for something like this.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by joining pieces back together and filling cracks with lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, thereby highlighting the flaws in the mended object.

The gold strain that can brings broken things back together? Well, there was no possibility of kintsugi in this case. The largest fragment was the size of a quinoa grain. I have never seen a single coffee cup made of glass crash and shatter so evenly. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take a picture. As it was, I was too pulled into the moment for philosophical musings. I bellowed to the household to ‘not come near’ for I could see the shards would have splattered to faraway spots. Then for a blissful moment thereafter, I just stood there frozen, barefooted, and rooted in the present.

One does not drift near shards of glass. One plots the next move. One analyses. One considers and then one cleans. All in the present. All earthy, practical tasks. Nothing spectacular, and yet intensely so. Every shard was beautiful. Each catching a little ray of sunshine streaming in through the windows. Each beautiful shimmer showing us how it is the little moments that make up a whole and so on.

Superstitious Much?

As I finished cleaning up, the superstitious part of me piped up: Should this be a sign? I mean it is a broken cup – shouldn’t it mean something? I felt all the doomsayers of my youth clamoring to get their voices heard. Something is about to happen. Duh. Maybe. But, said another part of my brain – the broken glass is so beautiful! Not being able to recreate the exact same thing you just lost has a beauty in transition, no?

Sometimes, not being able to kintsugi your way out means you have to learn to let go, isn’t it?

Tempered Glass

Afterwards, I checked the glass – it was tempered glass. Apparently designed to break exactly like it did. Gemini goes on to explain things like the compression layer, tension core etc, which by itself is a fascinating topic. The glass has fallen once or twice from a similar height on a similar surface before, but nothing had happened. However, yesterday, it seemed to have hit the ground at a particular angle to release the stored tension. Like a tightly coiled spring. 

Science is fascinating, but so are the fractals of thought around something as mundane as breaking glass isn’t it? No wonder Sheldon had a moment of epiphany – I can’t lay claim to an epiphany, but I can claim a stay-in-the-present present.

I was finishing the cleaning up when a friend knocked on the door with some chocolate donuts. Say what you will about that – it felt like a good omen, not a bad one 🙂

Picking a Spot for A Snapshot of Earth

It was a beautiful day in San Francisco. Human-beings have this craving to capture and showcase moments, life and things. A primal aspect that social media latched onto so effectively.

The husband & I after talking of this-and-that (mostly food!) got to discussing a vantage point of life on Earth.

I was reminded of the Golden Record. The smattering of items sent aboard Voyager I in 1977. It was meant to be a snippet of life on Earth: it contained music from different regions, whale songs, etchings and engravings of human endeavor, animal species and so on. Another message was collected and sent to Europa on a recent mission.

https://science.nasa.gov/mission/europa-clipper/message-in-a-bottle/

Now, if we wanted to invite interplanetary visitors and then shoo them away from a glimpse, what places would you select?

A little tech-bragging

A little natural-resources showcasing

A little cool-culture cat walking

Which place would you choose?

Well, The husband & I thought the San Francisco Ferry Building strip would make a decent candidate.

There, you can find a sampling on innovations, technologies, art, craft, transportation options all jostling with one another in a glorious canvas of chaos and movement.

Visual Arts:

There are statues by the pier – Mahatma Gandhi tucked away from the main hustle and bustle. A small diminutive statue compared to the large ‘Woman’ statue in front of the Ferry Building. But even small, his importance draws one near. Tourists are there taking photographs almost everyday. The mermaid, jelly fish, sea lion, dolphin statues along the pier are whimsical and reflective of the fantastic lifeforms on Earth.

Transportation – Past, Present & Future:

The transportation options in that one strip of land is astounding: cruise ships, daily commuter ferries, sailboats, underground trains, bridges – Bay Bridge & on a good day a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, cars, self-driving cars – Venmo’s, tramcars over a 100 years old. Some days, you can see the odd horse drawn carriage – a pure tourist attraction, but alien snippets need not know that.

Architecture:

The buildings are something else – towering in so many shapes and forms. Leaf-shaped one, conical towers, coat tower, Ferry building with its clock-tower, brick buildings, parks, baseball stadium, exploratorium, bookshops. There is plenty of scope for improvement as far as biomimicry designs go, but then were an earthquake to hit, these buildings can show you the difference a 100 years can make in our designs. That’s a towering accomplishment (Get it? Get it?)

Music, Sports:

The music from the subway or the freelance musicians is also sometimes wafting its way to you. The spring in the step of the tourists always a joy to behold.

Science:

The Science Exploratorium aside, you are assured of seeing a few flights landing or taking off from the San Francisco airport, a few Venmo cars gliding through the human-driven car traffic. Not to mention that if an aline knew how to operate a cell-phone, the reception and wi-fi is excellent there.

Food:

The food choices are a little too good to be true – Thai, Mediterranean, Indian, Mexican, Italian, Chinese, Danish, Swiss, American – all there. On the days they have the Farmer’s Market there, the fresh produce, flowers and fruits add to the flavors.

On a good day, the Ferry building area is pure beauty.

Which spot would you choose?

Literary Inspirations from Nature

Amazonian Strength

It was a somewhat tumultuous setting to wake up to. I had just crossed the Amazon river on a bike. Did you know pedaling through water looks easier than it feels? Especially, when the waters are flowing west-east, and you’re biking north-south. 

But still, it was beautiful to bike across a wide, deep river. Water is so soothing, isn’t it? Feels like floating – only every now and then, your ankles get wet. I think I rather enjoyed the ride after a full 3 days of council meetings with the Queen. Have you been to any of these? Turns out, they aren’t as fun and impressive as they seem. But that is corporate err… royal life for you I suppose. The nitty-gritty – the treaties, the documents and the hundred disagreements that arise between 35 council members is truly draining. While I was happy to say my good-byes and head across the river, I wasn’t quite ready for what lay for me on the other side.  

Scene cut. 

Retake River-biking scene.

The aerial view of my biking across the Amazon river is cool. Was Wonder Woman an Amazonian woman? 

Cut. Cut. Cut.

“You’ll be late – time to get up!”

I moaned into my pillow displaying the kind of weakness for sleep that Amazonian strong women most certainly did not according to the myths. I got out of the bed though as a good citizen must.  

Still, I felt a little unsettled – aerial surveys, biking across rivers, social council meetings and strange amazonian men pointing me to a different boat (That was the last part of the dream – not important) – can do that. I decided a short walk around the neighborhood was all the time I had before my day started. 

The Heron on the Roof

So I legged it. Trying to listen to the grounding sound of chirping birds, and taking in huge gulps of the fresh morning air. Did I tell you how bright it was for a February morning? Well, it was.

Anyway, I was tripping along, when I saw the strangest sight. A blue heron: perched on a rooftop in the middle of our housing community. I love watching herons and cranes as regular readers of my blog know. Watching them seems to settle a certain restlessness in my soul. 

Watching the grey heron on a grey house’s rooftop after a tumultuous morning, I felt a new respect for the bird that lives this reality with ease and calm. Aerial surveys – wasn’t that what it was doing just then? Wading through the river waters? They love it and they excel at it. Watching the waters sanguinely from near the shore – again, their specialty.

Literary Inspirations

As I watched the heron, an unrelated nugget of information rose – it has been a while since I had read Kelly Barnhill’s book, The Crane Husband. In an interview, she went on to say that the story had come to her one day  after seeing a crane sit still on a rooftop. 

We see plenty of birds perched anywhere and everywhere all the time. But there is something incongruous about a heron or a crane perched on a rooftop (not in the middle of some fields) , but in a suburban locality, that stirs the imagination. At that moment, I could understand the author’s inspiration for the book.

I stopped to take in the beautiful ringing sounds of a winter robin on a bare tree, and headed back feeling far more settled than when I set out. The heron had done it again. Patience, stillness, sun-bathing, rivers – all in a day’s game after all.

Bosco Ramos: The Dog Who Became a Mayor

The Stress & Strife of Political Life

Political life has never held much sway for me. Too many pitfalls, crests and troughs. I think there are far too many people wanting their own agendas taken care of, that makes it hard to sail straight. If everything someone does for you has an ulterior motive, it must endlessly exhausting for one wanting to live a quiet and straight sort of life.

Of course, there are those who enjoy navigating those very waters and are good at them too. More power to them. Then, there are those who do none of this and enjoy the arm-twisting and the power-trips. The more unscrupulous the better: for those this pursuit would probably be invigorating rather than draining.

What I am saying is this, and it is profound – the kind of thing that when given up as a truth from a crowd-wooing politician gets standing ovations: It takes all sorts to make up the world.

So, imagine my surprise, when I really wanted to meet the mayor, but could only take a picture with his statue.

Meet Bosco Ramos.

He served as the Mayor of Sunol for 13 years – from 1981 – 1994.

He won by a landslide raking in over 62% of the votes.

https://localnewsmatters.org/2020/12/14/how-a-dog-bosco-ramos-became-the-most-loved-mayor-of-sunol-in-the-80s/

If you had a bone to pick with him, he was there mingling among the residents in local pubs and restaurants almost every evening. For a political career to be scandal-free, it takes an enormous strength of character, which Bosco Ramos obviously had.

It is too bad that he died 13 years into his career.

Bosco Ramos in Calafia

I might’ve thought this was an article worthy of The Onion, but it’s true. One serendipitous day, we found ourselves meandering in the small town of Sunol, and there, right outside the Sunol Post Office is a statue of Mayor Bosco Ramos. He was a black labrador-rottweiler mix, and defeated two human-beings in the race for Mayor. 

You should’ve seen the son’s face when he found out more about this dog-mayor. His penchant for History is unsatiable: He is forever coming up to Yours Truly with fun-facts, and trivia such as: “Amma, did you know? California was named after a character called Calafia from the book written by <some long name>” (Garci Rodríguez de Montalvo) 

He transformed into an enthusiastic puppy himself, yipping and yapping to have his photograph taken with the former mayor.

Image Courtesy: By Pedro Xing – Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24008072

An Ode to Roger

I’d like to read more about Bosco Ramos. Was he a good companion when one was out on a nature walk? Did he hurry things along when the conversation started to get belligerent, or was he quite ready to bark an order or two?

I was reminded of Gerald Durrell’s companion, Roger:

In those early days of exploration Roger was my constant companion. He was the perfect companion for an adventure, affectionate without exuberance, brave without being belligerent, intelligent and full of good humored tolerance for my eccentricities.

family_other_animals

He goes on to say about Roger – who sounds like the ideal companion anyone could wish for, that:
If I slipped when climbing a dew shiny bank, Roger appeared suddenly, gave a snort that sounded like suppressed laughter, a quick look over, a rapid lick of commiseration, shook herself, sneezed and gave me his lopsided grin. If I found something that interested me – an ant’s nest, a caterpillar on a leaf, a spider wrapping up a fly in swaddling clothes of silk – Roger sat down and waited until I had finished examining it.

Now – what is preventing similar miracles from happening on a larger scale? Why can we not aspire to having more loyal, loving, patient leaders in all the important places?

Shopping with Richard & Petunia

You get to do the strangest things on trips. Like shopping with Richard and Petunia.

Petunia had a bored look. If her nonchalance was studied, it was not apparent. Well done. The attention Richard got was ridiculous if you asked her, and she wasn’t going to indulge him any more than was necessary.

Richard, though, was preening. Young as he was, he was still learning the ways of people. He was incredibly good-looking and that department helped him in getting what he wanted.

If it bothered Petunia, she didn’t show it. She seemed happy enough to be ignored. Besides, Petunia’s doctor had advised her to go easy on her diet. She was clearly one of those queens who enjoyed being served luxurious portions at regular intervals without having to ask for it.

Petunia liked to think of herself as well-proportioned, but Richard liked to think of her as fat.

It really did not bode well for their relationship.

So, it really was no one’s fault.

Richard asked for food. Joanna gave it to him. She let him peck it straight from her hand, and those in the store looked on with awe. Richard really was handsome. His eyes and feathers shone: he was quite the bored aristocrat when I walked in. He came over and gave me a once-over and then strutted over to Joanna. She held out her hand with his food, and Richard pecked at it, making sure that we had our eyes on him – giving him the sort of adoring look he was used to.

I suppose after the fifteenth time that day, Petunia snapped. She still could not bring herself to exert herself and show her disapproval, but she did sort of snort. Richard understood, and pecked hard enough for the food to splash and roll out onto the floor from my outstretched hand.  Richard ate it all up and then stalked off into rain outside. Just so.

Petunia gave him a scowl that said, “Good! Get a good soak then!”, and went back to snoozing on the billing counter. Bird food was nowhere as good as cat food anyway. Petunia knew that.

Oh well!

How often does one get to shop with a peacock and a cat?

History & Herons

South Indian Meals

The vegetables were neatly sliced & diced, the tomatoes were pureed, the tamarind was soaked, the rice was boiling merrily, the rasam was simmering gently at first and then with a ferocity matching the chillies in them. A South Indian meal was in progress. We do not set much store by one-pot meals in South Indian cuisine, and consequently all the burners were on. 

Efficiency. A production. An orchestra. 

I was listening to an audible book on The History of the United States  that was making me gasp in places, as I cooked.

After one particularly intense chapter ended, I stopped the podcast. In the ensuing silence an image arose in my mind.

Unbidden, unhurried, and unsullied. 

The gray heron

It was from my morning walk. Before the frenzied cooking spree to get food on the table. 

The gray heron. 

I have seen many gray herons. The common refrain in the household is that I have more photographs of the herons and egrets than I do of the children. This one, though, was the very first time I saw a heron go in for the kill at close quarters. 

The heron was less than 5 feet away. Standing still immersed in knee deep waters. Stark against the morning light. It was still cold – January colds of California – and then, slowly it waded into the waters a little more. Stealth. Strategy. And then, in one swift motion, it plunged its impressive beak into the water, and caught a shimmering fish in its beak. 

A second later, the fish was eaten, and it went back to standing in the waters. 

Whoa!

I couldn’t help contrasting the efficiency and speed of the heron’s meal against the one I was preparing. Dozens of spices, different boiling points, cutting angles for the vegetables, the right consistency, the right temperature, the right time, the right ingredients. 

In fairness, the heron was also probably listening to its version of American History from the walkers nearby, as it contemplated and went after its meal. All those opinions and snippets on Noble Peace Prizes, Venezuela and Greenland. But there, the comparison ended. 

Now, I cannot compare the taste – was the fish as tasty to the heron as the meal I had made was to our palates? I honestly cannot say. But the heron seemed content enough. When later, the family gathered around for lunch, they seemed content enough too. Wasn’t that the point? 

To Realms & Worlds Unknown

“Wow! Do people actually get up at 3 in the morning and drive up the mountain to catch the sunrise?” I said, my jaw slipping a good 45 degrees downward.

The husband, knowing my enthusiasm for these early morning fests, said, “Yes! But I was thinking of something else. Let’s go up in the afternoon, do a small hike and then watch the sunset. That way, we can wait for an hour or so, and watch the starry night skies too before heading back down.”

I nodded – did I tell you he was a smart cookie? I must have.

Haleakala Crater

So, that’s what we did. Haleakala Crater is one of the major attractions of Maui.  As we made our way towards the mountain, it was becoming gradually more scenic and lush. The volcano itself is a stunner – at about 9000 feet above sea level, it is a world very different from the rest of the island. Up there it actually feels like it is different from the rest of the planet.

One minute, you are parking the car, and looking at the trail map, and the next minute, you are on a trail called the Trailing Sands (Keonehe’ehe’e – slides off your tongue doesn’t it?) that transports you straight into the dusty dunes of Mars. Your lungs sort of leap into your throat, and your heart does this dance where it shows you what it means to hike at 9000 feet. But it truly is an experience. Some barely-there-scant vegetation is the only anchor to Earth up there. You are surrounded by miles and miles of volcanic rubble, and the shifting sands around you promise you bleakness. The sands are black. They are rust. They are brown. And there are pebbles, gravel all the way every way.

The worst part of this other-world hike is that you first go down, and then climb back up. If your heart was dancing the jig when you start down, it does the conga when you start back up. But this is where human beings are truly other-worldly too. You show them a trail in the middle of a crater, and you’ll find a swell number of souls all tramping up and down. “We’ll see you on Earth later!” They seem to say but they are there. Telling you you’ve got this, and snapping pictures for one another.

The sweat from the hike, and the cold from the altitude make you sort of yearn for a few warm blankets and a cup of hot cocoa. How did these astro-biologists and astronauts opt to go on missions lasting years to places like that in the movies? 

Alaula & Aka’ula of Napoʻo ʻana o ka lā 

The sunset was spectacular  once you got your breath back, and we huddled around the mountaintop peeking over the horizon as the skies did their magical thing of swishing out its robes. 

Napoʻo ʻana o ka lā – means the setting of the sun

Alaula – the glow of the sunset

Aka’ula – the reddish glow of the sunset

Within minutes, the pinks and oranges were gone – to be replaced by a pitch black sky and a million glittering stars. The temperatures dipped a frightful amount, and as we swiveled our necks up to the worlds above, a warm blanket felt more than welcome. Or even a warm towel fresh from the dryer would have been enough.

Towels for interstellar travels

I have no doubt that if we were to hike up into the skies there we would find our own species up there cheering each other on. “Just a little further and you’ll be on the other side of the star – just drink some water!”

I chuckled feeling a bit silly at the thought, but it reminded me of that fellow in The HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy where he says the first thing a space traveler ought to pack is a towel. Well, the first thing a traveler to another world in our world ought to pack is a towel too.

The stars, and the crater had done its thing. By the time, we drove down the mountain side to our own planet, it was well into the night, and sleep under a cozy comforter and a temperature controlled bedroom beckoned us far more than the adventures of the universe.

Our Beautiful Earth.

We may enter realms and worlds unknown, but to enter our known world with the comforts of modern living awaiting us is no small blessing. 

The Tyrant’s Daughter

Early morning vibes

“What do you mean we have to jump in the ocean at 6:30 a.m.?” We were planning on snorkeling in Maui. Islands, especially those closer to the equator like Hawaii, have a sort of early morning energy to them, that dwellers from the mainlands like Yours Truly have difficulty comprehending.

The husband shrugged, and said either something to the effect of only-time-available or only-time-it-is-done. He was already tucking into toasted bagels, sounding happy and energetic. I whined. “You’re such a Tyrant for waking us up at this ungodly hour!” He laughed, and thrust a cup of coffee into my hands.

The daughter gave me a scolding, “Amma – if you have to go snorkeling you have to get up at 5:30. You can nap the rest of the day like a sea turtle sunning on a beach if you’d like, but you have to get up now.”

“Well – buddy up with him, why don’t you? You’re the Tyrant’s Daughter. That should be title of my book – The Tyrant’s Daughter! Why does he have to be so peppy at 5 in the morning?”

“Because we’re snorkeling. You kind of have to be!” She said, and I scowled at her. I sent baleful glances the whole way to the boat. I still wasn’t sure about the whole jumping in the ocean at dawn thing, but apparently fish don’t listen.

“You jump off here – and you can swim up to there – you’ll see some turtles if you’re lucky. Keep your distance..” I shivered, as the captains of the boat went on with their instructions.

The waters shimmered and looked beautiful. I am not denying that. We had spotted two whales and a baby on the way there. Granted, they didn’t look cold, but they hadn’t been pulled from a downy comforter in a room that already had the thermostat set to a comfortable temperature, had they?

Flip Float & Fiddle

I watched braver souls splash into the waters and flip off with their flippers and snorkels in place, while I just stood there praying for strength and warmth. Finally, when it was getting a bit shameful to put it off any longer, I took the plunge too. Once I got the hang of it, it was marvelous. 

I don’t know what the whales were thinking just about then, but I could’ve told them, the waters were not cold at all. Getting a healthy swim right around sunrise is the heartiest thing to do.

I flipped off and peered down into the most beautiful coral reefs. It was teeming with fish, and there up ahead was a large turtle having his shell cleaned by the reef fish, It was a gorgeous sight to behold. The sun’s rays piercing through the waters combined with the silver and black fish that were in abundance in the reef, and the turtle, put me in a sort of trance. I felt my heart stop several times as the turtle swam towards me – why do turtles look like they are smiling? Before I knew it, I heard someone holler at me to come back to the boat.

Note: Picture not from snorkeling, but elsewhere

Our next stop was equally breathtaking, and here, we saw rainbow fish, yellow sun fish and so many happy creatures, it was amazing. The corals are true marvels of creation. Here we are, trying our best to hold leaking roofs together, plastering walls, soldering outlets, while the reefs build and hold with grace and pressure.

I feel the tug in my heart to quote Gerald Durrell here. It is from one of my favorite essays in the book, Fruit Bats and Golden Pigeons by Gerald Durrell. Titled, The Enchanted World.

Quote:

Any naturalist who is lucky enough to travel, at certain moments has experienced a feeling of overwhelming exultation at the beauty and complexity of life <….>  You get it when you see a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis <…> You get it when you see a gigantic school of dolphins stretching as far as the eye can see, rocking and leaping exuberantly though their blue world <…. >

But there is one experience, perhaps above all others, that a naturalist should try to have before he dies and that is the astonishing and humbling experience of exploring a tropical reef. You become a fish, hear and see and feel as much like one as a human being can; yet at the same time you are like a bird, hovering, swooping and gliding across the marine pastures and forests.

You Are Not a Tyrant!

When finally I hauled myself back on to the boat, I started to feel cold again. But down there, in the waters, it was heavenly. I shimmied up to the husband and said, “You are not a tyrant for waking me up! It was so lovely – thank you!” He gave me a loud guffaw, and laughed.

The daughter said, “I think I need an apology over here as well.” She had a sort of shine that happy mermaids get after a morning of frolicking, and was chomping Hawaiian chips. “If I remember correctly, you were writing books about the Tyrant’s Daughter a few hours ago.“

I smiled sheepishly. Or Turtlishly maybe.

“Fine! You get an apology too. It was beautiful!” I said, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I thought I’d left my heart in the reefs, but then what was that huge tug I felt in my torso as I beamed my love out into the world around me?

Note: These pictures were taken in Monterey Bay and not under the seas at Maui. I did not take underwater cameras with me to record. I simply drank in the scenes and a bit of the Pacific Ocean too.