Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humour - or at least a
great appreciation of the ironies of life? And have I ever mentioned that an
intrepid traveler I am NOT? Well, put the two statements together and you get
someone who is the world’s worst traveler, busily travelling around the world!
`So it came to pass that a girl who cannot sit on a swing for
more than twenty seconds before succumbing to a bout of dizziness that would
make an expectant lady’s legendary morning sickness look like an advertisement for good health, came to be married to a
Merchant naval officer. Now you may well raise your eyebrow superciliously and
ask,”So?” The answer is tragically simple – Haven’t you noticed that a ship
rolling on the seas is nothing but a great big swing?! I still recall how I
covered myself with glory the first time we left port in excellent sailing
weather (how was I supposed to know that?) by racing onto the bridge and
dramatically declaring, “It’s a storm!” The look of acute embarrassment on my
newly acquired husband’s face, bracketed by the disbelieving looks of the
Captain and the Bosun who were standing on either side of him, is a
recollection that I do my utmost not to recall!
Anyway, be that as it may – there is nothing like constant
torture to make agony bearable – and three ships later, I was a seasoned sailor
who could ‘roll’ with the best them in the most surrealistic of storms. Back-and-forth
and forth-and-back I would sway, like a tender flower at the mercy of a strong
breeze, whilst busily carrying on a conversation or making coffee on the
bridge, as if I were completely stationary and my feet were on solid ground. As
I said – puke often enough and very soon there is nothing left to throw up! At
that point you either give up the ghost and become the star protagonist of a
burial-at-sea, or else your body decides that enough is enough and magically
ceases to become sea-sick any more. By God’s grace, I belong to the latter
category and so am alive to tell this tale.
Which brings us to the fantastically named port of
Coatzacoalcos. Never heard of it, have you?! Well, neither had I till our
perambulations on the high seas led us to the said named place and we found
ourselves anchored off the coast of New Mexico, readying ourselves to take on
board a cargo of blackened coal (yes, smarty, I made the connection too - coal
from Coatzacoalcos!). Now the fact
that we were anchored off-shore, meant that we needed to take the launch to get
to dry land, and so that was precisely what yours truly set about doing. So, after
carefully getting my trusty handbag ready, and arming myself with some basic
survival vocabulary (eg: ‘aqua’ = water), I settled myself into the launch and
headed for shore, accompanied by some fellow sailors.
Once on terra firma, we proceeded to enjoy ourselves, as all
mariners worth their salt do, and were soon engrossed in the simple pleasures
of sampling the local wares and shopping for our families.
All too soon, it was
time to return to the metalled framework we called home.
So there we were, on the jetty, waiting for our royal chariot
to take us back when, all of a sudden, one of our lads let loose with an
expletive (no, I will not elaborate – there are tender ears reading this!). Now
when one lives on ships one becomes fairly inured to such volatile expressions
and takes them in the spirit in which they are said, rather than literally. Without
batting an eyelid I therefore enquired with the greatest concern – “What’s
wrong?”
The response was a look of acute embarrassment followed by a
low voiced response, ”My button has broken.”
I know intuition is a woman’s best friend, but have you
noticed how it always deserts one when one needs it the most? So, instead of
picking up the signals from the look and the voice of the young man in
question, I proceeded to do my bull-in-a-china-shop stunt and, raising my
voice, said, “Which button?”
When am I ever going to learn?!!
That he didn’t throw me into the sea speaks volumes for the
young sailor’s self control! (Or perhaps it was the fact that I was the
Captain’s wife that had something to do with my safety – we’ll never know, will
we? But I digress…) One look at his face warned me that discretion was the
better part of valour. So choosing to fall back on the wisdom of the old adage
‘Action speaks louder than words’, I hastily reached inside my trusty handbag,
pulled out a safety pin large enough to fit the bill, and thrust it in his
general direction, all the while taking great care not to look him in the eye (or
anywhere else for that matter).
Having rescued the situation to a certain extent (and his
trousers), I fell into a pensive silence, while gazing vacantly into the
horizon. Truth to tell, I was doing my best to neutralize a very awkward
situation, when, to my horror, yet another cuss word (strong enough this time,
to set your hair on fire) rent the air. I
quailed inside, but mustering my rather shredded nerves together, I turned
towards the perpetrator and asked in a low voice (as low as the first
sailor’s), “Is everything alright?”
The retort that greeted my solicitous enquiry struck me dumb
– quite literally. “I need to be stitched.” Why oh why is it my misfortune to
be surrounded by tight trousered humanity?! Having, however, learnt from the
errors of my previous ways, I refused to ask for any clarifications, but simply
once more dived into my bag, yanked out a needle and thread and held out my
arm, while averting my eyes. I thought I
was being the soul of discretion. So you can imagine my surprise, when my
Samaritan act was met by a deep throated chuckle. Swinging around in
indignation, I strove to look for the perpetrator of the rude sound, when I
perceived that it was the author of the hair raising vocabulary himself! Frowning
at him, I barked (in a most unladylike fashion, I humbly confess), “What’s so
funny?”
Instead of replying, the sailor simply raised his arm and it
was then, to my everlasting chagrin, that I saw the rent in his shirt sleeve. I
had jumped to the wrong conclusion!
Slowly I raised my shamefaced eyes to his grinning face and
with elaborate courtesy, he dropped the stitching apparatus back into my hand.
Once again I averted my gaze and pretended to take a great
interest in the horizon. Anything, I repeat anything was preferable
to meeting the eyes of the by now deeply amused members of my ship!
So I surrounded myself with a dignified silence and continued
to stare into space (I would rather have been in outer space at that
moment). However, as the minutes dragged by (relativity sucks) I became aware
of a disturbing increase in the volume level near me. Being a lady (read
‘woman’) my curiosity started getting the better of me. But my dignity (or
marked lack of it at that moment) demanded that I not reveal said (by now
overwhelming) curiosity. So I tried to make both ends meet by striving to encompass
the gentlemen next to me in my peripheral vision – with a marked lack of
success! All I could see were some vague forms floating in and out of the
corner of one eye, like ghosts flitting by at the edge of one’s vision.
What did not however, cease, was the ever increasing buzz and
from the distant corner of one straining eyeball, I could dimly make out what
seemed to be a great amount of unnecessary nudging going on. Just as I was
about to succumb to the temptation of finally turning around to have a proper
look, one of the gentlemen came staggering towards me. No, he wasn’t inebriated
– he had been propelled towards me by the unwanted force of a nudge in the
back. And as he approached me with unsteady gait, his face broke into a huge
grin as he asked, “I’m hungry ma’am – got anything there in that bag o’ yours
to eat?”
So THAT’S what they had been up to! I could see the
speculation in his eyes. I scanned the other faces.
The bet was on.
Never challenge a lady about her handbag.
I raked him over with a seemingly cursive glance. But in that
one look I had got his measure.
My fingers flexed with the practiced ease of a dedicated
gunslinger.
With deceptively casual ease I dipped into the bottomless pit
that is rather elegantly called a lady’s ‘purse’ and pulled out – an apple!
Roars of approval burst forth from the gathering that had
surrounded us without our knowledge, so focused had we been on our personal
duel. Applause filled the air. And with the air of a prima donna who deserved
nothing less than her due, I gracefully bowed!
My equanimity was restored. All was well with my little
world.
That evening, when we were gathered around the dinner table,
my vanquished opponent ventured into the dining room to deliver the final
epitaph to the story. He looked at the Chief Engineer, glanced sideways at the
Captain (my husband) and dropped the following bombshell into the expectant
silence:
“Begging your pardon sir, but just wanted to inform you – if
you ever lose your engine, or need a new one – just look inside madam’s
handbag!!”
He beat a hasty retreat……….with yours truly in hot pursuit……
so engrossing !
ReplyDeleteThis story still holds true with you mom.
ReplyDeleteThanks Rashi! glad you enjoyed it!
ReplyDeleteThanks little princess!! I do manage to get into scrapes, don't I?!
ReplyDeleteI wonder what we will find in your purse now ma'am!!! Enjoyed it as usual !!
ReplyDeleteprobably a couple of stowaways!
ReplyDeleteI always find the stories better than any renowned writer ...now this one ..better than ..better than...Gulliver's Travels!!
ReplyDeleteIn The Crucible Newsletter ..one story every month ..by the Principal !!!!!!!
Traveled I have - touched all the continents. And enjoyed every moment of it! I feel particularly blessed to have been given this gift.
ReplyDeleteVery well written Ma'am! I hope you will check out my blog as well! :)
ReplyDeletehttp://710block16.blogspot.in/