by Richard Rose
Richard Rose’s essay reflects on the joys of travelling to the seaside and contrasts experiences in the UK and India. It reports an amusing true incident when visiting a beach near Chennai in Tamil Nadu and suggests that such experiences are unique to India and part of the charm that rewards such a journey.
What is it about the sea that a mere glimpse of it fills me with excitement every time?
Perhaps it is the joy of childhood memories. Spending my formative years living in the quintessentially English inland city of Gloucester, my visits to the coastal regions of the UK were infrequent, occurring only during holidays and then, often for no more than a few snatched hours. Yet I still recall childhood journeys to the seaside fondly. I treasure memories of days when the sun shone, the pristine sand was warm beneath my bare feet, and the beach was imbued with brilliant sunlight and resounded to the lapping of the tide against rocks sheltering pools full of crabs and starfish.
Journeys to the seaside in my childhood were made by bus. Three generations: grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces together assembled for the seemingly interminable journey to the coast. Heavily encumbered with bags containing picnic, buckets and spades, bats and balls, swimming costumes and towels, we stood beside the road looking into the near distance and urging the anticipated vehicle to arrive early. Climbing aboard we joined other similar family groups, noisy with excitement as we prepared for our collective ‘big day out’. These family outings, often to Black Rock Beach at Porthcawl in Wales, or less frequently to the wide expanses of sand at Weston-Super-Mare, were filled with laughter and all the old familiar tales, which possess each generation, to be shared a thousand times amongst all families on long journeys and other convivial gatherings of the clan. And as the journey neared its destination, those of us whose youthful enthusiasm could barely be contained, vied to be the first to shout those lusted after words, ‘I can see the sea!’
Weston-Super-Mare had its attractions; in particular, the Edwardian Grand Pier, and the brightly saddled and bridled donkeys introduced in the late 1800’s and that to this day are managed by the Mager family, offering rides along the beach on gently ambling mounts named Joey or Paddy or Bluebell. A picture of The Beatles from 1963 has each of the celebrity Liverpudlians seated astride one of these hard working creatures, about to follow the short path taken by thousands of less recognisable jockeys including myself, during day trips to the ever windy, Somerset resort. Nonetheless, I always preferred Porthcawl where thunderous waves added excitement to the day as we ventured to swim in the icy waters of the Bristol Channel.
Days at Porthcawl were fully occupied leaping through the waves with my grandfather and great uncle, both strong swimmers, or hunting for crabs, whelks and blennies in the rock pools, which were repopulated with each incoming tide. Another pastime was gingerly lifting rocks to see what lay beneath, as I imagined a giant crab taking hold of my fingers in the vice-like grip of its mighty claws, despite being aware that any cowering crustacean would be no more than a few inches across the width of its shell and hence, unlikely to offer any real threat. An intermission for a family picnic comprised cheese sandwiches invaded by fine grains of salty sand which added crunch but were none the less consumed with relish.
Beach cricket occupied the afternoon, the whole family joining in and displaying varying abilities with bat and ball. A six hit to the sea saw scrambling fielders plunging through waves to retrieve the ball, which gained weight through combined seawater and sticky sand as the game progressed. Such were the carefree days of childhood shared with family away from the hustle of everyday responsibilities.
Years later, the attraction of the sea remains, and with little excuse, I will take a diversion from a planned route of travel if it avails me the opportunity to feel sand and salt water rising between my toes. Words from the second verse of Sea Fever by John Masefield come to mind as I gain a first glimpse of the ocean:
“I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.”
Imagine then how temptation gripped me whilst recently working at Muttukadu abutting the coast of Tamil Nadu near Chennai. There, for three days, I could see the Bay of Bengal and taste salt in the air, so near yet so far. It was only on the third evening that an opportunity to visit Kovalam Beach with good friends and colleagues and sate my appetite for surf and sand presented itself.
Having visited numerous Indian beaches, I knew that the experience would be far removed from the ones by the English seaside. The beaches with which I have become familiar in Kerala and on previous visits to Tamil Nadu, whilst undoubtedly offering opportunities for relaxation and leisure to local inhabitants and visitors alike, are primarily places of work. Therefore, at Kovalam, I was not surprised to find serried ranks of fishing boats at rest, high on the shoreline. Neither was I taken aback by women seated cross legged behind displays of fish, which they proffered towards passing customers. Cows and horse riders, familiar features on Indian beaches, were similarly present on this evening.
Whilst sea and sand are ever present features of beach visits, I confess that Kovalam did present me with one experience that was unique in respect of my many perambulations along the various shorelines visited around the world. My colleagues, who of course possessed far greater local knowledge than myself, led me down the beach eagerly in search of a feature, which they assured me would provide a source of amusement. Ever keen for new experiences, I followed in anticipation of whatever surprise they had in mind. Sure enough, within minutes, I found myself confronting a situation more bizarre than I can recall experiencing on any beach previously visited.
Halfway between the road and the sea, sitting cross-legged upon a plastic sheet, was a man. Beside him was a small decorated wooden box, which I realised provided shelter and transport for a bright green parrot. As he sat and anticipated just the kind of curiosity which my colleagues were so eager to provide, the gentleman stroked the chin of his avian companion and smiled. The sparkle in his eyes betrayed a knowing look as we approached and he knew that we were drawn to know the reason for his presence and that of his parrot on the beach. ‘Here’, I was informed by my knowing friends, ‘is a man with a parrot that can tell fortunes, and in exchange for a few rupees, he will look into your future.’At this point I probably raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless could not resist participating in this uniquely Indian diversion.
I should explain that my companions included an eminent professor, two colleagues with PhDs and one of my students who will similarly be awarded her doctorate in the near future. These are intelligent, intellectually curious people with experience of the modern world and I would suggest, a set of rational skills through which they evaluate the phenomena they encounter in their daily lives. It would hardly seem credible that in a post-enlightenment age such highly educated, critical thinkers could place any semblance of faith in the ability of a parrot to predict the future. However, with smiles on their faces which reassured me that they could distinguish between reality and an amusing diversion, I was delighted to go ahead.
One by one we squatted before the parrot and its master and watched as the soothsaying bird rifled through a stack of cards, throwing them left and right, discarding each one until eventually alighting upon the exact card that would reveal our individual futures. Grasping the selected card within its bill, the parrot strolled to the fortune teller, placing this gently in his hand before retiring to its perch on the travelling box. With due solemnity, the fortune teller opened each card to reveal in rather scant detail, the paths that lay before us. Longevity and good fortune seemed to be the order of the day. In my own case, I will apparently live to be ninety-nine years old, but had I chosen to undertake the work which I do today ten years ago, I would have become a millionaire. This presumably would have made me the first man to gain inordinate wealth through teaching!
Departing from this scene and continuing to enjoy the atmosphere of the beach, we laughed together and acknowledged the ludicrous but charming scene in which we had been involved. Inevitably the conversation interspersed with good-spirited banter turned to other experiences of runes being read and auguries revealed.
For me, a visit to the seaside has always been associated with entertainment. From fun fairs on the pier, to donkey rides, building sandcastles and exploring rock pools, every visit has the potential for magic and the creation of happy memories. Kovalam was no exception. Fine company, novel entertainment, sea, sand and good humour; what more could one ask to justify a journey to the beach?
Richard Rose is a university academic and writer living in the UK. In addition to writing a regular column “Word from the Streets” for the Bangalore Review, his recent non-fiction writing has appeared in Coldnoon and Spark, while his latest short stories can be read in Indian Review, Muse India and Spadina Review.
