London Diaries - Tinder Box Cafe

I really did not bother looking at the Café until my friend started working here.
Honestly, I never knew it existed despite my numerous visits to Paperchase – an upscale stationery store which housed the Café on its first floor.

Now seriously, who would want to walk into a stationery store, get your hands on some fancy fountain pens and head straight for a cup of coffee?

Apparently, not many did that.

It was the warmth of the coffee that held people close.

My first visit to Tinderbox was quite unintentional.
My friend, Anupa, a ball of happiness, insisted that I get out more often and enjoy the sun. Arshad, another friend of mine who is an architect, thought it was a great idea to fire up his synapses of creativity.

The walk down Tottenham Court Road has always been refreshing. It is unlikely that you don’t bump into a bunch of students talking about the sordid reality of tight coursework submissions. We had University College London located on one end, AA School of Architecture which was right around the corner & the Shoppers’ paradise Oxford Street just a stone-throw away to feed on the patronage of mentally disturbed students.

So you enter the store...walk past the aisle of greeting cards…go up the stair case to a viewing gallery of fountain pens…resist your temptation to buy one…walk right away in the opposite direction to enter the café.

Now, the tilling machine usually looks black & white like above, unless it is Nithu taking your order. For all those who are unaware, Nithila ‘Nithu’ is my short haired friend who is full of smiles & colour. A Barista by the day & an architect at night, she is the Batgirl who juggles multiple roles (oh and she dresses up in black as well!).

Being the low lives that Anupa had dragged us down to, we decided to have some fun.
We started off complaining about the lack of creativity in the menu when we could not spot Sambar Vada. Nithu being the darling she was, did not chase us away.

I asked for some Ice tea with extra ‘love’. The damsel was nice enough not to charge me for that :*.

But you see, ordering at Tinderbox can be quite frustrating.

You have Nithu with her gorgeous dimples looking right at you. You have Elena who is working on the coffee machine thingy making that ‘Krrrrrrrrrrr’ noise from the steam valve which is ever satisfying to hear. You have the aroma of freshly prepared coffee that forces your eyes shut but a split second later, the caffeine kicks in and your eye balls pop wide open. Boy oh boy!

We collect our orders and walk down the seating area with the sunshine on our backs.

A sublime reality is what I can define my time there.

I look out the viewing gallery to see people walk out of Goodge Street Tube station. Meanwhile, Nithu was kind enough to supplement my Iced tea with a warm hug because she did not conjure a heart shaped foam like she did for Arshad (I know..Iced tea doesn't have foam and I was probably her meanest customer). 

I hate to make this comparison, but London reminds me so much of Bombay.

Crowded city, people always on the run and a dense network of public rail system which forms the lifeline.

Oh baby!
Come back soon.

Have Mercy!

For 8 years my mind was free of chaos. I used to call myself a free stallion and moved where the winds took me. I felt safe, sound & secure. I assumed there were fewer things that could stop me. Until I met the Leopardess.

Most men desire for a woman who is a Lioness.
They expect her to walk with majestic grandeur. They want her to stick to her pride. They would want her growl at other males who are ever trying to mate with her. But she isn’t one of those.

She is elusive and moves fast. She gives you time just enough to get a glimpse of those spots on her perfect shiny fur. She can lure a man just by locking her gaze and hence doesn’t find the need to have a partner. She is desirable and moves like a mirage.

You try to reach out, hold her in arms and before you know it, she is on top of you and goes straight for your throat. You wished you had never met her!

She is unlike any other woman I have met. She strikes fear in the hearts of the men who seek her like the Moby Dick of the Deep seas. Some fear she would never be theirs. A few have (or had!) the privilege to fear she might walk of their lives.  For most…they fear that she isn’t real & whatever is happening is bound to end soon.

She pumps you with greed like how the Venus fly traps works. You yearn to get close to her and want to know what it feels like to be inside her. She pulls you close by the whiff of her shampoo & Eau De Toilette. By the time you think you are going back for more, you realize you forget to breathe.

She ruins your sleep and makes you go berserk like she is cocaine. You want to grip her clothes & hold her close not because you want her. You are addicted to the image of her breathing into you. You feel like there is nothing more in this world that can ever make you happy. You try to pursue her and end up staying up till dawn.

My dear Leopardess…Please have mercy.
 Let me go...but not yet!

I pray that you are bitch!

I take a vow to never look at you.  I try not to gawk at you. I take a stand to ignore you but you say, ‘Hi’. I am speechless and back to square one.
Moving on was never this difficult. I pray that you are a bitch.

I swear to never think of you. I am determined not to fall for you. I take a stand to ignore you but you make eye-contact with me amongst a dozen others & give me that smile. I am smitten & back to square one.
Moving on was never this difficult. I pray that you are a bitch.

I want to be mean to you. I want to fill you with rebuke. I try to look at you with disdain but your puppy dog eyes tell me you are hungry. I can’t help but prepare a warm meal for you & get back to square one.
Moving on was never this difficult. I pray that you are a bitch.

I try to be a dick. I stop looking at you saying you aren’t curvy enough. I avoid you saying you aren’t voluptuous enough but then you tie up your hair & brush away your forelocks. My jaws drop open & I get back to square one.

I am determined to be a dick. I swear not to entertain you. But you tell me you like Ferrero Rocher & I suddenly wish I had chocolate syrup oozing through my veins. I got back to square one a long time ago!

Moving on was never this difficult. I pray that you are a bitch…but you are such a darling!

Move on?

I have often been told by my friends to move on. 

“You need to let go…she doesn’t really care about you”
“You are wasting your time”
“You would have been dating someone by now had you moved on”

But life being what it has always been - complicated & confusing, I have been unable to take that step forward. I tell my friends that it isn’t as easy as it looks like. Then somebody told me this.

“Moving on is difficult for people who have been in a relationship…not for somebody who was ok with staring at her until she telepathically got the message”.

I couldn’t help but laugh at what was said. For the first time in my life, truth was bitter sweet.

Thing is, I could never really decide what I enjoyed more – Whether to bask in the hope that she will someday come around, or to be lead on in an endless abyss of her pursuit knowing that she will never be yours.

To be honest,I did try my best to move on.

I woke up one fine day, swore to never think about her & put on my best I-don’t-care-about-the-world look. While she did the exact same thing (not to think about me or give a damn), the mere fact that she locked her gaze with mine for an arc second changed it all. I was back to being obsessed with her again. I felt like a man curled up in a dark chamber who is ever happy by the small glimpses of sunlight than the bright meadows outside.

It is never a question of her being the ‘right’ one. In all probability, she isn’t. In majority of the cases, she is perhaps the one biggest mistake you need to make to turn your life upside down. Yet…she is the only person who could fill up that void which you had always hoped to fulfill. You would miss her for the rest of your life even if you had'nt met. You could have all the riches, loads of luck, abundance in adventure & yet your life would fall short if she wasn’t a part of it.

Should I try any harder?
Nah. I think it should happen as it goes.
Life feels perfect with her occasional smiles & millisecond glimpses. Why bother ruin it in haste or move on?

Back to School!

I was walking back to the tube station along with Manny when he suddenly asked, ’So how does it feel like…getting back to school?’.

Honestly, I was unprepared to answer that question. It was something I myself dreaded to ask my conscience.

Doing my masters’ in London happened quite by chance. I never really wanted a postgraduate degree to tell me what to do with my life. But alas, it was the only way I could start over, so here I am. Alone, all by myself & armed with nothing but a fake smile which I am forced to flash for the rest of the day…the same way I started my undergrad 8 years. Only things were different back then.

When I was 18, I never went around asking people if I could add them on facebook or linkedin.
When I was 18, I never had trouble remembering names no matter how weird they got.
When I was 18, my classmates knew I was one of them when they saw me gawking at a girl’s ass, not because I had an opinion to share about the markets.
When I was 18, I had the liberty to punch a guy in his face & could expect the same from him.
I am now 25…a seemingly better man than what I was 8 years ago…but feeling claustrophobic than ever. Growing up to a mature outlook has never been such a pain in the ass.

A great deal of academic institutions give importance to classroom diversity. Apart from the global perspective of classroom participation, there is an underlying (or rather much superficial) motive to let people network across hemispheres. I had a very dear senior of mine who said it would be an experience of a lifetime.

But with so much of emphasis on ‘networking’ & beer weekends, I ask myself ‘How many of them are actually willing take a walk with me instead?’, ‘How many would rather choose to count the stars with me & still not get bored?’ & more importantly ‘How many would be willing to act as my wingman to ask my crush out for dinner?’.
I doubt if there would be any. Why?
Cuz we are supposed to be big boys (& girls)!

Since when did making friends become that difficult? Or am I really making friends out here?
Have I reached a stage where I am diminished to a stage of an asset where people are willing to invest their time subject to ‘returns’?

No wonder people need a software to keep track of who I am & what I do.

I had the courage to admit to Helen that of all the people I had added in facebook in the last few days, fewer actually gave a f*** about me.

She just smiled.
Perhaps she knew what I meant. Perhaps she agreed with me on some level.
I am guessing it is probably the same with each of our friends on facebook.
Looks like we have been trying too hard to diminish ‘genuine’ human interactions.

She is the Third Kind

It was a warm summer evening in the winding streets of Cuffe Parade, Mumbai.
It is filled with old couples going out for a walk whose wrinkles are always full of life. A simple ‘Hi..’ to a Parsi lady in her 80s is invariably bound to earn you a vibrant smile in reply. Sundays are always the same.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any different, I saw her for the first time.

She was out for a walk, a rather unusual thing for a woman her age who normally prefer to jog.

She was plugged to her Ipod making her oblivious of the world around.

Her smile was peculiar. It was as if someone was whispering something to her she had been waiting to hear all her life. It seemed so everlasting which she refused to take off.

She was dressed in sleeveless top & shorts – All blue from head to toe.
Who could ever relate the colour ‘blue’ to melancholy & depression!
There was so much exuberance when it floated around her.

But her hair…I couldn’t really make out. It looked all smooth & fluid like that of silky hair. Yet her confined pony tail made it look all curly.

There are 2 kinds of women who can charm the daylights out of men at sight - One who allures all those around while radiating her clear-cut glamour & the other who merely hints her beauty leaving people guessing.

She was the third kind - A siren of charisma which left me guessing if she could look any better.
My question was answered when I met her at a party soon after. I was shocked.

There was no sign of grandeur. No more flashy colours. Her perfectly mould slander legs where obscured by her skin tight jeans which looked distinctly normal. Her florescent pink top did not seem enticing whatsoever. But her smile…she wore it like a medallion and flashed it around like an heirloom. She made it look all effortless and rammed the prestige of every single well-dressed woman around her. I couldn’t help but thank god for gifting me with vision.

Like I said, I was curious!
What was it about her hair? Curly or Silky?

I was looking for excuses to talk to her…or rather get close to her. I would try to wait behind her in the buffet queue, crack some lame jokes and laugh out loud leaning forward so I could get to feel her hair or maybe even dance with her hoping to see her whip her hair in rapture. But alas no L.

It was finally time to say good-bye & there was loud music playing.
I knew this was my chance. I took my shot.
I placed my palm on her back, went within an ear-shot to say good-bye while trying to feel her jet black locks of hair. It felt hazy all of a sudden!!

The flavour of shampoo knocked me out.
I took a deep breath of the aroma sucking in every bit of euphoria and lo…she was gone!
It would really take a man of might to shower her neck with kisses while trying to resist her scent of intoxication.

She left me guessing…along with all the other men at the pavilion.

One Last Chance

Dearest Sunshine,

Although it’s been ages since we spoke, I have always found excuses to make sure you lingered in my memories. Neither am I one of the fortunate few to greet you at work every day nor the guy who can be ‘physically’ present to hold the door open for you. Yet, that never stopped my subconscious from manifesting you in my dreams & the world around me. Distances can barely erode away your memories and your physical presence in nothing more than a mere jackpot for my senses. It is a great feeling to know we are still part of the same bio-sphere where the same stars that light up your night sky lull me to sleep every single day. That pretty much keeps me content with what I have in life.

However, I am no Buddhist monk when it comes to your pursuit. Happy with our brief association though, I still have an insatiable thirst to make you mine forever. Not because I wouldn’t be able to live without you but having your around in my life makes it so much more worthwhile.

That said, for the sake of smiles we had shared, I ask of you to grant me the privilege of one last chance to set things right as below –

• Give me another chance to walk down the corridor and greet you for the first time in school. I swear I will try my best to stifle my blush which had me gaping at your bright red ribbons.
•  Give me a chance to thank you for borrowing that pen. I was so obsessed with stealing it away from you so I could keep it as a souvenir.
• Give me a chance to sing for you one last time. I shall try to look you in the eye this time & sing my soul out, instead of doing it through a telecon.
• Give me a chance to make it better on Valentines’ day. You were sceptical & would only accept a single white rose back then. I shall respect your thoughts but fill your lunch bag with a bouquet of bright red roses this time, making my intentions amply clear.
• Give me another chance to fight with you & apologize. I want to enjoy the pleasure of bowing down my loved one.
• Give me another chance to listen to you when you are giving me an earful. I shall hold you close and kiss you instead.
• Give me a chance to gift you another teddy bear for your birthday. I shall dress up as one instead so you can hug me all day long.
• And lastly…give me one last chance to hold your hand while you trip. Come what may, I will never let go this time.

Smothering you with hugs & kisses,
Always yours,
Krishna

Cold Coffee & Beer - II

I pick up my bag from the carousel as I cant wait to rush out of the airport.
I take a glimpse at the baggage tag just to make sure.

' Nombre: Ms.Maria Isabel; Vuelo: Antofagasta - Iquique'.

Iquique had always been my secret hideout whenever reality took its toll on me.
Ever since I passed out of university, my father would try his level best to hand me the reins of his wine business which was a million dollar empire. On the other hand, I couldn't care any less. The only way I could slip away from the monotony was to abscond to Iquique under the pretext of pursuing an internship, which seemed like a promising excuse even for the 14th time.

Iquique was unlike any other metro city. The mineral rich region of the Atacama desert is a home to numerous miners and the seaport is ever a welcome destination for barefoot surfers and anyone who enjoyed an overdose of sunshine.

My cab driver takes me straight to Zofri which is the commercial duty free zone of Iquique.
I step out of the taxi hoping to see a new signboard at 'Den De Miguel', the local bar which could give a tough competition for the Shrieking Shack in Harry Potter.

Despite the dilapidated state of the hangout, this was one place in Iquique I practically lived.
Old man Miguel who runs the place is a bit hard of hearing with his sight so impeccable that he cant tell his coffee from rum. Yet the warmth of his 'fatherly' attitude which doesn't involve pestering me to clean my room brings me so much peace.

I settle down with my beer when I suddenly spot this guy making his way to the bar stool.
He ambled his way across the creaky floor, scratching his petite goatee which I bet, did not enjoy considerable grooming for a long time. His dark skin tone was a clear give away that he was from the warmer tropics adding to the fact that he wore a dirt brown jacket in the peak of summer. He towered as he sat down on the bar stool with his forehead almost touching the overhead lamp which brightly lit his moist skin. The rugged bloke, then cleared his throat, pointing his eyes of innocence at the waitress and ordered in the most benign tone,'Cold Coffee, please'.

Not that I am a big fan of Mills & Boon series where a girl goes head over heels in love with a guy who is invariably portrayed as 'tall,dark and handsome', but I cannot fathom to explain why I felt this jolt of thunder when he shot me that look from the corner of his eye. Not once, not twice but THRICE. He was certainly bad at being discreet, that's for sure. But there isn't a woman I know who wouldn't enjoy the kind of attention he spared.

He left without saying a word though, except for the small talk with Miguel, whom I dragged to a nearby table and interrogated his whereabouts. His name was Shiva or at least that is what he called himself. Seems as though he is a seafarer and his ship is alongside the Iquique bulk loading terminal. His time at Iquique however, was limited and his ship had to depart in a week. My heart sank as I ran out of the bar, looking for him in the local market. No luck. He had disappeared like a poltergeist on a foggy night.

Wait..why am I even doing this?

I come back the next day hoping to slosh down the turbulence in my heart.
Before I could even consider the possibility of searching for his vessel in the port, the wooden floor begins to creak in response to a familiar visitor. Shiva was back.

"OMG..ITS HIM", was something I did not scream. I had to play it cool, you see!

He ordered for the same cold coffee, shot me those very same looks and left precisely the same way as he did.

There was a weird ecstasy in his trickle drops of attention.
The eloquence of his silence conveyed far too many words than any string of cheesy pick up lines.
Waking up to a new dawn had never been so wonderful as I would run to Miguel's and wait for him all day long.

Alas, my insatiable hunger had gotten the best of me. I finally decide to open the Pandora's box.
I walk up to him as he wipes his lips by the edge of his sleeve. I clear my throat to mumble in my best possible tone and the most eloquent of English.

Hii..I see you come here since few days. Where you from?


He looks at me with a gaze any woman would die for.

(To be continued)

Cold Coffee & Beer - I

Pick up slack on spring lines,Shiva - NOW. Vessel all fast 0830 hours!!!
 
My Captain from Syria was steaming like a kettle on the walkie takie.
We were racing against time. The weather couldn't have been better at the seaport of Iquique (Chile), which is otherwise bone-chilling during winters. The Cirrus clouds were just about enough to add a tinge of white in the brightly lit sunny sky.The sheltered waters of the port lay still and calm, tempting any gangster to dump a weighted corpse for the mere pleasure of enjoying the parabolic ripples float across the surface of the water. But even Paradise cannot tempt a seafarer to enjoy its serenity. Not when you have to load 30,000 tonnes of copper ore in less than a week.
 
Once cargo operations commenced, I slogged like a blood hound for the rest of the day, as I saw granules of ore slipping out of the grasp of the colossal grabs which were loading our cargo holds.

It was 1600 hours, when I stepped out of the gangway to go ashore for some fun. The stevedores gave me directions to a local bar which was a prime hangout for seafarers going ashore. It took me barely 10 minutes until I reached an old wooden shack.

Iquique is not the kind of a place where you would find people flauting their Gucci's or girls feeling breathless without a prada. The place had a peace and quiet of its own, with the local folks living their lives as simple as it could get. As I sat on the bar stool and ordered for a cold coffee, I felt this pulsating urge to lock my eyes on the girl across the table as she licked the froth off her lips while sipping on her mug of beer.
Her brunette hair was a perfect blend to the wooden decors in the backdrop. An ebony black t-shirt draped her voluptuous curves as magnificent as the Cordilleras. Her denim skirt was the last piece of jigsaw that completed her persona with her chestnut brown eyes.

I tried not to give her the awkward stare and focused on sipping my coffee. A near impossible feat!

As much as I tried, It was a rather herculean task to walk up to her and offer her a drink. Apart from the excuse of being exceptionally shy, I tried not to ruin the perfect moment of having the pleasure of being glued to her presence. In all probability, this was the first and last time I could be looking at her.

I finish my drink and walk out before taking one last look at her.

I visit the same bar the following day having promised myself to get sloshed until I - WAIT A MINUTE!!!
She was right there. Sitting at the very same spot she was chilling out. With a woman like her, who needs intoxication?

I ordered the same damn cup of Cold Coffee that was sure to keep my eyes wide open. The drill however, wasn't any different. I would look at her from the corner of the eye, just like how Agent Ethan Hunt would do so while tailing a suspect. It felt so fulfilling already!

The same routine continued for the next few days until I asked myself while sipping my coffee, "Is there a chance she is actually waiting for me every single day just to get a glimpse of me?".   
I almost spat my coffee in laughter realizing how crazy a thought it was. Of course I don't mean to say I look obnoxiously ugly, but I am no prince charming either. Besides what are the possibilities of a charming and destructively hot latina to be hung up on an Indian seafarer whose current attire makes him look like a runway prisoner?

I wipe the coffee off my lips when suddenly -

Hii..I see you come here since few days. Where you from?

It was her!!!
I lock my gaze into her eyes as my pupils automatically focus into hers.

(To be continued)

Sleepless in Santiago

Pablo Neruda never had a place in my head. I only have a vague memory of reading his poems in grade 10. FYI he’s a Chilean Poet who...ummm...wrote poems :P!

But this piece of trivia is more than enough to start an hour long gossip with a Chilean who is ever bubbling with warmth.

Chile, a land of pristine beauty sprawled across the west coast of South America, is a traveller’s delight indeed. Mineral rich deserts in the north, fertile farmlands coupled with beaches for tan-maniacs in the centre and an archipelago of virgin lands in the south, is a visual blessing. Your belief in a supreme creator grows tenfold.

Having broken my shoulder, I found myself walking in the lively streets of Valparaiso, the cultural capital of Chile known for its crystal clear beaches and the ever beautiful women who inhabit them. I am not talking about the likes of the girls we drool over in FTV. You begin to perceive womanhood in a different light. Their curves would only seem to be chiselled by the hands of god. Their blood red lips would jinx you to oblivion even before you are held in mesmerism by the allure of their ‘Gracias’.

It was 2130 and being the loner I was, I decided to settle down at the local beach. I stopped to ask somebody for directions when I see this young maiden pushing her bicycle on the sidewalk. Her woollen gloves were a perfect match for her brunette locks with a yellow top, as brilliant as the midnight sun. She gave me directions to the beach and I soon found myself sitting beside her in the invigorating shores of Valparaiso with a couple of stray dogs to give us company. I put my jacket around her, for the sea breeze had begun to tickle our necks. We spotted a colossal gas carrier out at sea, brightly lit as if Cinderella was coming onboard. I pointed at Clean Energy laying afloat at the horizon and told her that was where I belonged. Being a clear night for the better, I introduced to her, some of my faithful companions, who had always come to my aid in the high seas – Betelguese, Bellatrix and Al Nilam of the Orion constellation.

The 2 of us, under the dome of southern declination stars, from completely different walks of life, spoke about the sanity (or insanity) of majestic elephants walking in Indian streets followed by the woes of our personal lives, till the wee hours of midnight.

‘Good bye’, I said as I walked her to her apartment and carried on to my hotel where I was crushed by the claustrophobic walls of my room.

Day break had cracked through my window soon enough.
I set off early to the hospital to bid farewell to the pretty nurses who cared for me especially Paulina the curly molly who could never bear to see as much as her patient’s hair undone and the Nutritionist Maria Isabel who could enslave a man into shackles of allure just by pronouncing her name (Ok I wanted to hit on them 1 last time!).

I go back to my hotel to see my agent waiting for me.
Amigo, I take you Santiago. You fly in 4 hours.

I hop into the car with my luggage. Within minutes we are on the highway with lush greenery and vineyards on either side. I try to catch up on some sleep preparing myself for the long flight.
Flashes of memories tease me to stay back. The vibrancy of Valparaiso had haunted me indeed.
Before I could rest my eye lashes close, my agent shakes me awake.

‘Here you go Amigo. Buen Viaje. Get well soon’

I proceeded to collect my boarding pass that said ‘Santiago-Sao Paulo’.
I spent my last few hours in Santiago - Sleepless, as the aircraft flew across the Andes.

The Tale of Two Ballast Tanks

For those land lubbers who can’t figure what the title means, a ballast tank is one which is filled up with sea water whenever a ship isn’t carrying any cargo. This provides the vessel with additional stability as an ‘empty’ ship is more susceptible to the forces of the sea & wind. When the vessel begins to load her cargo, we pump out the water from these tanks. Majority of these tanks are arranged on either sides of the ship, meaning any breach in the hull would cause water ingress into these tanks (and not into the cargo tanks/holds). Since these tanks are more prone to corrosion (plenty water inside!), we do a regular inspection to make sure any rusty spots don’t turn into holes on the ship side...and yes that would mean going into these tanks which are often 5 stories high!

So it was during these routine inspections that 2 of the officers had descended into the tank and I was standing-by at the entrance along with another senior officer to keep radio contact with the guys inside.

It was a warm sunny day that looked like a perfect invitation for the goras of my ship to strip down to their shorts (or even a layer deeper) and let the tan show its prominence. But for his boiler-suit and rugged safety shoes, my Croatian superior decided sit back against the tank walls that were protruding on deck and sink himself in the serene warmth of lady sunshine who was already running her fingers through his neck.

‘Feels like Heaven..doesnt it?’ he said in his broken yet lucid accent.
‘Feels like home ‘Aako’..the temperature at my place is more or less the same round the year’, I said.
(Aako is how I address the Asst.Chief Officer,abbreviated as ACO)

“Aahh..interesting, my friend. The last time I feel this sunshine was when I go to Singapore. Our ship was in a dry-dock (repair yard) and I go ashore and meet this girl from Laos. She’s nice. Very sexy. She show me around the ‘ceety’...show me other stuff as well (with a wink)...but yes we were good friends. She keep in touch for long time”, he said and glanced at his watch.
It was 10 minutes since the party had entered the tank. No response so far. He reached for his walkie talkie.
‘Kraven Kraven..all ok’?
After a swift 5 second delay, “ All ok here”.
 I reached for my walkie talkie and, “Bridge bridge come in..all ok at ballast tank No.2 port (referring to the tank on the port side or left side of the ship).”.
The navigating officer at the command centre (called Bridge),  responded, “Roger that”.

He continued.
“Later on we take the ship to China since the repairs were too complicated. Plenty girls there also. We hire this bar every week for only 500$. Plenty girls dancing around. Plenty ‘Jiggy Jiggy’. But bloody ‘sheeth’, the rooms in the hotel was not so good. Same same like rusty ballast tank you know?”

I pictured an image of him making love with a skinny Chinese inside the ballast tank,and I swear to god, it was the most craziest imagination in all my life. I burst out with laughter as we saw the inspection party exit the tank.

Kraven the Chief officer was out of the tank. Sweaty and exhausted but still agile as he moved out.
“Other tanks after Chup Chup..secure everything for now”, He said.
(Oh btw..Chup chup is seafarers’ lingo for food).

It won’t come as a surprise if some of you are beginning to despise me like a cockroach who finds refuge in the sewers. Yes, I am a seafarer. No, I do not have a problem in associating myself with what some of you would call as low lives and no, I don’t fancy blowing up my money in strip clubs.
But the fact that seamen have always been known to be acquainted with all kinds of vices, can only be described from a man’s urge to vent out his otherwise stressful life onboard.

We returned back to ballast tank no.2, but this time it was the tank on the starboard side (right side) of the ship. Everything was fine barring the fact that lady sunshine decided to spice things up a little bit. The sun was OVERHEAD. Aako was sweating like a greased pig. Definitely not his idea of a tan-promenade.
Me on the other hand couldn’t have been more comfortable.

“Kreeshnaa...how you no sweat?”
“You probably forgot I said this feels like home”, I replied with a smile.

“Pichkumaatreyaaaa (an exotic verbal abuse in croatian)...this is too much”. He replied as he gulped down the last drop of water.

I wanted to lighten up the moment and asked, “So looks like great time at Singapore isn’t it?”

He took a moment. He directed his famished eyebrows at me and said,”Yess Kreeshna...good life I had...but you see..”. He paused for a while as his throat was parched. He swallowed a bit of his spit and continued, “All the fun I had was nowhere close to the time I spent working ashore , for half the salary I was earning. My life was maybe small. But it wasn’t complicated. I meet my wife for the first time when we work in the same building. Then we like each other and marry. We soon have our daughter and I decide not to go back to the sea since I want to see her grow up. These years can be very important, Kreeshna. I did not want to be a father who did not know his daughter well. It is because of those few years, my daughter stick to me more than sticking to her mother.”

I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t really understand the man he was.

“Remember Kreeshna...no amount of money will ever get me back those days with my family and not a single moment with my daughter I would have sacrificed...whatever be the money people offer. It change me as a man. So I stop all these girls after I get married”.

I just gave a feeble smile. Or maybe it wasn’t even a smile. Just an expression of realization maybe.

An hour ago for the same tank inspection with great weather, I was with a man who was flaunting his manhood and here I am with the same guy, who admits being subdued by the warmth of his loved ones, when he is at the brink of dehydration.

We didn’t talk much during that inspection. Maybe he was too famished or myself, stunned.

As we completed our tank inspection, I couldn’t help but reverberate that line from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

“You could be mad as a mad dog at the way things went. You could swear,curse the fates... but when it comes to the end...you have to let go.”

Not sure if it was even appropriate to what I felt, but it looks like the tale of two ballast tanks will remind me what a crude seafarer is, after all!

Virgin Emotions

It wasn’t until my adulthood that I realized sex could be fun.
My focus made a paradigm shift from love to making love!

The hormones were kicking in, the adrenaline was rushing through and then it dawned upon me that life is made up of other things as well. I got a sneak peak over the tall fence of maturity, although it never made any sense.

Then it all added up.
 I was ruined.
Just like each one of you who thinks its perfectly awesome to earn your own bucks, have that limitless freedom you’ve always wanted, take your girl out for dinner and probably do ‘other’ things once you are done.

You see...we have clouded our judgement on the outlook of life.
We are no more the pure souls for whom sharing a candy meant ‘ties of blood’.
Gone are the days where our prayers were to hope for our crush to borrow our pencil, rather than use our ‘lead’.
Our hearts fail to amplify the little emotions which barely count as one these days.

I was fortunate to have been in love and even more fortunate to have been loved by someone. I have had my heart broken a couple of times too. No regrets about that.
 But of all the things the miss, and of all the things I want to get back, are those moments of untainted and purest love I had for this girl back in school.

Funny thing about love back then was that, you never really know when it hits you.
There is never a point of inflexion. You wouldn’t remember a phase before you fell in love and wouldn’t remember a thing after you did. Once you know you are bitten, you just want to keep moving on. How very intoxicating it was!

It never really worked out, me and her. And I can bet my bottom dollar it never will.
But the streak of joy I felt every time I knew she was the right woman made me a prouder man every single day.

Like all other men, I was greedy. Selfless love wasn’t something in my dictionary.
For every dire attempt of mine to win her heart, I wanted to be compensated by the glimpse of her naughty eyes.
For every slip and trip I faked and every window I bumped into, I wanted to hear the sounds of her laughter.
For every sneer and giggle her friends would make whenever I passed by (for which I am eternally thankful :P ), I wanted a reward of her rosy blush.

Selfless love it certainly was not, for she was all that I wanted and everything I needed.

I craved for her presence in my life and love seemed to be the only option.
It was a pleasure to even fill myself with hope that one day she would be my only reason to live, no matter how frivolous or unreal it seemed.
She was all I needed to complete my less-than-perfect-life.

It was however, an awakening experience indeed. .  It was perhaps the only time in my life when I decided to compete with myself knowing that the world for wasn’t enough for a girl like her.

I discovered a different person in myself.
Out of the blue, I felt I had to sing better than I could, pour out my thoughts into words like a stream of quick silver and be a better man for a tomorrow I might not even see!

It went on for years and months and yet, the very thought of holding her in my arms was the only intimate image I could visualize.

I would pray for a phone call, or maybe a chance to walk beside her and there was absolutely no bounds to my excitement when either of them even had a faintest chance of happening.

Her mere touch would make me feel my life was complete and I was good to go.


And here were...still trying to contemplate which position would deliver the best results!
I guess our virgin emotions had their own charm.