It was only some months ago that I was on the verge of packing my bags and setting out to Mumbai, to begin another innings there. My career was poised to take-off it seemed in Maximum City, where I would be wining and dining with Bollywood’s glitterati and industry’s great moguls. Mark Knopfler too kept goading me on, as my laptop played his song almost on loop every morning:
‘I’ve been around in Donkeytown, too long, baby too long
Checking out of Donkeytown, so long, so long, so long’
But there were cautionary voices that kept sounding in my head; the city never sleeps (and you love your sleep!), a rat race is all it is! My husband too, my longstanding travel companion and always one for adventure, seemed strangely hesitant this time. “Where in a tiny Bombay apartment will we find room for all our friends to sleep if they stayed over?” he asked me once. A strange thing to worry about, I thought. “Maybe a plank over our washing machine will help,” he laughed.
Over time, Murthy and his band of affectionate surfer dudes at Covelong Point Social Surf School have become family, and they took the liberty of telling me off when I told them of the move. “We’ve heard the sea there is black and ill-fated!” the said. I couldn’t argue with that one.
The opportunity to leave Madras has knocked on my door every year, and somehow, I’ve tided over the urge, only to realise the merit of my decision. This time too, the decision promised a real adventure as I decided to take up an equally promising job with new beginnings and a whole new life... a life 45 km from the city, down by the sea.
Of new beginnings
The first evening in our new house seemed tranquil enough, almost idyllic even, after a day spent unpacking and arranging things. There was a gathering rustle as the trees, that lean over onto our spacious new deck, seemed to catch the sea-breeze. We poured ourselves a drink to celebrate, clinked glasses and unwound on our verandah, the thrill of a new home just kicking in. An hour or so later, and we were ready for bed; exhausted.
Not long after, both of us were hurled out of bed as gale force winds burst in, howling through our bedroom windows, slamming the panes. The ferocity of the storm surprised us. The rain lashed around us and we had to pull our cot across to the far end of the room. Shakespeare could hardly have penned a more menacing ‘tempest’ for an opening act.
Next morning, the storm had vanished, but as we stepped out of our room, the signs of havoc had us gasping. Ankle-deep in water, we waded across the deck to where some of our cartons had been stacked the previous day — now they lay strewn across the floor, soaking wet. Was this really what we’d signed up for? Was this what we had traded my Bombay dreams for? Hopelessly we burst into laughter — Yes, this is exactly what we had signed up for; this was our latest adventure!
A shared home
The term ‘rain dance’ took on a new meaning at our new address, as the monsoons rumbled on. Every time we turned a shower on, our bathroom floors and walls would come alive with scores of tiny frogs. As we’d step aside to avoid one, another would hop our way.
Joe was different however; he wasn’t much of a dancer we learnt, and the shower wasn’t his thing either. In fact, even before we’d moved in, on one of our early recces to the house, we had spotted him, ‘a very handsome tree frog’ stoic in a corner against the ceiling outside our bathroom. We had chased him around the walls for a while before we managed to ‘bucket’ and release him quite expertly over the wall. But Joe didn’t seem to share our enthusiasm over the exercise and had promptly returned to his spot the next morning. This was his home first, he seemed to be demonstrating, and while we were welcome to come stay, he wasn’t about to go anywhere. Even now (six months on and counting), he reclaims his spot every morning, after a night around town, or rather the open countryside that surrounds our shared home.
Our friends are constantly asking us what it is like to be living outside the city. Isn’t it lonely? Do you get bored? Don’t you miss all the action? The answer is no. We don’t miss it one bit. It took us all of two days to adjust to this life here, and we’d be foolish to trade it for anything else. Yes, everything does come to a standstill once the sun goes down and we feel compelled to go to bed early... 9 p.m. to be precise! But there’s nothing to beat the sounds of the morning, as the birds chirp on the trees outside and the waves roll up along the sandy beach just beyond. Nothing compares to a comfortable night’s sleep in the summer without air-conditioning, or better yet, covered up on the terrace with the cool sea breeze, stars and the open sky for company.
Besides, the days feel fuller here somehow, even though we’ve stopped running to match pace with the rest of the world. There’s time to ponder, there are no shortcuts, venturing to the market is a weekly affair, when we drive down to the nearest villages. Home delivery is only what the cat drags in. We’re up at the crack of dawn, because there’s our vegetable patch to tend to, and the crisp morning air to set us about our business. Our careers too have taken root here, and the work is more rewarding. Thanks to the persistence of my neighbours, we’ve gone back to sailing on Sundays and it doesn’t seem like it is ‘eating into’ an off-day. We aren’t surfing every morning yet (what a luxury workout), but we’re going to get there.
Come visit us here, we tell our friends, and spend a day or two, just unwind. Our open deck is the perfect place to have that freshly brewed cup of coffee, read a book, or have a meaningful conversation. At night, the stars light up the sky, and the lights of the city are only a distant glow against the horizon. This is the life I hadn’t thought to choose at first, but it is a life that has quickly become us.
As for Joe (or perhaps ‘Jane’, as we learned was more likely, from a naturalist friend), his social life here on the outskirts of ‘Donkey Town’ is quite steady, he’s out every evening and back most mornings before dawn. On the few occasions he isn’t back in the morning we worry, but then the words from another song on my playlist by Men at Work puts it in perspective...
Down by the sea, I found your hidden treasure
Just you and me, we overdosed on pleasure.
