Indian Talent, Global Content
|
Indian Talent, Global Content |
January 2009: What's in the breeze |
KG at Newti Beach
On the way from Goa to Bombay, we decided to break the journey in Konkan. We’d comfortably settled in at Sawantwadi and the next morning we were rearing to explore the surrounding villages. We climbed up the Ghats, lush green even during the height of summer with mango, cashew, jamun and jackfruit trees laden with fruit lined up thick on either side of the road. Slowly, we reached a plateau that ran through a treeless, red, stony terrain to reach the other side of the mountain and discovered the wide expanse of the Arabian Sea stretched out below us. We drove down the dusty road till it stopped at the foot of a cliff. There, nestling in the folds of the mountain, was the tiny fishing village of Newti and at the end of the descent was its crescent-shaped beach with three tall rocks standing sentinel over the golden sand. Atop the cliff, stood the tiny village temple. Temples in the Konkan are not intricately carved as in south India, nor ornately decorated and marble-lined like in the north. They are small and humble, dark, deep and cool and they always have a covered courtyard resting on thick pillars, with a platform running along the inside for people to sit and rest. We climbed up the rough stone steps and, while we were inspecting the view from the cliff, we noticed a short, sturdy, bronzed fisherman at the furthest corner of the courtyard, busy repairing his net. The net hung down from a hook in the rafter, sprawled on the parapet and then lay down in a glistening heap at his feet. Beyond and through the net, we could see the clear, calm sea shimmering like mercury under the rays of the midday sun. I stood and watched, not wanting to disturb the perfect picture this man and the sea made together. But Shekhar, one of my traveling companions, whose wanderlust is ruled by his tongue and his stomach - his need to talk and to taste – couldn’t help himself from approaching this intriguing figure. Everyone in the village called him KG. His name was Krishna Gopal. The catch had been good this season. This beach was famous for its prawns. The best in the whole belt…What? Cook for you? A meal for seven people? Not today, but surely tomorrow. Fish curry, rice, roti and fried fish. Of course, yes, his wife was a wonderful cook and lunch would be ready by noon. A generous advance was proferred and the promise of a hearty meal exchanged. Back in the hotel room, we tucked in happily at the thought that a treat of the freshest catch awaited us the next day. That night was stormy, the tree outside the hotel had been ripped out by the wind and, as we made our way through Vengurla port, we saw several fishing boats unmoored and adrift. We reached Newti by noon as promised and sent the driver down to KG’s house. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the village either and no one had seen him since last night. We didn’t take long to reach our conclusions. Our insides were already rumbling with hunger pangs and that didn’t help our tempers one bit. Shekhar bore the brunt of our collective ire. “You and your crazy, harebrained ideas!” “Why did you ever think he would feel obliged to feed us? I smelt liquor on his breath.” “Disappeared with the money! He’ll be making merry now while all of us collapse here with hunger.” “I don’t think we’ll reach back alive.” “Mom, see if there are any toffees in your purse.” The sea still shone as beautifully as it had done yesterday but, half starved out here in the middle of what appeared to us as nowhere, in a village that had never felt the need for even a tea stall, let alone an eating house, none of us were inclined to appreciate the aesthetics of the situation. The only thing left to do was a quick and quiet about turn for the first trace of civilization that might offer us food. So we sped back, all the while cussing everything and everyone, but first and foremost the chief cause of our predicament, the most exalted KG. Thus, cruising across the blazing, rocky plateau we were passing a dusty crossroad when we saw a solitary figure waving out to us at a bus stop. We were struck speechless. It was KG. “There’s no fish available anywhere, sir. I was ready to put my boat out last night. I’d promised you yesterday. It takes at least two to man a fishing boat. I knocked on every door in the village but not a single man was willing to come out in the storm. I’ve been standing here since morning hoping to spot your car. I must have missed it somehow. But now I don’t know how I can give you fish curry and rice.” The look on his face was enough to melt our hearts, already guilt-ridden for having thought the worst about this man who had been willing to endanger his life to keep his word. So we asked him to clamber into the vehicle and we drove to the next two coastal villages in search of the elusive fish. No luck anywhere and, not willing to give up, we decided to substitute fish with chicken. Having acquired three of the best in the next village, we furnished ourselves with the necessary spices and having somewhat sated out urgent hunger pangs with onion pakoras and chai, we returned to our beloved Newti. It took two hours for our meal to be ready on the wood fired stove, where only one thing could be cooked at a time. We’d descended to the beach. I rested on a mat under a palm tree, pulling my mat to follow its shade, as it moved from west to east, while the kids, both big and small played in the sand. Curious children – about fifteen of them – from the village had collected to observe us aliens from afar. When they found that we were quite friendly and harmless, there commenced a regular party on the beach. Now we knew not just the names of the kids but also their family histories, their pranks at the local school and their tastes in food, music and dance. Lunch came to the beach by 4.30 pm and you can well imagine how it was wolfed down in no time at all. KG cleared the plates and vessels and took them home. The men followed to settle accounts and I was instructed to take care of my brood till they returned. As we piled into the car, we all threw back one last look at this postcard village and the maverick KG, who had given us a treat that we would never forget. The sea was a deep dark blue now and was preparing to reflect the molten gold of the sun when it would soon bend to reach the horizon. KG waved to us, we promised to return the next year. We’d become friends for life. Chillibreeze's disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not reflect the views of Chillibreeze as a company. Chillibreeze has a strict anti-plagiarism policy. Please contact us to report any copyright issues related to this article.
>> Read more articles written by our chillibreeze staff and writers network:1. Chillibreeze Top Rated Articles
|
Services Content Development NEW! Products e-publishing
|
Copyright 2004 - 2009 Chillibreeze Solutions Pvt. Ltd. |
.gif)
Developing India-centric content for a new web portal targeted at NRIs
