A day in paradise

"The Israelies have sent you". A map of the beach has been inked out by foot in the sand before our eyes. Its difficult to grasp the situation as a chance meeting with an Austrian at a tube well has made our world spin faster. This was our key as we set out to unlock the door behind which nestled greener pastures. The sun rays drift down our bare backs as we force our way through the sand. The most beautiful women that we have seen in our lives pass away before our eyes. Waves lap our feet but our minds are beyond the horizon. Time has flown and so have we with it. The day has passed and it certainly hasn't been dull. It is time to leave our thrones and to subject ourselves again. The cool evening breeze, along with a drink at a shack, helps to make the transition smooth.

As the shadows blended into one another, we followed the directions of the foreigners. That critical swerve of the beach which had been depicted so vividly in the map soon appeared before us. Two of us walked, at least as it appeared to us, nonchalantly into the shack and subtly tried to use our key. We only succeeded in getting the door locked more securely. This was discrimination at its worst. We as Indians had been denied what was so readily available to foreigners. Our hopes had gone up in smoke. It seemed that we were simply not destined to get a large room. We had to be satisfied with sharing a small dingy room between six people.

The walk back to our shack seemed to be very long. We didn't talk much. The foreigners were playing cards and as always their room was filled with smoke. An account of the discrimination we had experienced didn't even elicit a sigh of sympathy. This was the norm. We asked them to try their best to get us a large room. We even offered to pay them for the stuff they had. It was obvious that they could get more of the same from anywhere else. They politely agreed to do the needful. We weren't very hopeful. We decided to leave our belongings and roam about this enigmatic place which the world knew as Gokarna.

A climb through hilly terrain commenced. We did not close your mind and reach our destination. We opened our eyes and walked narrow trails which interested us. We grazed our elbows, slipped over rocks and silently laughed at the grinning bikers who motored past us. A spectacle greeted us which made our eyes pop out. A clear blue sea which glistened even in the light of the dying sun as the waves continued to finetune the silent symphony of the sand titled as Om beach. This was a place which people had raved about. We spoke to a friend and asked him about other picturesque locales. He directed us to Paradise. We joked that this place had everything a person could want. Om, Honey, Half Moon and now Paradise. The road to Paradise was not surprisingly, riddled with pitfalls. It was fast becoming dark. Another climb was thus out of the question. Our wallets were fast becoming light. A hired vehicle was thus not the answer.

There were many motor boats lined at the shore. Two of us had our minds set on a boat ride. Sometimes, it seems that the mind wills and the world spins. We reached the boats, bargained with the boatmen and began to glide towards the horizon. It all happened very fast. We dipped our hands in the tranquil waters, allowed ourselves to be swept away by the soothing breeze and watched as the sun called it a day.

As we disembarked at Paradise, we were overcome by a beautiful smell which convinced us that this truly was the abode of Gods. A narrow beach enclosed by rocky hillocks. There was only a solitary shack to be seen. We suddenly realized how alone we actually were. A strange sense of foreboding gripped us and we cried out desperately, only to see our boat far out of earshot. We made our way hesitantly to the lone shack. As we waited for our meal, a strange man told us stories. Stories about a crazy man called Hitler who lived in the area. Stories about a temple simply latched from outside which no one dared to step in. Stories about the origin of Gokarna and why he thought it was cursed. We heard his tales and gazed at a group of foreigners on the beach. One of them was mesmerisingly twirling a rod lit at both ends. It seemed that he was quite literally doing it in his sleep. It was quite simply the epitome of skill. Our modern Mr. Mulliner told us that if we valued our lives we should make ourselves scarce. We were just relieved that there was a boat available and agreed to the terms of the boatmen.

It was a full moon night and thank heavens for it. The only light was that from the moon. As we looked back at our island of adventure, one more source of light was visible. It seemed that the wheel of time had adopted a fiery form. It was the only light visible for miles in the abyss of darkness through which we were floating. It mesmersingly turned and had us gripped. It was quite simply the epitome of inevitability. It all happened very fast and we were soon back at Kundle.

At Kundle, as we walked back to our shack we came across an old man wrapped in rags who stared right through us. He was as eerie as they come. One of us said in all seriousness that the air seemed to have become colder when we passed him. All of us laughed heartily at this but deep down inside we were all slightly circumspect. Dinner was taken at the shack. We were the only Indians at a shack where all the tables were occupied. The menu listed Chinese, Italian, Spanish, Mexican and even Jewish food. We had already experienced the hard way that foreigners could get certain stuff very easily. A thought flashed. Is this India? Certain events unfolded which cleared all our doubts.

Firstly, the food arrived at intervals spaced out in increasing geometric progression. Secondly, the Russian salad would have definitely sparked off a second revolution in that country. Thirdly, where else would foreigners be so friendly? Speechless messages (let me clarify: for official reasons alone) were exchanged between me and the Israeli. He signaled to me to approach him. I did so. He told me that whatever stuff I had told him last time round had been arranged. Of course his price was way beyond what it should have been. It was obvious that there was no room for compromise and we agreed to his terms.

After dinner we started to enjoy our new joint. A lot of time was spent in cleaning it and ensuring that our short stay would be smooth. As we rolled out the last mattress, we looked around and saw that the joint really looked well done. We made ourselves comfortable and looked out at the sea. One of us started talking about how we like a good high now and then. Different methods and styles were discussed. The room filled with smoke as the smokers argued passionately. As the discussion heated up, people closed their eyes and freed their minds. Our bodies were motionless but our spirits were soaring. Lights before us were moving. One of us said that they were golden silhouettes. Another said that they were helping each other out in some task. Soon we lost interest in them. Some of us went for a walk on the beach. Others feel asleep. Some time later, investigations revealed that those lights were simply those of the shack and they were lighting up the trees moving in the wind.

A day at Gokarna seemed as if it had flashed by even though it had tantalised us with its potential, entertained us with its adventure, spooked us with its history and blown us away with its beauty.