I found this in my bag last week. I had forgotten all about it. I had written this about two and a half years ago. It was just after my marriage and we were on a houseboat in Alappuzha (Aleppy to non-malayalees). The houseboat trip was a gift from my wife's cousin (expensive too!). I was not very keen to start with. Having lived in Kerala for about 23 years before I came to the UK, I did not see the point of having a holiday in Kerala. Surely there is nothing special that I have missed. I wanted to spend that extra day at home - having had just 10 days of annual leave and facing the prospect of returning to UK in January, I wanted to make the most of my short holiday (nice going then, some might say, trying to have an Indian wedding AND peace AND quiet in a 10 day holiday!)
I will not say that I was dragged onto the houseboat by my wife, for it would be hyperbole. Suffice to say that she had to 'persuade' me like the secret police say in spy movies.
All that changed very soon.
I think I will just copy what I wrote on that piece of tissue paper (there was nothing else to write on within arm's reach on the houseboat):
To my children
You are not here yet, but then maybe I won't remember all that I have to tell you when you are - and maybe you won't have the time to listen when I do remember. It might be easier for you to leaf through this when you have nothing else to do... like me at this moment in time.
Today seems precious. I have unwound almost completely for the first time in three years. The static of thoughts and worries buzzing in the back of my brain is gone - exorcised by the beauty around me.
My own powerlessness humbles me - I am helpless in the face of such a display of grandeur. How can mere words describe the wind flowing around me with a whiff of raw rice from the paddy fields in front.
The boat sways gently as she sleeps in the wicker chair beside me - this is how she must have slept 20 years ago when I knew nothing about her existence, her 'being there' for me on this earth.
My ears suddenly open out to Nature - the sound of wind tickling the palm leaves, men talking in the fields, water sloshing against the bank, a distant motorboat, crows flapping around for leftovers - left by the workmen in the paddy fields under the hot sun near a river on which sits this boat - delicate like a piece of china on a shiny glass table.
Water...suddenly reminds me of PG Wodehouse. Lord Ickenham says 'There are wheels within wheels'. Completely out of context. But the big waves splashing against the wooden boat have hundreds of little ripples on their backs and these in turn have more little ''riplets?'' - I don't know what to call them. You would understand when you see it.
I feel my batteries recharging. A year's worth of blood and vomit, death and disease washes off me. This river has cleansed me and like the coconut trees parading on the bank I draw strength from this water.
It ends there. Maybe she woke up at that point (likely), maybe I spotted some food (very likely). I don't know. I do wish there was more.
Well. That's that.
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