Saturday, May 08, 2010

Colva Beach

I have rested my feet hoping the cyst in my right metatarsal heals, but I feel the discomfort as my feet touch the marble floor of the resort room. Hoping the warm waters of the Arabian Sea will soothe the hurt, I slip on my Vibram Five Fingers and walk on the grass, careful to be erect, to walk naturally. I must avoid secondary injury from bad form.


The beach is clear - just a few morning walkers in sight - stretching infinitely, a white runway into the unmapped future. It’s my future, the only one I have, and though I cannot know it, I welcome its arrival, and prepare for its vagrant choices, its whims and fancies, the sudden twists and turns it holds. But, dear future, we’ve been in this movie before, have we not? Hey, you hold most of the cards – your quirky ability to bring up the unforeseen, the unpredictable moves you make, your penchant for disruptive change. But, of course!


Despite your clever game plan, I fear you not, old friend. A half century of dealing with you has given me a quiver full of arrows, and I welcome you, I look forward to our little dance. For it is a dance we are locked in, no? – not a contest, not a joust. We are wily old players, far too smart to think in terms of victory. It is the dance itself, our journey into the unknown that absorbs us. tafri me he maaza hai.


I alternate between the soft white sand on the beach and the wet yielding mud the water leaves behind, the cant barely noticeable on the shallow shore, occasionally running in the water, using its pleasant warmth to soothe my feet, and realize the discomfort has left me, the stretching and the rest have done me good. I pick up speed as my breathing evens, and exult in the sweat breaking out, the damp air filling my lungs. I find myself shouting with joy, exultant to be alive, to run this run, charging forward towards the future.