PHOTO COURTESY:SOUMYASHREE CHATTERJEE
Blue. And gold. Wherever the eye swept in the horizon there was only blue. A darker blue mixing into a more azure one. A rolling blue slowly bleeding into one that is more consistent, albeit with a few specks of white on it. And to my left and right gold. An expanse of gold till it again merged into the same azure that the water merged into.
Life as a banker is hectic. Day break through day end, month end to month end seemed to flash past your eyes. Rushing from home to office, meetings to meetings, life seems a suspended animation. No wonder at 36 I had an anxiety attack, rather a claustrophobic attack being cooped up in my cabin, in elevators, my car and of course the pigeon hole of my house. After the initial medication and rehab, the doctor advised me a holiday far from humdrum, amidst open spaces. Everyone suggested that I go to the sea beach of Puri and so it was.
An 8 pm train from howrah station, dinner and then off to sleep. 4 in the morning when the train comes into the station there is darkness around you, but there is no shortage of bustle in this temple town. Somehow managing to find my hotel, I settled in to the room and move the drapes to a soft orange hue seemingly bleed into the darkness. Changing into tees, floaters and shorts I make my way to the beach as the orange seems to spread and intensify. There is a nip in the wind as I light a smoke facing the ocean, identified through a constant lapping noise that is on one hand lulling like a soft lullaby and at the same time holding the promise of a vastness that is infinite and distant. The screeching of the gulls and other birds pick up slowly against the sound of the surf and slowly ever so slowly on the easter horizon a blob a small perfect blob of reddish orange peeks through. The ocean water seems to drape itself in the red, every ripple, every crest and trough of water sparkling in this new red. As the ball rises, so does the red first spread and slowly starts diluting. And at the same time you hear the distant chimes of temple bells. And you remember you are in the abode of Lord Jagannath.
Ma had chided me, admonished me, scolded me, cajoled me and almost brainwashed me that the first thing I should do is offer prayers for my health at the temple. So I trudge back to the hotel for a shower and clean set of clothes and make my way to the temple. The touch of stones is cold to my feet and though the horde of priests, the pandas, is irritating, I finalized one, bought the offerings, got hit by one panda with a stick to ward of the evil spirits paid him 10 Rs for his troubles and entered the temple. As we made our way towards the sanctum sanctorium, the panda rambles on about various smaller temples, some history, some mythology and some made up I am sure. Before we can proceed any further there is a wooden hurdle that has to be crossed, not jumped, but bent and crawled under. This is a hurdle to ensure king and thief alike when they come to Lord Jagannath, bend their heads, are humbled alike and then proceed to His refuge one in His eyes. Entering the dark chamber, there is an initial fear when you look up at the idols, until you see the eyes. And then there is serenity.
Having sought his blessings I made my way back to the hotel, blissful and a bit less burdened of heart. After breakfast I got myself a towel and headed to the beach. Searching out a place which was not far from a kiosk selling green coconut water, chips, tea and smokes, I made myself comfortable. Alternating between lying n the beach and getting wet in the water I spent a few hours there. Indeed that is going to be my schedule everyday while I am here morning and evening.
As I lie on the sand looking at the horizon sometimes specked by a ship plying its course with nothing to do, no blackberry pinging, no target to be met, I feel restless and restful at the same time. Restless from not having to do anything, from the sense of disconnection with the usual, the habitual. Restful from the gentle lapping of the water, the sun kissing on me, the lullaby that nature was singing to me away from the humdrum of my life.
In the evening with the sun having taken a bath on the western horizon and gone to take rest from his travails of the journey across the sky, I find myself munching on some fish greasily fried and relishing it. There is something mystic, something hypnotic about the water. As the procession of the Hare Krishna singing ISKCON weaves your way, you think about Sri Chaitanya whom they follow. You wonder did he seek refuge in the waters of the ocean to become one with this vastness. Was he also claustrophobic like me? Bound by the shackles of the mundane, of the unholy did he seek refuge in the infinite that was welcoming? Could my claustrophobia have a better end…
BY SOUMYASHREE CHATTERJEE
