A spartan shack by the Arabian sea
The sound of crows loudly and raucously filtered through the wooden roof. The waves crashed on the shore and made a wonderful rushing sound. The faint memory of airports and sleepless flights. Foreign words and places. Through the groggy haze of sleep, we woke up to our cocoon within the membrane of a mosquito net around our bed.
“What time is it?” said Bianca, sweeping back her long hair that had fallen over her face.
“I don’t know," I said sitting up. "We didn’t adjust our devices. I’ll go find out at reception.”
After getting dressed, I stepped out of the shack and went over to the ‘hut’ where we had checked in earlier that day. I didn't find anyone behind the counter.
“Hello, sir.”
I heard a voice calling out and saw two Indian men sitting outside the shack beside ours. A sign up front identified it as an Ayurvedic massage parlor. I had met them earlier in the day when we arrived- the one with the mustache was the owner. He had greeted us on our way into the shack in cordial manner and offered us his services. We told him we would keep it in mind should we decide to have an ayurvedic massage.
“Hello,” I said, waving at him. “I was just trying to find out the time.”
“The time?” they said looking at each other as if amused.
“Yes, just the local time?”
They exchanged a few words, then the owner said, “the time is the same everywhere, sir.”
Wise words indeed.
“I just arrived from Canada," I explained further, "so my watch and phone don't have the right time.”
The two men spoke with each other, and then the younger one took off at a trot down the lane.
The owner picked his colleague's chair and placed it right beside his on the sand.
“Sit, sir” he said motioning with his hand. “You come from Canada?”
“Ah yes. We arrived this morning. It was a very long trip.”
He said something else that I couldn't quite understand. Then I said something, and he seemed a bit mystified. The next part of the conversation was a blur, a tangle of words and gestures. When I replied to his comments, I could see that he was also having trouble understanding me. It was like we existed in parallel linguistic dimensions, and try as we may, we could not make sense of each other’s words and cultural mannerisms. Add jetlag to the mix and my natural proclivity towards introversion, and it was a recipe for cross-cultural shock.”
His younger companion finally came back.
“Ten-thirty,” he announced.
The owner said something to him, and after a brief exchange in their language, he turned toward me.
"Eleven," he said.
Pondering this piece of ambiguous information, I stood up and thanked them both for their help.
Once back in the shack, I threw myself in bed beside Bianca and let out my breath.
“So?” she asked me, “what time is it? And what took you so long?”
“Don’t even ask,” I said and closed my eyes.
“Then what's the plan? I thought you wanted to make a schedule.”
“Go to the beach, have lunch, come back to the shack, make love.”
“Sounds like a wonderful plan,” she said.
“Or we could do it in reverse?” I said.
“I’m a good cowgirl, I can handle any rodeo.”
“Oh yea?”
“Yeah!”
Outside, the crows crowed incessantly, and the waves kept coming in and out.
Outdoor shower in Goa!
Dive into another day:
Images by @litguru