MONSOON CONCERTO OVER THE ARABIAN SEA

Shireesh Joshi

(Submitted Oct 26, 1999)

Slowly a different realisation came. And it made the skin on my back crawl. It was something undefined between fear and awe. A sense of a force too powerful to comprehend. But let me begin at the beginning.

It was a typical lazy Sunday morning. Late morning. When the first ladder of Maslow's heirarchy had been taken care of. For both me and my son. And I was busy stretching nothingness to extend and wrap around the rest of the morning till lunch. And taking in the world around me. Not interpreting, giving it meaning. Just taking it in. An unconscious recording of sights and sounds as my mind sprayed my eyes and ears around. While little fingers were curled around my thumb and the bundle that was my son gurgled and mumbled. Lovingly submitting his body into the warmth of my lap. Drawing me into smiles and into speaking his language. Drawing my attention away from staring out and seeking the outer edge of the Arabian sea that was teasing the road I live on.

And then it began. I did not see it begin. But suddenly I knew it had. It was the change in light that first caught my eye. No. Actually my son sensed it first and I through him. But it was the change in light that I first noticed. It was suddenly more muted. And someone had erased the distinction between sky and sea. An army of clouds lined up at the now faded horizon. And they began marching. Towards me. And as they came closer the next row of celestial grey uniforms appeared. And continued the menacing march.

Beneath my bewildered eyes, a six month old played on. With a thump his hand landed on my waist. The impact caused him to start as his body shook involuntarily. A flash reflected in his eye as a visibly upset bolt of lightning screamed across the now darkening sky. As if fascinated by the sight, he let out a happy cackle that with military precision merged into a heartrending peal of thunder. He was fascinated while my heart was thumping. The wonder of being a child and not yet differentiating the benevolent and the malevolent, and simply applauding the unfolding power. And the grey army stepped up the pace to keep its appointment with me.

Tentacles of clouds were surfing the leading winds. Reaching out ahead of them, snorting through their puffy grey-white nostrils, so that I could smell their meanness. They had me cornered and knew it. The grey mob moved in for the kill slowly but surely, coaxing the salt waters below into a likewise uprising against my window that framed a fragile twosome. Figures on the road below had abandoned their resolve to ignore the attack from the skies and were now in humble panic, darting, frantically looking for cover.

And with spectacular nonchalance of innocence, a bundle, a boy barely able to recognise the end of his arms, was licking the air to suck in the taste of a new experience that was still hundred of meters away. His excitement was surging in wriggles and contortions that were increasingly making it difficult for me to hold him as I stood transfixed helplessly watching a macabre concerto unfold. My mind wandered over the gusts now smacking my face struggling to put an image to the hostile score that was being conducted by an unseen hand.

A different hand, soft, excited and vigorous was now rhythmically thumping my midsection as the mob turned riotous and unleashed its aqueous fury mercilessly. Down and forward. Charging towards me. It struck me as oddly coincidental that the thumping on my stomach was in beat with raining staccato and in the midst of the turmoil could not help smiling at the thought of my son inheriting my love of music and even developing a flair for it.

Again it was his reaction that I noticed first before I noticed the light had changed again. The grey army had now calmed considerably. Their fury spent. Receding into a whimper that was now unable to prevent the hidden figures from bravely hitting the road again. And the light of course. Parting through the fading viciousness, loud in their resonant silence, were warm beams of sunlight quenching the torment below. It was as if the unseen hand, through this performance, had merely tested its strength and satisfied with the result was calmly lying back.

I looked down at my son and he was smiling. I knew he had enjoyed it thoroughly unmindful of the menacing undercurrents I felt. He turned to face me as I stared at his toothless grin. Were my eyes deceiving me or was there something else as well? Satisfaction? Smugness? Suddenly it was unmistakable. A glint in his eye. And slowly a different realisation came. And it made the skin on my back crawl. It was something undefined between fear and awe. A sense of a force too powerful to comprehend. A conclusion that I could not shake off from my adult and aware mind despite its preposterousness. My son had not enjoyed the monsoon concerto over the Arabian Sea. He had conducted it.