Moon Cottage, Kovalum
Monday 30th September, 7.45 am!
Nigh on a week later, I emerge from a my lotus eating bliss to pen a few words. Outside it’s raining as if there’s no tomorrow. Inside, I’m showing the scars of over-indulgence in idleness, yesterday, the day before and before that …
I have eaten too much. My stomach is barely coping with a diet of constant nibbles interspersed with a solid meal of stuffed chapattis, cholesterol high fryups of fruit fritters and pancakes staring with morning porridge. My lungs are wheezing and groaning under the strain of the humidity, Indian bidis, a constant intake of cannabis sativa, and the chest infection first picked up in Rajasthan. Something’s got to go. Maybe the humidity.
My brain has retreated from the constant onslaught in the world beyond. Therte is little need for alertness: there’s no traffic. The only internal combustion engines here are the 175cc Yezdi belonging to the proprietor and the 750cc BMW driven overland by a couple from England.
Decision making and taking is minimal. Sometimes there is a choice to be made between fruits and fruit sellers. That choice is likely to be whimsical, a matter of taste and timing.
For mental stimulation I have read almost constantly, mainly those train and plane volumes I missed out on while training and planing. Pure entertainment and escapism, Robert Ludlum and his ilk, not that I want to be entertained or escape from here – just yet.
For amusement and divertissement, I sometimes form a threesome with the Swiss twosome of Brigette and Claude, who are inseparable here but in separate rooms. Their verandah view frames the lighthouse (see my sketch here). On cloudless nights, the moon rises thought the branchless trunks and linear fronds of coconut and papaya trees. And we play Switch, only with trefleur, pique, couer and diamonte. Vive la difference, c’est toujours la même.
Wanting to move up to Merryland (chez Suisse), I was, perversely it seems, denied the vacant room by the landlord. The proprietor here and at Dwikara can continue to benefit from my 10 rupee rent. Still, here, I do have a change of vista and ambiance, a decrease in beach bums, but an increase in mosquitoes. And here I stay for one week unless … unless what?
Short of a brainstorm, an insatiable urge, or an outside cataclysm, nothing can deny the recuperative process. The road is there, I am here. We’ll meet again soon enough, so why hurry?
Outsid, the rain ceases its relentless downpour. From above, the pitter-pattering and plopping of the last drops reach the ground through the leaves, and the constant metronome rise and fall of the ocean comes back to my attention. The frogs and crows croak and caw back, and a child laughs and cries.
It’s time for breakfast, a decision time. What shall I have?
Kovalum Beach from the lighthouse 2013 – I wouldn’t like it now!