Two different weekends

31 January 2008

Last saturday, Ban Ganga was a discovery that was intended, though the experience was one that wasn’t anticipated. That is as much as one can say about most experiences in life. Its been almost a week since I went there with my new found entourage and I have to submit that it was an enjoyable experience. Despite the disappointment that the actual place was to a few of us, at the end of the day we all agreed that the cumulative experience was a pleasant one. I don’t belong to the breed in Bombay who’re overly effusive about their love for the city, but I will admit that it is a city of great character. South Bombay is a beautiful place. Period. And hidden in the posh locality of Malabar hills, with its high rises and luxury housing, is this little Pushkar sort of locality, Ban Ganga. We walked down the winding, narrowing lanes munching fresh red apples only to be met by a shabby little temple pond, with litter strewn all around – a place that seemed caught in a time warp. The beauty of the place probably lies in how it contrasts with its surroundings. The pond and the shrines around it lead, into the open sea. Amidst all the litter and garbage, in this loo cum backyard of the slum dwelling, I saw one of the most beautiful sunsets ever. The hues of orange, red and blue, violet were breathtakingly brilliant, as was the amazingly cool breeze. The drive through south Bombay, the unabashed luxury amidst the unforgiving poverty and the cruise (read, boat ride according to a pragmatic few) on an overcrowded craft, watching the skyline dotted with sparkling lights and huddled in a group against the surprisingly cold wind, did make my day.

Now in an entirely different setting, offshore, on an oil rig I’m lucky to find these couple of hours to have time to myself and pen my thoughts. The first time I ever came on a rig more than a month back, I was in awe of the ocean. I wasn’t overcome with wonder while the chopper was up in the air and all I could see in any direction was blue, or while landing on the helipad mounted on this monstrous hunk of metal. It was after a grueling 10 hour shift, early in the morning at around 6 on the rig floor, when I was aware of the existence of each muscle in my body, because of the sheer pain, that I actually noticed how hugely intimidating yet beautiful the sea was. This weekend I'm looking forward to read ‘Old man And The sea’(glad I haven’t read it so far) while watching the sun set into the ocean from on the helipad. Maybe that’ll be another experience worth writing about.