Debi MukherjeeSchool Reopens
It was the end of summer holidays and the start of a new term at Waldorf High. Despite being fatigued from yet another sleepless night, I walked into my classroom at six thirty am— long before the official school hours. I set up the display boards, added a handful of warm up activities for the students, and then sat down with my first cup of coffee to create a lesson plan for the month. By the time it was eight am, I was adding a few research links on the slide deck for the class. Soon enough, the students began to pour in. I walked into the assembly hall to meet the rest of the faculty members. Like every year, a sense of vivacity pervaded the hall. A new year ushered in new possibilities. Especially for the young. Their eyes looked on with a light-hearted vigour as Sister Amanda, the Principal addressed them.
Soon enough, the students began shuffling noisily into their classrooms while I proceeded for a staff meeting with the Vice Principal. An hour later I returned to my classroom. The class discourse for eighth grade turned out to be particularly engaging when the screen threw up images of various kingdoms of life, sparkling with light. I dived in:
“Bioluminescence, how does it occur?”
“They appear to be shining with a light,” responded Amish.
“Yes?” I urged, placing my pointer towards the screen, “what is happening here? There are specialized light organs inside, called Photophores where a chemical reaction takes place.”
Which twelve year old wouldn’t like to learn about animals that make their own light, I thought.
“That’s the chemical reaction. You may note it down.
Luciferin is a molecule present in these microorganisms, which reacts with Oxygen, and this reaction is catalyzed by the enzyme, Luciferase— to produce light as a byproduct. That is the light we see.
Any questions here?”
Ok.. so, Luna, what you’re referring to in that picture book, that is a symbiotic relationship.
Please can you hold it up for your classmates to observe? Both, the turtle and the algae growing over its shell, live in harmony. They share a ‘common habitat’: the turtle and the algae. Alright? It is the algae that is bioluminescent in this case, giving the turtle a shiny blue neon shell.
Now, who can tell a location where they can be found?
Yes, Amish. Very good! At the Blue Turtle Islands.”
(School bell tolls)
“Okay..that’ll be all for today everyone!
Thank you class!”
At the teacher’s lounge, Leena Rosario caught me off guard fumbling with my bottle of Clomiphene. She waved at me as I gulped down the pill. She gestured asking if I was leaving for home.
“Yes I am leaving in a minute,” I replied.
Leena was the secondary school’s Spanish teacher. Her house was enroute mine so she would often hitch a ride with me. It had been nearly six months since Leena had joined the faculty. On our way home, we would typically connect about the goings-on of the school. Not that I would have disapproved of a candid conversation earlier, but by now I felt that I shared a sort of camaraderie with her. As I drove out of the school’s parking lot, she detracted from our usual conversation that day. Yet I didn’t hesitate to respond when she enquired rather casually about how I had come to live here.
“Oh it’s been a while now since anyone asked me that,” I shrugged with a smile. “Vinod, my husband and I have been living in Goa for five years. We decided to relocate from Mumbai when he began working for a client, a large shipping company that operates from Vasco. He is in consulting. Anyhow, in due course, I managed to secure an offer from Waldorf to relocate to the school’s new branch out here. At that time it was a year old. After thinking it over, it felt that it would be a welcome break to live and work out of a new place.”
She might have noticed my grip tighten over the steering. But only a little.
“And what about you, Leena?”
“So, I used to live in Madrid with my parents, as a little girl. In the eighties. Back then, we would often go on weekend holidays to the beach and swim in the sea. Lovely memories of pristine white sands. My favourite was the Canary Islands. Have you been?”
I shook my head, “No. Although I have heard of it.”
She nodded. “A year ago, my parents returned to our hometown. In Kochi. Now, my mother makes her wish known, that I find a nice rich man from there to ‘settle down’ with,” she gestured using air commas and tipped her head back to chuckle.
“Oh! you mean from Kochi?”
“Yes, that’s where,” she continued in a humorous tone.
I smiled as I tuned the radio to a local FM channel playing the Beatles. Soon the radio jockey came back on. He was talking about local experiences for nature lovers: “…so dear listeners, before the song, I was talking about the islands. A daily ferry plies from Vasco-Da-Gama to one of these archipelagos. All three islands are partially submerged,” he crooned in a sing-song way like the Yellow Submarine, “this island is home to the most remarkable Blue Turtles that hatch in our tropical waters. In fact that’s how the island acquired its name. Go take a look. Sail away!” he concluded.
“Ooh I like to scuba-dive! What is the name of the islands that he was mentioning?”
“The Blue Turtle Islands,” I replied.
“Oh! That sounds beautiful!”
“I’m sure! I might go too soon!”
“Well, that’s me! Thanks for the ride Sheila.”
“No problem. See you tomorrow then.”
“Yes. See you. Buh-bye”
<>
A Salamander
On certain days it hides under the rock, peeking at me. Yet despite my watchful gaze it never leaves. It visited me on the day when I sat staring at the early rust-colored stain on our powder blue bed sheet. The sky was crying itself hollow outside. In the next room, Vinod was overseeing the painting of the nursery. We wouldn’t need it anymore, I thought. Not even this time. Yet, Dr. Nalini was more certain of it. I could tell by the look in her eyes. Despite her guarded feedback, I could tell. And so my anticipation had built, quietly. Should I call Vinod over and tell him? Although, I know what he will say. “It will happen Sheila. Dr. Nalini has suggested…”
I watched it approach, the size of my fist. Such a wretched fellow, I thought. I was wretched— could I even carry a baby in my womb? And then I saw it creeping, bit by bit into that space. I got a closer look— a loathly salamander.
On most days it reappears at night, at times growing in size and vigour. Its slick, glistening coal-dark skin— rather oily. Uneven blotches of yellow splashed over its back like flicks of paint from a trembling hand. Its eyes, like tiny black beads, kept a constant watch. Its slow deliberate movement leaves a faint trail of damp as it passes— body undulating like a ripple, limbs purposeful, toes in a tight grip. As if it knows that this patch. That is to say, that space. At times creeping about to find morsels of my happiness that it feeds on. When I try to snatch them away, it scurries away. To hide. It has been weeks that it lives. One night I mentioned it to Vinod. “It is gnawing within me. For morsels,” I said to him. But I didn’t have an answer to his questions. Why, what etcetera. Vinod wanted to know where it hid, because he couldn’t spot it at all! But I didn’t know all of that. “Vinod,” I called out again. But he knew that expression too well. He gripped my hand and got up to stroke me.
“Babe, it will happen. You will see. We will meet Dr. Nalini tomorrow.”
The spotty salamander remained all day, watching from under the rock. Vinod and I spoke less with each passing day. I was worried that it would grow to a giant. One fine day it would come out of its hiding to push Vinod off the bed and lay down in his place. I shuddered.
After two months of staying at home, the school reopened again. And I felt hopeful to be able to see the young faces of my students. Gradually as the weeks progressed, shuttling between work and domestic duties became the norm again. At night, I devised a glass chamber. After a number of trial and errors, in it went the salamander. It felt good to resume work after the summer holidays. Less time to wonder about failed pregnancies. Days merged into weeks, as the feeling gradually faded away. The salamander, crawling under the lid— waited to be set free.
One day, the thought of visiting the islands returned to me. Vinod had returned from one of his business trips. On a whim, I began to pack my tote bag—a sun hat, a book, a water bottle, my sunscreen lotion, hand wipes, a pair of sunglasses, a bath towel and a worn out mat that I used for reading outdoors. He ran a sidelong glance at the detail before letting out his curiosity, “What’s happening babe?”
Flashing a smile I replied, “Babe! I feel like taking a day for myself,” as I resumed packing. After a moment I added, “You remember the Blue Turtle Islands I told you about?”
“From the radio? Yes, it’s been a while.”
“Yes, that it has,” I paused thoughtfully, “So, I plan to sail tomorrow.”
He chuckled at my choice of words. Albeit an impromptu plan, Vinod knew better than anyone that I needed it. It was a Saturday the next day. Vinod was clocking long hours at work. “Since you are planning to spend the day outside, I will turn in for a day of peaceful slumber”, he said contently.
“As a matter of fact, my trip will be peaceful too,” I retorted back.
He flinched and left the room.
Vinod and I only spent the weekends together. On weekdays he would return at wee hours of the night leaving barely any room to spend with one another. I had not looked forward to the weekends for a long time. Except watching the slimy salamander with hooded eyes, never failing to keep an eye on me. Before the miscarriage, weekends had again morphed into an endless blur of tests, scans, and consultations—leading to anxiety and stress. It was like deja-vu every time. Each year. Some of our friends have begun to suggest that we seek counselling for ourselves. His mother complains that her son is under a lot of stress. Although she fails to see mine. Others offered that we might want to try other alternatives to conception.
This year in the fall, we are to celebrate seven years to our marriage. But I fail to recognise him anymore. I observe light hearted banter on TV and it transports me back in time to our early years of marriage. A different Vinod. A good thing too was that I was able to avoid nagging phone calls from family members on the subject. I saw a haggard thirty-three year old in an oversized faded T-shirt and grey trousers staring back at me from the vanity mirror. I sighed watching the curves— a pronounced waist, ample hips,fuller curves. Water retention due to the hormonal injections. I touched the face— cheeks were hollow, under eyes were dark. The hair was lanky tied up into a long ponytail at the back. I snapped out of it after a while. I turned out the light. Skipping dinner that night, I turned in early. The ugly salamander lay motionless watching. Yet respite that it had nothing to feed on. I was content that I hadnt given it a morsel. It deserved its comeuppance.
The next day when I walked out of the house, the sky was overcast. I left a sticky note for Vinod over the fridge. Trying to ignore the gloom, I picked up the keys and my tote bag and set off.
<>
The Blue Turtle Islands
As I boarded the ferry I felt it creeping, rattling the glass cage. A sense of foreboding overcame me as I watched the sun hide behind the clouds. A golden lining of clouds shocked my eyes. How hard it must be, to be a batch of clouds out to subdue the sun! I donned my sunglasses to gaze at it again. A pod of pelicans passed us by. The wind had been blowing hard for some time now, the birds, I thought, might be rerouting their destination for the day. The ferry had set sail from the mainland at ten and it had been close to an hour into the ride. By the time we docked at the islands, the pesky grey clouds had dissipated, relenting to the sun. The waves shimmered like liquid gold. Steadying myself I disembarked where the water was ankle length and waded towards the white sands. Turning around to watch our ferry depart I spotted a lone heron perched on the deck rails. It was morphing into a large dot moving further and further away. I waved in the general direction. At that instant someone called out from behind. A pleasant melodious voice ushered, “Hello…Welcome..!”
I turned around to gaze upon a strikingly handsome woman. She held out her hand, “I am Susie Garza.”
Her warmth was infectious. I returned her smile, and replied “Thank you Susie. I am Sheila. I have been looking forward to this day,” I gushed. Susie had a relaxed and yet sophisticated taste about her. She was wearing a pristine white outfit that fell up to her knees. Her silver hair pulled back loosely in a chignon. Little fringes fell over her forehead that flew gently with the sea breeze occasionally giving off a cerulean glint. Through her thin dark shell rimmed glasses her deep ochre eyes held a smile that travelled up to her lips as she spoke— “Welcome to A Cozinha Para Alma,” beckoning me to take a seat inside.
A Cozinha was a Portuguese establishment. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and garlic. Also the sea breeze mingled with a faint hint of bay leaves. Looking around me, I found murals on the plastered wall depicting a turquoise sea dating back to antiquity. Mermaids bobbing in the sea. Waves teaming with blue turtles, and giant jelly fishes in blue curled up on the shores, where men stood poised on the shores, with their muskets and bayonets. Faded with time.
“Umm I’d prefer one facing the sea if that’s okay?” Still remarking at the walls, I asked “but I can’t help but notice these murals. What are these depictions about Susie? ”
“You see, at one time my ancestors had used these grounds to annex coastal belts. Arms and ammunition were loaded out here. Centuries ago. In those days, the sailors associated these shiny blue light or the bioluminescence with a phenomenon known as St. Elmo’s fire. A divine sign, a manifestation of the Holy Spirit.”
I was moved.
“Antoni Barcellos, have you heard the name?”
“Antoni, wasn’t he a Portuguese trader?” Antoni was glorified in colonial folklore. I had heard of him from time to time at Vasco. His dealings ranged from exotic spices to possibly flesh trade, one couldn’t tell accurately. But what is heinous today was celebrated then.
She nodded. “Yes. His descendants were my forefathers. They owned lands along the coastal belts for centuries. So, these cowrie shells you see plastered through the walls? These were used for trading.”
I marvelled at the tens of hundreds of the smooth, glossy almost egg shaped shells with slit openings, daubed delicately with the murals.
“Cowrie shells were money back then, yes. They would source them from Maldive islands by the millions.”
An oblong hallway opened up adjacent to the indoor seating, looking out to the sea.
“Oh make yourself at home,” she mentioned genially. She held the chair next to mine with her left fist as she spoke. My eyes travelled from her face and rested upon a quaint object on her neckline. A delicate cowrie shell, folded on the inside such that it resembled a conch shell, holding a faint blue liquid stirred in it. Susie excused herself and flew away to the next table, allowing me time to peruse the options from their menu. A feeling of unbearable lightness permeated through me. Just breathe! Though the anxiety grew in me, I felt a deep yearning for the sea. Yanking my pullover off, I bent down to remove my skirt revealing a yellow swimwear I wore underneath. I strolled down the beach, I ruminated on my marriage. Did anyone ever talk about how a marriage evolved through phases of adult lives? Vinod had been distraught too, like me — over the umpteen imaging tests, my ovulation tracking, and follow up consultations. The wait for never ending, for something we never had. Like ‘horses on blinkers’ we had been riding towards something. There! The familiar tapping had begun. The odious salamander trying to shake off the lid. Skilfully.
Breathe in and breathe out Sheila!
The sun delighted on my caramel skin. I undid my hair letting the sandy breeze flow through it. Lifting my hands up to the sky I looked up, the sky was blue again. I wanted to scream, to cry. Honestly, by now I did not know clearly what I wanted. With a heavy heart I mouthed up at the sky with my arms held upwards—Am I not enough? Why do I feel like I am failing? As a woman! A pod of pelicans hovered by distracting my thoughts. I let the waves wash over my feet. Slowly with every breath, I began to relax. The water was cool. The coarse grains of the sand acting as an exfoliant, abrasing gently. It felt luxurious. The waves lapped on me repeatedly in answer to my plea, Sheila..
go
easy
on
yourself
I began to float facing the sky, feeling the lightness again.
Feel
the
water
lapping.
Gently.
As if I were shedding layers of weight off my shoulders. I flipped around to view the sea bed, my eyes flaring with the sea salt. Life underneath went about their day, unperturbed. A few dozen clams swam by me merrily. To my right lay a long row of corals. Let’s pause here.
I sauntered back to the beach and identified a row of shrubs where I could lay down.
A heron pecked on the rocks beyond the shrubs. Was she the same one I had spotted on my way to the Islands? I smiled admiring its white plumes and began involuntarily checking my phone for network. There was none. I turned my phone towards the bird to capture an amateur shot. “Hi! Who are you?” I murmured under my breath.
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
I stared at her incredulously. After many moments she turned her dainty long neck to watch me–
It is I.
They think they have lost me to the wind.
Flapping her wings, she was airborne gliding towards the corals ultimately choosing to land on a protruded hard rock. I dropped my phone into my bag. Tucking my belongings on the mat I waded into the sea towards my feathered friend. But she was gone.
An ambrosial whiff mingled with the sea wind beckoned me to my table. I had a sudden urge to eat. It felt like I had just doused a million thoughts into the sea. Wrapped in my towel, I returned to my table. “Crab Xacuti and Poi,” the server repeated. Yes, that would be all, I thanked him. I kicked back, sipping on my chilled drink that had warmed up considerably. The sea and the sand had heightened my senses, therefore it was not surprising that at half past noon I was famished. No sooner had the meal arrived that I fell to eating. Tearing the Poi at an angle, I dipped it in the yellow-orange crab curry. The drunken bread burst into a song on my palette. The perfectly balanced coconut curry, with its tanginess from the tamarind punctuated by the heat from the chillies felt satiating, accompanied by the soft and mildly sweet texture of the bread. I extracted a pincer full of flesh from the claw and bit into it. It was succulent and sweet. Decadent. I felt nourished. Healed by the sea’s vitality. Like a mother. Before I could find Susie to share my compliments the server reappeared with a slice of warm Bebinca drizzled in cocoa powder. He placed it gently before me saying, “with compliments from Mrs. Garza” Accepting the plate I conveyed my heartfelt thanks for the gracious hostess.
The sun was midway into the sea, a glorified orange ball adorably taking a dip. As if a baby was gently kicking it with their heels. Like I too would catch a glimpse of that shiny orange ball, that I dipped my head underneath the water, this time tracing my steps unblinking.
The water began to darken, as if a child had poured his bowl of water after using it to wash his paintbrushes. Then, all at once I caught sight of a dozen or more electric blue webs floating about. I bent down lower to find a bale of blue turtles! Each close to seven inches with web-like designs over shells. Their shells— like discs but hard and slimy, glowing like a hundred blue fireflies. Enamoured, I gently held one before letting it swim by me. So beautiful was the sea, that it was shocking.
My classroom lectures floated back: So who can tell me what type of symbiotic relationship they hold?
The shell provides a stable surface for the algae to grow, thereby offering a suitable habitat in the ocean.
In turn the algae growing on these shells provide camouflage for the turtles, helping them blend into their environment. These algae are bioluminescent.
Is romantic love a symbiotic relationship?
The immense beauty of the sea captivated me. I was completely alone. The vastness humbled me. A sense of weariness mingled with relief as I thought. How dreary to be— Somebody.
In the darkness of the beach I could tell a cowrie pendant, lucid. She was sitting on the beach. The pendant emitted the same light as the ocean. “I see you have anointed yourself, Sheila. Come over. Let’s watch the waves.”
I nodded in the dark and waded towards her.
A lump now rising in my chest, I sighed throatily, “I think I’m tired.”
My teeth began to chatter. I paused to gain my breath before I resumed, “Susie..is it a thing that we women are especially adept at? Can we…can we even appreciate ourselves?”
Susie sighed heavily and reached out to stroke my left shoulder. “Sheila, at times our spirit dies down. Or it diminishes.” She paused.
She drew closer and murmured, “I’ll let you in on a secret,” warmly squeezing my left shoulder, “we all need a bit of magic. From time to time. Yes.”
I smiled at her in the darkness.
She quietly stood up, letting the sand drain out from her white folds and bent over to hand me a small velvet pouch: “Here, this one’s for you Sheila. Remember to open it after you leave this place.” I rose after her, walking back to the shorefront. The pouch had an antidote to my sudden sickness, I assumed. “I am okay Susie,” I reassured her.
From there I could see a ferry approaching us. She sighed, “ this place will shut down to tourists very soon. Conservationists have lobbied for an MPA.”
“A Marine Protected Area,” watching the glowing shores I remarked, “ and do you concur Susie?”
“I’m Nobody!”
Swiftly I turned around to look at her and found her gazing at the sea too.
“I think that this land belongs to them…” she smiled pointing towards the sea.
I stared out at the horizon. The silhouette of a bird soared above the waves— its white plumes catching the iridescent light. Effortlessly taking flight. From the sea to the sky.
<>
By the time I returned home, it was ten in the night. When I unlocked the door, I heard Sade crooning on the record player, Somebody Already Broke My Heart. Vinod was at the dining table scrolling through his phone. He watched me expectantly as I walked over to the table. “I hope you’re hungry?” he checked, “because I have prepared Chicken Ghee Roast, Chickpea salad and Jeera rice.”
“Sure I am,” I said with a smile. I had many brilliant things to tell him. Some were so magical that he might not believe them at all. My heart raced. Would he even believe it? Yet as we began to eat, I thought of a later date to tell him the specifics. Vinod brought up funny anecdotes from the initial years of when we moved to Goa. Happy thoughts. After a long time. We laughed and ate. He proposed that we take time off from our schedules and go away for a week. I could feel the empty cage. Such a relief it was! After dinner I gathered the will to tell him. My voice trembled but I mustered it at last, “Vinod, I cannot take another round of a process.” He instantly got up from his chair to hug me.
“Yes Bijou, my love, I know. I know”— he had used an endearment after months. Tears washed my cheek as the pent up anxiety discharged. He bent over to wipe them, when I saw his moist eyes. He whispered, “we are okay Bijou. We are enough.”
Into the wee hours of the morning we snuggled on the couch, listening to our favourite record collections. John Coltrane, Nina Simone and many others. Sometime in the wee hours of dawn, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. Like olden times.
<>
Waldorf High School
A week later I found Leena when I made my way into the teacher’s lounge. I was carrying the same large tote bag in order to accommodate notebooks that I would have to check at home. I spotted Leena on her phone and waved at her as I settled at my corner to go over a few email correspondences. I walked over to her after I was done. “Hey Leena!”
“Hi Sheila!”
She extended her right hand out to wave.
“If you want to hitch a ride with me, you may come along. I was just leaving,” I proposed.
“Sure. I’d love to, I was leaving too.”
En route she suddenly broached the Blue Turtle Islands.
“Do you remember that FM channel speaking on the archipelagos? I was longing for some time in the sea. I wanted to scuba dive. Well guess what Sheila! So, I made it to the Blue Turtle Islands.”
“That’s great! I visited too, you know?” I chimed.
She paused for a moment before asking,“Oh you did? When exactly?”
I blinked, still watching the road.“It’s been,” I paused, unsure if I should say, “a while,” I added.
“I see! I was told that I needed a permit to scuba dive. The Coastal Conservation Department is trying to safeguard marine life for several decades out there. They are setting up a MPA. And I went the week before last.”
I nodded. “Oh I see. Yes, I heard about the MPA too.” Before she could continue, I asked expectantly, “oh and how good was A Cozinha !”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a beautiful Portuguese eatery on the island.”
“Ah! I see..sorry, but I didn’t see any.”
She said deliberately slowing down, “I did have a memorable day along the reef though. The place was breathtaking. The flora and fauna— exquisite,” she paused to deliberately look at me.
“The place you named. What was it?”
I could see her house approaching. And I didnt want to broach it again. “In that case, I’m not sure if it closed down before you visited. The electric blue sea at sundown and swimming with the turtles. Weren’t they exceptional?”
“Yes. Absolutely divine,” she smiled.
“Well, that’s me here! Thanks for the ride, Sheila,” she said warmly, before unlocking her door. I went back to check my phone, trying to research the islands. Was it really uninhabited? After all, I was there a week ago. As she walked through the gates of her house, I called out, “Leena, can you tell me..” I hesitated for a moment, “ umm..what does Garza mean in Spanish?”
She took a few steps back towards the car trying to decipher what I had asked. “Yes,” she nodded, “umm, it’s a large marine bird,” she searched for the word. “ Hmm,” after a pause she chimed, “a heron.”
She peered through her gate, “Everything okay Sheila?”
I nodded at her, my heart racing at the epiphany.
<>
The taxi dropped me in the basement of my building on that Saturday night. I was all by myself, when I pulled out Susie’s pouch from my tote bag. Slowly I undid the strings, and lo: She glided out. Like the afternoon when she had flown to me on the isles. Like the time she recited so eloquently. But pocket-sized. Her snowy plumes looked ethereal, even under the neon light. Her silver crown shining with a hint of cerulean sheen, as she elegantly perched into the cup of my palm. Something was dangling from her tawny bill. What was it? I watched her intently. She gazed at me for an instant and then placed the object on my palm to stab it with her bill. And before I could realise it, she had swallowed it. Head first. The Salamander, I cried with joy. She examined me. For a moment I thought she’d burst into a thousand beautiful verses. I punched the elevator button preparing to load her into the velvet pouch, and take her back to the islands the next day. Thank you, I mouthed.
It was ten in the night. I could hear Sade crooning on the record player, Somebody Already Broke My Heart. I unlocked the door to my house and turned towards my palm. Except, she was gone.
———————-<<<>>>———————-
