B(P)eachy Memories...

We were at a beach house over the weekend. In the company of three other couples and another couple of people who are not a couple (Though they might get there, that guy is fighting a losing battle and we watch, amused). It was a rusty old house but it had this spanking new pool table in the basement and a grill in the back yard and the women found out that sending only the men to “check out” a place is maybe not the smartest idea. But still, we gabbed, waded, grilled, played, ate, drank and made merry. The best part was the sea of course and we spent hours on the beach and I’m still peeling, but it was so worth it.

Watching the sunset standing hip-deep in water, I went into that expressively vulnerable mood that one can go into while standing on a sea shore watching the sun set. I turned and yelled to the hubby standing in the water with just the tips of his toes in water “It’s gorgeous, na?”. You might have imagined me leaning on Mr.Gabby’s shoulder or something like that, sorry to send that image down the shredder. The group was packed and ready to go. As I waded back to the others, my thoughts sped back to my very first beach trip. It was in Vishakapatnam, a coastal town in Andhra Pradesh. I was there with my cousins and zero adult supervision. What a trip that was! Sliced mangoes with salt and red pepper smeared on them, (sold for a mere Rupee) clutched in our sticky hands, running in and out of the water, dunking and pushing crossing all safe limits, chasing each other and the girls yelling so loud I think only the stray dogs could actually hear us. As I lead my second-cousin, a guy known for his gray eyes and thick brown locks, a very rare and treasured commodity in the land of chocolate skin and ebony hair, deeper and deeper into the water I stopped short and squealed out in pain. The pain in my right foot was excruciating and 15 minutes later, I was sitting on a stone baby dinosaur in that park called Voda that borders this beach with my second cousin gently pulling a 4 cm splinter out of my foot. Once done, he proceeded to give me a foot rub, checking to see if it was all okay. My other cousins, bored by now with this typical Gabby-drama and no longer having the satisfaction of seeing me wince in pain, started to move away. And this suited us just fine. And there, sitting primly on a baby dinosaur with the backdrop of a golden sunset, with her foot and not her hand in second-cousin’s hands, Gabby received her first ever romantic proposal. Very nice, I remember thinking. This is what the 2nd-last chapter of every Mills & Boons describes! And at this point ladies, let us pause and note the power of the wet tee-shirt/shorts combination. Yes, even on a lanky 14 year old who had yet to possess anything worth writing home about, it can turn an average guy’s head, like little else can. Or at least push him over the edge if it was a little screwed in the first place.

I laughed. Not a yes or a no. Not even the “Will you wait for me?” that I had actually rehearsed in my mind. Because suddenly, it wasn’t so much fun anymore. The excitement had been replaced with fear...I had this sudden urge to talk to my Mom... or maybe it was a shallower reason, the high of the chase was over. I don’t know. I do remember him writing me long letters after that vacation. And then he decided to visit us. Panic clouded my thoughts for days, till I told my parents about it. They laughed their heads off. I am guilty of hiding the part where I led him up the garden path of course, but hey I was 14 then, and I am telling you all the right version now, aren’t I?

“He waded in after me, however deep I went, you know” I tell Mr.Gabby as we pile into the car.
“I’m sure” he says, gesturing to dust my sandy feet before getting inside.
“He wrote me a poem” I added. “It was very good”.
Adjustment of radio station.
“Don’t publish it as your own.” A delayed response. And not the right one.
“He told me he wanted me to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with him” I say.
“Too nice. You would have clobbered him.”

Ah, second-cousin, seems like you are better off this way. My husband, he thinks you’re too nice for me. He on the other hand, is just right, which doesn't make him very nice, does it?