His eyes followed her as she sashayed across
the hotel lobby. He did not stop staring until she got into the lift. The girl
became aware of him staring at her halfway across the lobby – almost stumbled
in her hurry to reach the lift away from his penetrating stare. I was losing
weight at his unashamed expression of admiration of the opposite sex – not
because I did not like the opposite sex but because of the blatant way in which
he did it. In fact he was positively leering at her. I
was silently beseeching him to ease off. His explanation – a poor one, I
thought - was that her movement reminded him of the waves at sea. There was no
point in telling him that half the hotel staff was aware of his interest. There
was nothing one could do. It was a part of his existence.
Psychologically and physiologically there was
nothing wrong with him. But he had an affinity for closets. Don’t
misunderstand me. He had a liking for closed spaces. Closets had nothing to do
with sex .But one could definitely understand why he volunteered for Submarine
duty. Extrapolating from his present
state into his past, one can safely say that he had an ordinary childhood.
While in the academy, during the course of his training his propensity for
getting into trouble with the authorities was legendary and he earned the
sobriquet of ‘Punishment King’. The number of kilometres he clocked as a cadet
undergoing punishments was phenomenal.
Thirty years later the only perceptible change was
a bit of grey in his beard. He had lost none of his sprightliness and joie de vivre at them , making me
apprehensive that we would be given marching orders by the hotel staff . As it is they were eyeing
us with a great deal of suspicion and dislike – stemming from the fact that we
were there for a long time, drawing out on our drinks. That we were there for a
long time was not their grouse. Constant criticism of their sloppy service and
their poor turnout was really riling them. The conversation was desultory and
comfortable. We were still trying to find our way around each other. Families,
children and their progress and of course our course mates were all discussed,
their relationships dissected and finally conclusions on their state of
existence were arrived at.
In every conversation there comes that pregnant
pause during which one does not know what to talk about. And so we turned back
to the only thing that was common to both of us – our profession at arms. I had
been meaning to ask him about his exploits on the Submarines. What sort of a life
it was and why he joined the submarines. Even as I asked him his preference for
submarines the answer came with a blinding insight -His love for closed spaces
– that explained it all. His need for that extra thrill was already known. “Did
you have any life threatening experiences?” was my next question.
“On my first voyage we had a rather crazy
incident.” He said. “As you are aware the space in a submarine is very
restricted. Privacy is nonexistent and the toilet is common to all . On this
particular trip I was a raw youngster still getting to grips with my enforced
incarceration in a tin can in the depths of the ocean. While I was mentally
prepared for this, the reality was a huge shock. I felt like a caged lion who
craved for the open spaces. This craving threatened to make itself vocal in a
very drastic manner, when my prayers were answered. We developed a technical
snag aboard the submarine.” “What snag?” I asked. P--- was rather put off by my interruption.“
Nothing it was just a technical snag” he said. He finally relented to my need
for details and told me that the toilet was blocked . This created a huge stink
in the submarine. “The whole problem in a submarine is that there is no place
to run. The stink is all pervading. It gets into your brain into your clothes,
it is there when you go to sleep and it is there when you wake up. There is no
future.” His eyes clouded over with the memories of that stink. He roused
himself from his reverie.
“Anyhow
to cut things short the submarine had to surface to affect repairs”; When we
surfaced there was a full blown storm in progress . When a
submarine surfaces a watch officer is detailed to man the conning tower. The
drill is to stand on the conning tower, anchored to the railing so that one
does not get washed away. Being the junior most I was the automatic choice for
this task. There was nothing but a huge expanse of sea on all the sides. Do
you know that the size of waves are determined by a variety of factors
including the speed of the tide , prevailing ocean currents depth of the water
and also the shape of the seafloor and presence of reefs sandbanks and
temperature of the ocean? The wind speed
and open expanse of water play a major role in the size of the waves. All
factors for my being thrashed about like a rag doll were present in abundance.
But you know what? I revelled in being on the surface. I could actually see the
waves building up as they rushed towards me. It was a scary experience and at
the same time exhilarating. My body was cringing from the anticipated pain as the waves rushed towards me. My mind
on the other hand rushed out to embrace the oncoming waves. As each wave came
towards me the beauty of this savagery excited me beyond my wildest dreams.
My senior who was alongside me, on the other
hand was not having such a good time. His eyes were bloodshot and if could have
his way he would have made short work of my happiness – despite the pounding
the waves were giving me – by murdering me there and then. This went on for
some time. I screaming in happiness with each new swell and my senior getting
worked up at my incomprehensible glee. Finally he could not take it anymore. He
turned towards me - probably to tell me to shut up – when a huge wave struck
us. It took my breath away and in that unguarded moment banged my senior
against the wall. Soon he was howling – not in happiness – in pain. He had
injured his back. He was safely evacuated into the submarine and my moment of
unfettered freedom was ended as the technical glitch was cleared.”
His description held me in a thrall. I wanted
him to share more about his experiences. At this point his very disapproving wife sent summons for us for dinner. In spite
of his bravado and hair raising
experiences at sea (and under it ) it was obvious that P--- would not risk her
ire. And so dinner it was with a promise of more at a later stage...
