P....

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...