The Andamans: Part I

A couple of months ago, I got a call from my mother asking whether I wanted to go to the Andamans with her and her boyfriend Addu. (Not his real name, thankfully.)

Now, under any other circumstances, I would've jumped at the opportunity. But...

"Yuck," I said. "Why would I want to be a third wheel on my mother's romantic getaway. Honestly, Mummy, you have no imagination or empathy. Absolutely none. Why can't you ever -" 

"Well," she said, interrupting me as she always does, "we're going to Havelock for a couple of days and carrying on to another island. But there's a scuba diving centre in Havelock that Addu knows about and I thought you might like to stay on there and do a proper training course. It's an early Christmas present and..." she paused, trying to justify her incredible generosity, "...an educational experience." 

Something very rare happened then: my mother had to listen to a series of shrill shrieks. (Usually she’s not the one on the receiving end, if you get my drift.)

I’m going to skip ahead – past my profound thanks to my mother, the tickets being booked, my last day at work, Mawii coming down just before I left, the trauma (I use the word loosely) I went through during the switchover at Hyderabad, my forgetting a parcel I was extremely proud of remembering to carry in the first place, and more – to the bit where I was on the plane as it began its descent to Port Havelock.

(I was on it before it began its descent as well. Obviously. Which reminds me – there was a point where I looked out of the window - I frequently do to make sure parts of the plane aren’t falling off – and saw what I firmly to be the triangular tip of India, perfectly canopied by pearl-like clouds, floating [along with the rest of Asia one hopes] on the ocean. Weeks later, in Shantiniketan, my father would insist that it wasn’t the tip of India, it was just any old coast, and spent an hour looking up flight routes to prove me wrong but, I’m happy to say, he failed to do so. )

Where was I? 

Oh right, flying over the Andamans towards Port Blair.

When it comes to seas, I’m used to Goa. I’ve been to Thailand quite a few times, but usually during the Monsoon. So I’m really not used to seeing the sort of turquoise blue that I saw from the plane, dotted by coral reefs and islands with white sand. It looked like the photos you see of seas on Google images, at the risk of sacrificing poetry for precision.

As we descended even lower, I saw a miniscule black shape gliding effortlessly through the clear water and for a brief and magical moment, thought it was a huge shark before realising it was, unfortunately, a boat.

(There would be a couple of similar moments, especially when I was on ferries, desperately peering into the water, hoping for a glimpse of a shark-shaped shadow or a smooth grey fin cutting through the blue water but it was not to be.)

After getting my luggage (Belt No. 1 they said, which was completely unnecessary because Belt No. 1 was the only luggage belt), I headed outside to wait for my mother and Addu. There was no place inside.

There followed a boring hour of sitting on my luggage and realising, as I stared at my phone, how dependent I am on wifi, 2G, 3G and 4G. There was no sign of any of them. Thank god for Two Dots. 

At one point, a middle-aged French couple swept past me, smoking cigarettes with the all-too familiar look of people who’ve been parted from inhaling tar for just far too long. I mention them now, because they’re going to return later.

Anyway, time crawled by, as it does in these sort of situations, before I finally got a call from my mother – she was louder than usual (which is saying something) because the line was bad (islands are not conducive to any signal, let alone Internet).

“WE’VE [static]. WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Outside,” I said.

“WHY ARE YOU [static]? WHY NOT IN THE AIRPORT?”

“There was nowhere to wait there,” I said. “I’m outside Gate 1. Is there a Gate 2?”

“WHY NOT IN [static] AIRPORT?”

“I’M JUST OUTSIDE,” I finally yelled, causing a bunch of heads to swivel in my direction. Honestly, only my mother can cause that sort of crap to happen.  “OUTSIDE. GATE 1.”

“GATE WHAT?”

At that point, I saw Addu ambling towards me with a cheerful grin. At the same time, as the shouting through the phone continued, I became aware of simultaneous shrieks coming from behind me. I waved at Addu, turned towards the shrieks and saw my mother standing just a few feet away, across a railing, rolling her eyes as she made noises that would not be out of place in somewhere like, oh let’s see, Hell probably. 

“I’M HERE!” I shouted, putting down the phone.

“WHERE?” She shrieked, holding her phone even closer to her mouth.

“HERE!”

“WHERE THE HECK IS HERE?” (She did not say the word 'heck'. She used a much ruder word and though I use it too, I can't bring myself to type it when it's coming out of my mother's mouth.)

Anyway, that last sentence was shouted so loud, I swear to you, the entire airport winced.

A gentleman quivering behind her, tapped her on the shoulder and – as she spun around to give him a piece of her mind – pointed nervously in my direction.

I waved.

Her frown melted into a smile and we ran towards each other and hugged and started (or rather, continued) shrieking.

The airport winced again and thankfully watched us go.

*

As we put our luggage in the taxi, my mother asked me why I was carrying such a huge suitcase. (I usually travel light.)

“I’m away from Bangalore for three weeks,” I said defensively. “Also, I’m carrying all my dirty laundry so you can get it organized in Cal.”

“But you have a washing machine!”

“Yes, but this way, I can get everything ironed as well.”

*

The resort we were staying in was, ironically, named after a kind of bird – the Megapode. The name literally means “large foot” in Greek and a board put up in Reception additionally informed me that they are aggressive and completely independent from their time of birth.

“Ask the receptionist if they have these creatures wandering around,” I hissed at my mother, vividly recalling a certain resort in Puri from my childhood that had peacocks doing just that. One attacked my cousin Rajeet. I escaped because I had the presence of mind to cower behind my grandfather’s knees every time one of those feathered spawns of Satan came in sight.

The receptionist reassured us that they didn’t have live mascots of the bird the resort was named after and I relaxed.

We dumped our stuff in the room and headed out to buy tickets for the ferry that was supposed to take us to Havelock the next morning.

That turned out to be an experience so long and traumatic, I’ll save it for Part 2.