| She was pitching and turning, my stomach | | | | whether to laugh at my foolishness or cry at my |
| heaving side to side with every roll. Oh why, why | | | | grim situation. All feeling of sea-sickness had been |
| did I ever think that sea-life was all about gallantry | | | | replaced by a very real feeling of dread at the |
| and courage. There was no heroism in retching | | | | bottom of my stomach. |
| my guts out till there was no more while the wind | | | | You know that famous adage 'Never look down', |
| howled through my ears in the pitch of dark. The | | | | well this is when I decided to take a peep at the |
| thunder gods roared just as another streak of | | | | scene below. The adage as all things old and |
| lightning hit the deck and I saw yet another huge | | | | ancient was a wise one for the scene below was |
| wave ready to hit the deck. 'Duck', I shouted to | | | | almost enough to make me faint. Half furled sails |
| my mates even as the heavy body of water hit | | | | taunting the feverish deck hands, ropes flaying |
| the decks and the three masted Barque sail ship | | | | wildly, white stormy water slashing atop the deck |
| bucked and rolled as if to make a getaway from | | | | as her bow once again dipped into the black hole |
| the unending pounding she was taking in the midst | | | | of the stormy waters. I paused to regain my |
| of this storm in the Pacific Seas. | | | | breadth and sense of mind and started up again |
| As I scattered across the ship in the water, I | | | | with firm resolute never to look down again. |
| thought back to a month ago when I was on dry | | | | And then it happened. As the strong wind blew |
| land, happy in my home in the Indian | | | | into the sails, the boat swung drastically and |
| sub-continent with not a care in the world. Never | | | | suddenly I was holding onto the mast with one |
| having seen the seas, I still ponder at what twist | | | | hand while the rest of me swung free many |
| of fate made me volunteer for the high seas. | | | | many feet above dark angry seas. This is where |
| Here I was, a novice, my sea legs not quite in | | | | you begin to see your past flow in front of your |
| place yet in the midst of what looked like a very | | | | eyes and I started muttering a prayer for this |
| black night. Oh life was fine when we had set out | | | | was the end. Perhaps it was the prayers or the |
| from Puerto Rico en-route to the America of 'A' | | | | sea gods feeling magnaminous, but I managed to |
| fame. Romantic blue skies, calm blue green | | | | get a foodhold back on the mast, enough to haul |
| waters, sea gulls bidding adieu at ports, a dolphin | | | | myself back in position to hug the mast for dear |
| or two swimming alongside for a while - life was | | | | life. My legs were shaking with fear, my shoulder |
| tranquil. Then where did all this cold rain and | | | | blades felt that they had been wrenched out of |
| lightining come from. This is one of those sudden | | | | their sockets, there was no feeling left in my |
| tantrums of the rain gods that the Pacific is | | | | hands and feet even as my heart had gone into |
| famous for, said an old hand smirking at my | | | | an over-drive. |
| obvious discomfort. | | | | Hanging on for dear life, I thought, This was it, I |
| She was a grand boat, built for long voyages. | | | | was not moving an inch further, no matter what. |
| Eighteen sails with a sail area of almost 1000 sq m | | | | Then I looked up to my goal and realized that the |
| with square rigging on the fore and main masts | | | | sail was going to tear if I did not get to it soon. |
| and fore and aft rigged on Mizzen Mast. It took | | | | What can I say, Duty calls. With the last of my |
| six officers and twenty seven men to crew her | | | | energies, I hauled myself up to the sail and tried |
| with space for 30 more hands and yet she | | | | to catch her. She fought me like a tigress in the |
| quivered as if tiring of the struggle. Though quite | | | | wilds, flapping me unrelentlessly, urging me to let |
| storm worthy, her sails were now straining in the | | | | go. But I was with a demon inside me as I fought |
| storm winds and threatening to rip. The captain | | | | back and managed to grab enough of her to start |
| taking note called for 'All hands to Braizing Station' | | | | furling her up. |
| to get the sails down and rolled up. Ignoring the | | | | Though tempted to reside the rest of the storm |
| revolt in my stomach, I volunteered to furl-up the | | | | atop the mast rather than face the journey |
| top most sail on the main mast, a task that | | | | down, I knew that my strength would not hold |
| needed grit, height and strength of mind, body | | | | out much longer. I am not too sure if it was me |
| and soul. Why I volunteered, only God alone | | | | who came down the mast or the wind who |
| knows. With a quite prayer and no harness, there | | | | pushed me, but down I came to the deck and |
| being a shortage of these, I harnessed a | | | | collapsed. |
| make-shift rope support around myself and | | | | Many hours later as my strength returned and I |
| started the slow journey up the mast, step at a | | | | regained some of my composure, my mates |
| time. | | | | asked would I do this again. I looked at the bright |
| She pitched left and right as wave after wave hit | | | | sky, morning sunlight and the clean cut of the |
| her from bow to aft. The rain slashed against me | | | | bow into the waters and smiling said sure, why |
| as the winds howling reverberated through my | | | | not. |
| head. My fingers were numb from the cold. | | | | I have sailed many times hence with not a care in |
| Midway through the upward journey as I survived | | | | the world. |
| one more insistent wave bash, I did not know | | | | |