Sunday Afternoon [September 2010]

Ibrahim Waheed “Kalaavehi”

When and where exactly a wave is born is for the scientists, the theologians, the folklorists or the loud-mouthed to decide in their own areas for their own followings. The wave itself does know much, or so it would seem…..

Kilometers out in the deep blue of the ocean, on a particularly clear Sunday afternoon, a wave was born in the realm of the marlin and the blue fin. Barely perceptible at first, it traversed vast expanses of ocean as a long swell, enjoying the yogic tranquility of the deep lapis-hues of the sea for as long as it could. Slowly it grew into a rolling, growing swell between ever-deepening troughs, rising above its previous circumstances, perhaps because it caught a whiff of the raw animal smells of land which it was inevitably approaching, perhaps because the unknown was calling….

Perhaps in challenge, perhaps in sheer joy for being alive, perhaps sensing an end to a phase of existence, the wave reached the lighter, jewel-transparent waters of the crashing surf where it could not resist looking over the shoulder of the wave that had just gone in. Standing up to its full height, it suddenly felt the first few tremors of vulnerability as its feet touched the coral rubble. By then it was too late. A strong lacework of foam rapidly climbed up the landward side of the wave, perhaps to claim it back for the sea. However, just before the foam could reach the top, the wave decided to bow down to the forces of nature and did as all respectable waves did when they approached the alien territory of solid land. It broke, scattering bits of itself back into the sea and into the air in needless self-annihilation…..

They say the wind is a cruel opportunist. Just as it originally created the wave out in the distant waters of the sea, it now whipped the salty spray off the churning white head of the suicidal wave, vaporized it into the breeze, and misted it onto the face of the woman as she sat on a cold stone bench on the concrete-reinforced waterfront. Whether the salty spray added to or subtracted from the saltiness already on her face was an argument for the mathematician, scientist or even the theologians yet once again. Neither the face nor the tears would know much about those arguments, or so it should also seem……

Kilometers out over the deep blue of the ocean, it was born in the land of the dreams and wishes. A childhood bereft of affection, teenage devoid of passion, and twenties entirely barren of romance, her first taste of love came to her much later, in her thirties, almost unknown. Barely perceptible at first, it traversed vast expanses of ocean on the ether, riding the microwaves over the telephone and the information highway. And just like the waves out there, it slowly it grew into a rolling, growing swell between them, rising above previous circumstances, perhaps because the unknown was calling….to her!

Was it a challenge, the price for being alive, perhaps an end to a meaningless phase of existence? If that wave reached a lighter, jewel-like reality of what mutual, understanding, respectful love has to be, would it have to crash so uselessly on the rocks of life? She had felt the first few tremors of vulnerability as the sheer reality of it all touched solid land under her feet. If these new, powerful, and even empowering feelings rose up to their full height, who would see them in her eyes and ridicule her? Would it was too late by then? She must now decide to bow down to the forces of family and society or trust herself, nature, desire, and the simple need to be happy. With these thoughts in her mind, she broke down yet again, scattering bits of her soul into the air as the waves dashed themselves on the rocky beach in front of her in needless self-annihilation…..

They say that love, just like the wind, is also a cruel opportunist. Just as the wind creates waves out in the distant waters of the sea, it now whipped different ribbons off the hair of its many avatars, cast them into the breeze, and twisted them around the heart of the woman as she sat on that cold stone bench day after day, hiding her fears and tears from her friends, family and children. And whether the salty spray of the waves added to or subtracted from the saltiness already on her face was an argument for the mathematician, scientist or even the theologians yet one more time. Neither the face nor the tears would know much about those arguments, or so it should also seem……except to the Supreme Giver of Love!

When and where exactly that particular wave was born on that clear Sunday afternoon is also for the scientists, the theologians, the folklorists or the loud-mouthed to decide in their own areas for their own followings. The wave itself did know much, or so it would seem….. until that wave finally reached the lighter, gem-transparent waters on the land of love!

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Comments

  • fathima  On September 26, 2010 at 2:16 pm

    no words to express ……….. fantastic piece of writing….. wow…….

    • ldive  On September 27, 2010 at 7:54 pm

      Thank you!

  • silentfingers  On September 26, 2010 at 3:49 pm

    Devastating it is when the ebb tide of so little strength and power, easily floods our soul. How many of us women spend our entire lives ‘secretly’ soaked in these murky waters- all for the sake of family and society? Instead, brave are those who boldly ignores “nature” and embrace inner-happiness. After all, the scientists and thelogians needs a “good topic” to keep themselves busy with, not to mention the loud-mouthed.  

    My good sir, it is so lovely to know that you, on the other hand, often keep yourself busy doing marvelous things while we sleep at night 😉 I believe, this work is nothing but a literary masterpiece chiseled by the hands of a genius scupltor. Thank you and may God always bless you!         

    • ldive  On September 27, 2010 at 7:53 pm

      “How many of us women spend our entire lives ‘secretly’ soaked in these murky waters- all for the sake of family and society?” Too many. Even in the most unexpected places! Even angels who give other pearls of advice, wisdom and hope seem to come crashing down in flames when the bike rider takes off his rose-goggles in the dead of the night in some dark, rainy street corner!

  • Aana  On September 26, 2010 at 5:46 pm

    Lovely piece of writing. 🙂

    • ldive  On September 27, 2010 at 7:39 pm

      Thank you, dear.

    • ldive  On September 27, 2010 at 11:11 pm

      Thank you, dear

  • shifa  On September 26, 2010 at 11:41 pm

    A very touching piece of writing with so much hidden meaning in it …………very creative and talented.Its a blessing for us to get such an artitist to our beatiful tiny islands ……perhaps the waves that form in the crystal blue lagoon with the help of the wind will look forward to quench the thurst of the thirsty white sandy beaches of our tiny islands…………….

    • ldive  On September 27, 2010 at 7:39 pm

      Thank you so much for the kind words, nacreous in their eloquence. I am indeed touched. As for the meaning, dear sweet soul, they are not hidden at all! You have seen it for what it is! Quite!

  • Norman  On September 30, 2010 at 3:42 pm

    “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
    Kahlil Gibran
    I will say you are Maldivian Khalil Gibran Wow , wonderful story as well the amazing drawings….

    • ldive  On September 30, 2010 at 10:03 pm

      Sir, I shall pretend to no equality with my hero from Lebanon, a country where I once spent a few very happy years and then came back with an empty feeling…..

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