"I felt like I was pulling the Sea" said the young Muslim man. He was visiting the mosque on the beach when the fishermen summoned him to help with the nets. He obliged. He is not from Varkala but Goa. He is not a fisherman but a Jeweler.
The nets are placed well before sunrise. Then the arduous task of manually drawing the net towards the shore begins. It resembles a tug of war with the Waters. A group of delivery men on bicycles patiently wait in the shade for the fresh catch to arrive.
When the net approaches the shoreline hours later, a deep guttural shout from the fishermen is heard. Perhaps a thanks to the Sea for offering up its riches.
The fish are separated from the nets and distributed. The nets are untangled, repaired and stretched out in the sun to dry. This is the life of a fisherman.
Later that day I heard a voice from someone sitting by the cliff's edge. "Why did you cut your hair?" It was the voice of the young Muslim man. I smiled and said that I had seen him earlier that morning with the fishermen. He smiled and showed me his blistered hands. We talked about travel and faith and India's precious jewels. Then came the question...where is your family?...translation...husband and children.
I have been asked that question many many times since arriving in India. Just the other day a young Hindu girl on the bus asked me that very same question. I told her I was not married and that I did not have any children. She leaned toward me and asked in a quiet voice, "Are you not sad?". I replied, "Of coarse not. I am in India, sitting on a bus next to a charming young girl, and I am heading to the beach. What is there to be sad about?" She wiggled her head in the way that only an Indian can, and then she smiled a smile that was priceless.
It was not till writing this little post that I realized I did not answer the young Muslim man's question about my hair.
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