1999
KOVALUM NEW YEAR DAWN, 1999
Trivandrum, Kerala State, India
Every dawning is the same here. The gentle waves wash rhythmic onto black rock cliffs. Below on the Arabian Sea beneath my balcony a tall thin fisherman stands to paddle his bamboo kayak then crouches to wield his hand line. If he catches fish soon others cluster near. A thousand crows caw. Doves and kestrels flap and shriek, begin to lunge and fiercely dash across the shore with food hung in their long strong beaks and claws. The calm sea meets horizon in a blur, with sky pale blue, grey distance warm as skin, salt brine buoyant when I swam, the beach sand hot and saffron. Polite men in white, women in kaleidoscopic saris greet me “Good morning, Madam.” The sea sounds, soft, insistent echo in open stone corridors. They stroll in summer dresses, drink froth from coconut shells. The dhobi walla spreads white towels to dry on rocks in sun. Palm trees rattle in soft wind. Here, at a state run tropical hotel paradise we trust not even the dimness of human insight peeking like these cold stars through silhouettes of hope. Here in Kerala, land of coconuts, humid even in the dead of winter every morning begins the same. BBC World says a blizzard hit Chicago so bad even O’Hare Airport shut down. “One of the worst” of this aging century. Here near the tropical tip of Southern India where the Arabian Sea meets the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal I want to put on my boots and mitts go home to shovel out my Toyota to cruise at 74 mph on safe four-lane roads to hear CD music from all six speakers and while I shovel to feel the bite of wind-borne snow slap my glad Ohio cheeks. © Jane Piirto. All Rights Reserved.