Warm sand beneath my feet. Clean. Fire. Powdery. Reminds me of Goa. The hot beating Goa. Of swaying coconut trees and unresting ocean.
I clasped my can of Coke. My just bought scarf hugging my forehead. I squinted across at the sand, littered with reddened tourists being cooked in the sun. My friends are down at the water, their tittering voices dissolved into the madness. I don't know why I felt intimidated by the sea. I just sat at the cafe, with a can of Coke, my SLR camera wrapped around my right hand... But that time of solitude - my mind washed by the song of the waves and swaying slightly to the random music that a cafe was playing - was beautiful. It is one of the moments that I cherish of Goa.
There were a lot to complain about at Goa. There were always things that I wasn't happy about. But what I would give to caress my toes in that warm sand again? Hear my friends' voices floating in as one with the voice of the sea.
To be lost in the adventure of the unknown, homelessness and being in a place no one knew me..
Warm sand beneath my feet. I now sit on my Kolhapuri chappals on the sand. The sun is warm - but when it disappears behind a cloud I am reminded it is not summer as yet.
Sumner is quite like Goa's beach that we were in. Little town, thriving on the advantage of the seaside. Small houses.
The sand is fine. It slips through your fingers like a fine cloth. The sea is blue, green, grey. The breeze is gentle and mannered.
Unstoppable. Unresting. Overflowing. Is the sea. Mystery. Dark. Green.
The sea holds a million stories. I look at it and see that it is smug. Mature. Old. Keeper of secrets. Unknown tales. It is tyrannous and repressive and yet liberating. it gives life and takes life.
Blue green grey mystery.
Ben Ning, Creative Practitioner