Andaman Part II

Just contrary to the reactions of mine while take off; landing was a huge sigh of relief. Lips widened, slight glimpse of my rabbit teeth, hands stretched and yawned.  I desperately hankered after to know how pilots land a flight. Whether they reduce the air speed and rate of descent first or reduce the thrust or induce a greater amount of drag using flaps, landing gears or speed brakes. I was at lost on reading all these terms just like memorizing my 12^th physics. Don’t you think I natter on about something not related to the trip? No, not at all, the ponders on the landing was the outburst of my fear to land safe. I completely stood aghast at the way the flight landed. Some weird sensations in my stomach, Oh, no no, not what you people thought, it was a different sensation just like when you go on a giant wheel ride.

My eye lids were closed so strong just like the dog in the Tom and Jerry cartoon which had so many shrinks on both the sides of its eyes.  Somehow the flight landed. As usual we show that we are Indians everywhere we go no? People rushed to clear the overhead cabins, no queues formed and finally it ended like a local bus trip. I was so gentle, behaved amiably, opened my cabin to take my bag which hit the head of the lady who sat in the front, pushed a kid while entering the queue. You may ask what was so gentle, wasn’t I very much an Indian? We were all revitalized. The land strip was like my childhood cricket ground. Very small, water clogged as it was raining, and the surroundings called to my mind of my childhood environment (Aruvankadu, for people who know the place in The Nilgiris).

We were dilly dallying there collecting our bags, chatting, kids clicking some photos. There was some pitter-patter and hence we had to move out quickly. Two chauffeurs, well known to my uncle were waiting outside the airport. One was dark, swarthy, curly hair neatly combed with his hairline on his left, the other was dark, bald head with few strands of hair, round face chewing pan. Got introduced, boarded the vehicle and started to the hotel. The room was an en suite, furnished and modest building for a 3 day stay.

As all turned a dead beat, we felt we’ll be all the better for a good rest, had a deep sleep. Only convicts go to jail? We were taken to jail the very same day. Andaman jail was our first spot as per the schedule as the schedule was in apple pie order. I stood still seeing the majesty. Everyone at one accord uttered “what architecture”. You can put all the adjectives in one sentence to describe the intelligence of the architectures of this jail and there would still be a shortage of adjectives. But a rude awakening is this intelligence was used nothing but to torture and kill people. I truly was all misty-eyed just by walking and listening to the history of this jail and the way our freedom fighters were tortured. “Independence is hard earned” how hard? Come to Andaman and just see the jail. As a person who saw in person, with heavy hearts I reiterate “INDEPENDENCE IS HARD EARNED”. 

The jail had 7 wings; apparently even birds cannot flee if caged. The tower which was in the middle served as the intersection for all the seven wings. To make it simple it was like the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Each wing had 3 stories; stories of prisoners in each storey were gut wrenching. We were told there were 693 cells. Solitary confinement, by the time I understood the meaning of it a relative of mine cracked down. And for that matter anyone would shed tears. I think let me stop here; there are more writers who patriotically explained the struggles, why to pollute.

The next day literally would have been the last day for all of us. We were told that our first place is the Ross Island, the first Island where British landed. We were all like a dog with two tails, extremely elated, of course, why not, a combination of greenery and bluish waters makes anyone grin from ear to ear. Boarded the vehicle and the Chauffeur was very amiable. He explained every nuke and corner of Andaman. We reached within half an hour to the shore, where boats were aligned for us to board. Kids were in raptures seeing the waters; I was like having lump in my throat, winking around, feeling hard to express that I had fear towards water. When kids were in seventh heaven, what possibly I could do. I consoled myself. Anyways, my pants are going to get wet, so strutted inserting hands into my pockets and sauntered covering my fear, just like the Tom cat approaching his lady love. The boat was half green and blue painted, made with strong woods, strong enough to occupy 50 people.

The waves were luminous and rippling making the boat hop frequently. The sun rays beamed and directly hit the blue waters which produced a picturesque gleam. That splashing sound of the waves, that pebbly sound when we throw any object, that mud smell which lingers when the wave leaves the mud, that sensation when the mud pulling your feet when the wave leaves, that feeling when the sea spews a gigantic wave are unexplainable. We 15 members boarded the boat; my aunt and I took the first seat on the left. The Anchor was dark, muscular, sharp nose, curly hair was wet wholly.

It was a sunny day, did not expect a single drop of rain. Vroom sound soared, boat exhaled smoke, anchor steered and yes we started to sail. “Kollaam, Kollaam, chants from Malaylies. “Khab Kayega”? Chats between North Indians. “Alli nodu, yey, illi nodu” thrills shared between our family. Diversity sailed, yet we were united with the awe feeling. The movement of the boat was like a person sitting in the extreme front and one in the extreme back would feel as if they play see saw. Sitting in the front I was thrilled to bits, waters everywhere. We sailed with absolute pleasure. But who can predict a capricious climate? There was a sudden change, a strong storm a-brewing. Dark clouds obscured the sun. When all these happened our heart missed a beat. Underneath the clouds, the rain moved towards us like a wraith’s veil of sorrow. The billowing waves were so heavy that the boat started to shift its base. The place around us completely covered with mist; apparently all of us in the boat were all misty-eyed.

The boat couldn't withstand the blustery wind. The wind was squally, partially meek, and partially strong. It heaved and tossed in the rising swell. The rain whipped down like crystal nails which injected pain to us. Some started to shout as the boat started to tilt too much. “Arggghhhhhhhhhh”, shouting, yelling and ruckus were just like the Titanic movie. Now don’t ask me who the Jack is, as I did not find any rose there. The anchor shouted at us in Hindi to balance the boat. The brine hissed and sissed, lashing my face, and I felt a fever in my eyes. The timber planks screaked and shuddered, but the boat righted itself many times proving to be a life saver. My aunt, who was on my left, chanted all the deities possible. I stood aghast, the lacerating rain, winnowing wind made me scared stiff. The horror left us tongue-tied. The climate changed in a minute. The boat steered towards the Ross Island. As expected my pants were wet, oh, no no, not as you people think. To our relief these 20 minutes incident turned out to be a hair breadth escape.

Alas, you could see how corpse calm sea rise and turn a hell throbbing grey with woe.

The remaining 3 days would be continued in Part III.

Note: No photos could be clicked during the incident. We were all horrified, one of my horrified look post that horror. Sorry.