More from the Log of Oceans

For those who know of The Bangkwang Times, this particular piece on travels in Father’s Log book of Oceans struck me as most surprising. It was closely related to one of the stories I had once considered pitching in during our famous ‘editorial meets’. For those who don’t know of The Bangkwang Times- it is an innocent initiative of a select few in our batch of Journalism students to bring about some concreteness in our course of two years as journalism post-graduate students.

The topic of interest: Indo-Mauritius relation. I know. Quite different from the tales of yonder-land you might expect to find in a sailors’ log book. Nevertheless, most interesting.


Date: 12th March 1992. My father’s log book sees through his eyes a crucial point in the history of Mauritius. His adventure-ship touched the harbour of Port Louis (Mauritius) the day before Mauritius was declared a Republic. Wikipedia vaguely also points to the day as Mauritius’s Independence Day. Dressed in Sailor uniforms, my Father and his crew lined up to watch this marking ceremony along with the then-Prime Minister of India P V Narasimha Rao.

He speaks of the Maurifair (held to commemorate the 24th year of Independence of Mauritius along with its 1st year of being a Republic), the rainbows, the women and the sun rays that refuse to touch the land.

He writes, “Girls are lanky and the audacious attempts at wearing skirts showing their chicken legs spoke more of their courage than of any physical beauty. Very narrow hips and sunken cheeks gave them a look of famishedness.”

Many might find this a chauvinist remark. But here I see not a daunting male gaze, but an observant one.

It made me wonder. Wonder at how I have lost the will to stop and stare, to take a minute off and ponder, to gaze at the cotton shapes of clouds flitting across the sky and to try and understand what the heavens are trying to narrate to us using their special sign language. Things we take for granted; things I forget to thank God for, everyday. (Atheists, ignore)

Family, love, ambition… a newspaper?


Excerpt from the Log book of Oceans:


By the time one settles down to a nice sea routine, the harbour peeps in with hurry burry in tow. Once dust of harbour activity settles down, all “singled-up” and away. I wish I joined earlier – in the first batch at least. Would I have appeared for the Competency exam, had I got settled earlier? Nay, nay.

I get a lot of time to pray. I have girdled the Indian Ocean from Mumbai to Seychelles to Port Louis (Mauritius) with my prayers. I am more at peace with myself and with environment. I pray that I get a chance to girdle like this, all the Seven Seas. I try not to think of those who I left behind – without success. The bliss of having no newspaper is real – even though sometimes unfortunate.

One for Dad

I love to read. I mean, who doesn’t? Everybody I know enjoys some kind of textual reading: books, working papers, movies, songs, etc. Today I read something especially soothing, so much so that it reached out to tinkle that ancient chime in the heart of hearts.

Every time I touch Cochin after a break of three months, it is like I take my time to find balance- like a kid who wobbles in its first attempt at walking. This time I decided to take it slow. No haste, no worry. I came home directly and sat in front of our age-old, yet reliable, PC (one of those bad habits you pick up when you are away from home; let the Internet rule the world) and logged in to see what was happening in the other end of my world. After a while of pointless browsing, I decided to look through some old photographs to dust afresh old memories. I found it difficult to understand the storage pattern at first (the wobbly kid again), but once I got it figured it was easy. Things were coming back to me. In one of the disks I found an unfamiliar folder. It sounded interesting and looked inviting. It was named: The log book of Oceans. No one but my own dear sailor-father could have authored this one- I thought. I took the liberty to open it.

The folder contained several documents. One named after each ship he had mastered. I picked one which resonated a very distant chord of remembrance. Named: Log book of Vishwa Bandhan. I remember Mom and I (leaving my dear Brother behind) joining Father in Mangalore at this Ship. Not more than 4 yrs old was I.

I skimmed through the document, hoping in my mind to find what I was looking for. A reference to me. And there it was! I had found it and it made my day. My father has never been an expressive man, except for when he writes. Which is why I have still saved all his letters to me. It speaks a lot more to me about his love for me than any verbal conversation we have ever had. Thank you Dad, for being who you are. Especially for making sure your little girl didn’t get drowned in the midst of your travel tales on the Suez canal and Odessa.

The excerpt from the Log book of Oceans:

The small room that Chief Officer’s cabin is, became a palace with the prattle of little Vinnie. It was like thousand birds singing together in my cabin. Her easily changeable moods, her elation and quick silver tongue, all and all made it appear to be a new child, unknown to me. She has grown up to be a sharp tongued wench at her 4 years.