Potraits-I

Well...this is a new endeavour that has kind of wiggled its way into my imagination some time back !!!! what i want to do..is to pick out a picture and then build a story around the picture !!! maybe just a more voluntary and enjoyable form of the picture compositions that used to figure in the english question papers in school !! :)
so here goes...


Chocolat...
"Mom..look at that fisherman", a 7-year old finger pointed in the distance.
"Oh yes Ron...the sun has gone down. The fishermen take their boats and go out to the sea. They return in the morning with their catch", the doting mother explained.
"But papa goes to fish at the creek and never takes a boat. And he never goes at night..."
An amused smile of understanding.."Oh no son...Papa is not a fisherman !!! And this happens in India..not back home in Stratford at the creek".
Silence trying to fathom the difference between 'going fishing' and 'being a fisherman' !!
"Can i go look at him?" the eyes never left the fisherman.
"Oh well....but be careful honey"

The boy half-ran towards the boat, leaving behind 7-year old footprints in the sand.
The fisherman was arranging the net inside the boat, rough callused hands arranging the net in neat folds. He stood there, clad in only a loin cloth, completely oblivious to the round, saucer like eyes that watched every move of his. The eyes watched his hands as they lifted the oars in one sudden heave and deposited them into the boat. They watched the effort in the age-hardened eyes, the wrinkles on the face that cringed with pain, the beads of sweat which glistened on his skin.
The eyes watched the muscles as they strained against the skin, the face defiantly relaxed and calm. The last rays of the sun danced on his face. The eyes smiled gleefully at the sight - the blissful smile of 7-year old eyes.

The boat was ready for the evening's rendezvous with the sea. The net sat regally on its throne flanked by the oars. The sides were wiped clean of the sand and the occassional barnacle that clings onto them. The boy caught the fisherman's eye and he saw a flicker of energy and excitement in them. The boy smiled and the shrivelled beedi-blackened lips broke open into a smile in return - three pan stained teeth greeting 25 pearly whites. And then he turned. He was pushing the boat into the sea, the teeth grinding themselves into the defenseless gums.

The boy stood in silence looking at the fisherman. The dark skin seemed like chocolate...dark chocolate which seems sinful, hard and yet melts at the slightest hint of warmth. The beads of sweat were droplets of moisture when the cold chocolate is left out in the open..exposed, unprotected, vulnerable.Chocolat..they call it in a more exotic manner. And this was exotic for him. Every time the skin moved, it was the chocolate flowing down the stem of the spoon, in jerky movements which have a certain fluidity in them. He loved the color - deep, dark, having its secrets !!!

The boat was almost in the water. The fisherman waited for a wave to lift it out of the sand. And the sea obliged. The boat lifted off the ground with a sudden lurch and the tired muscles clambered into the boat triumphantly. The fisherman turned to look at the boy and waved at him.
The boy smiled and waved back. Chocolate always made him happy. He stood looking at the boat until it surrendered itself to the sea and turned into a speck on the horizon !! The chocolate melted away with the last rays of the sun and blended itself with the flow of the sea.

The boy turned back and retraced his steps...the bitter-sweet taste of chocolate in his 7-year-old mind !!!