Taste of the Sea by Uditendu Dutt-Mazumdar (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📕

Taste of the Sea
( Inspired by an anecdote received via email )

He saw her at the wedding reception of an office colleague. Dressed with simple elegance, she stood out like a cluster of alpine roses in a field of red. After that, for him, everyone else ceased to exist. He realised it was bad manners to stare, but couldn`t help it. He`d probably never get to see her ever again …… they belonged to different cosmologies.

He was the kind of man whom people vaguely categorised as “nice”, but had difficulty recollecting a few hours later. His very ordinariness garbed him in the mantle of invisibility, making him a non-entity. He never attracted attention, and was used to going through life faceless, unremembered.

So he continued to stare, hungrily, engraving her image on his mind.

She was heart-breakingly attractive, with males thronging around her, vying for attention. Her lissome frame and fluid movements exuded a charm which other females resented ………….. and males found irresistible. Since she stepped into her teens it had always been thus.

It must have been the intensity of his gaze, the hopeless yearning, that drew her glance to him. Their eyes met a few times. She smiled to herself, pitying the earnest-looking man who kept ogling her from the corner. She was used to this, but it was unusual that she felt no irritation. He didn`t seem to be stripping her with his eyes.

A few days later he saw her at the public library, poring over some old newspapers. With a thousand mice scurrying up and down his spine he moved swiftly to occupy the vacant chair opposite her, holding a randomly-picked-up magazine, waiting for her to look up. That was possibly the boldest step he had consciously taken so far in his life …… if one discounted throwing stones at a mongrel which had once chased him on the way back from school . Faint hearts never won fair ladies !

The wide-eyed stare was familiar, and she didn`t have much trouble recollecting when he clumsily introduced himself. He suggested a coffee in the garden-café. She cursed her luck, but was too polite to refuse without a good reason. She searched, but couldn`t find one.

Sitting amongst the giant trees and flower beds she stared despairingly at the cracked sunmica table top, uncomfortable with the oppressive silence and his surreptitious darting glances. With a sinking feeling she offered up a desperate prayer, “Oh God, get me out of this, please”.

Obviously nervous, avoiding direct eye-contact, he looked increasingly distraught as neither found anything to talk about. The silence intensified, and so did his desperation. His mind had gone blank. Life was about to pass him by again.

She was startled when he screechily summoned the waiter, voice cracking with tension. "Could you get me some salt, please ………. for my coffee ? "

Everyone within earshot stared. The dazed waiter looked on disbelievingly as he stirred a heaped spoonful of salt into his black coffee. It was so strange! Red-faced at the unaccustomed attention he sipped his salted-coffee, wishing he could drown in it.

She was curious. “ Do you really like it ?”

His reply was halting, hesitant. " I spent my childhood, boyhood …. the best years of my life .. near the sea. I`d be in the water for hours, and whole days on the beach. Built sand-castles for the waves to flatten. Came home, my hair wet with spray, tasting the salt on my lips.”

He appeared to be hunting for words. “I was always a loner. But the sea was my friend. It never let me feel lonely. Salted coffee reminds me of the sea. Takes me back to my childhood, my hometown, my parents”.

There was a short brooding silence. He looked up at her, eyes glistening with emotion. The words came out huskily - a cry of pain, a plea for help. “They still live there. I miss them. Oh, I miss them so much ! “

She was moved by the intensity of his emotions, and marvelled at the simplicity with which he had opened himself up to a complete stranger. A grown man, unembarassed to admit being home-sick. So much feeling, so much love …. . There had to be a lot of good in a man who felt this way.

Memories of things, people, places … some she thought she had forgotten …. came flooding back. For the first time in years she talked of home, family and a sordid childhood, unlocking a chapter of her life she had willed herself to forget. Old perceptions changed as she looked back. Faces and feelings released from the dungeons of her mind came back in a flood of bittersweet memories. She rediscovered myriad moments of love and beauty in the years which had till then seemed full of hate and ugliness. And she spoke on, savouring the nostalgia of those lost years.

The shadows lengthened and melted into the deepening dusk. The garden lights came on. They exchanged reminiscences - one who had never forgotten, and the other who had just remembered. They journeyed down memory lane, coccooned in separate stories, but sharing the moment, each a catalyst for the other.

That evening marked the beginning of their story. They kept on meeting. She discovered endearing qualities about him and looked forward to their meetings. Funny how she`d never noticed it before, but he actually looked quite pleasant. He was different from the normal run of men - tolerant, warm-hearted, good-humoured, never irritated. But one thing he lacked was confidence.

So she was the one who proposed.

They made an odd couple. Though not quite “Beauty and the Beast”, the consensus went in favour of “ the Monkey and the Pearl ”. But they were deliriously happy. The secret of happiness is not to expect too much of it. They didn`t. So they found it in abundance. Sitting cosily, arms around each other, ensconsed in the warmth of their togetherness, he thanked God for that evening. She thanked the Almighty for the salted coffee …… but for which she would have passed him by !

And she NEVER forgot to put salt in his coffee.

Their happiness knew no bounds. They had children, brought them up lovingly, gave them the best within their means, and lived in perfect harmony. They didn`t have too much of anything, but made the most of what they did. He was conscientous, both at home and at work, and had earned enough to be able to put away a little something for their old age.

After retirement they moved back to his hometown, restored the long-uninhabited ancestral cottage, reframed and hung his parents` portraits in the living room. He wanted everything the way they had been.

For her, too, it was a labour of love. Together they punctiliously recreated the ambience of his golden childhood years …… even the flower-beds in the front lawn. Once a year their children - now married, with children of their own - visited, and their hearts overflowed with joy. They lived for those weeks …….. the rest of the year was just one long wait.

He breathed his last a few months after celebrating the golden jubilee of their marriage. It was a brief illness, but the doctors said there was nothing to be done. He put his foot down, firmly refusing to be hospitalised. He`d like to go with the sea-breeze on his face, tasting the wind-blown spray on his lips. They accepted God`s will, and prepared for the end. He told her there was an envelope in the left-hand drawer of his writing-table , which she should open only after he was gone. It was of great importance to him.

A fortnight later he died the way he had always wanted to - the sound of the sea in his ears, head on her lap, surrounded by their children, grand-children and friends. His last family reunion !

It took her a long long time to come to terms with her grief and new-found loneliness. Then, one evening, she remembered the envelope. Written in his familiar neat hand, the letter said :

"My dearest ….. ,
When he gave me you, God gave me everything! I had nothing more to ask for, and I have never loved anyone or anything more than you. But today, as I approach the sunset of my life, I realise I will not be able to die in peace unless I tell you the truth.
I lied to you once, and I`ve lived the lie throughout my life. Remember the first time we met? The salt in my coffee ? For me it was love at first sight, and I was so nervous and tongue-tied. I actually wanted sugar, but got all mixed up and asked for salt. I didn`t want to look stupid in front of you, and was afraid you`d laugh at me if I admitted the mistake. So I just went ahead and drank the coffee. It tasted terrible.But I went through with it knowing that I wasn`t likely to see you ever again.
Every word of what I told you about missing my parents, my hometown and the sea was true. But “salted coffee” never had anything to do with it. That was the lie.
Many times I tried to tell you, but I was afraid of hurting you. You were so ritualistic about the salt that I couldn`t bring myself to disappoint you. It would somehow have been wrong to take that away from you. But I couldn`t bear the thought of going without ever letting you know the truth. Now, with death staring me in the face, I have found the courage. I don't like salted coffee. I never have. Its horrible. But I`ve had it all my life - and pretended to like it - only because I didn`t want you to feel hurt or cheated. I loved you too much to be able to do that. Beloved, forgive me, please.
You have been God`s greatest gift to me, and I pray that we may be together in every birth. I swear by all that is holy, if I can only be with you I will gladly drink salted coffee for eternity.
Your ever-loving husband …. “

The paper was soggy and blotched with her tears by the time she had finished reading and re-reading the letter.

Some months later, at a social gathering, someone asked her what salted coffee tasted like.
“It's sweet “, she replied. “Very sweet”.

(by Uditendu Dutt-Mazumdar )