The River

The river near-by, is less than a mile away. I used to go there in the very first semester that I came here after discovering it by accident, while out on a long and winding walk. I would have found it anyway. It is hard to miss. I've kept going back there - through magical times, good times and other times and it's seen me many-a-times and in many-a-mood, and over too many years. I think it's fair to say we have an understanding of sorts. It's there where I went again.

I've claimed a spot for myself.

Somewhat hidden, dipping down the banks into the edge of the river. Off from the main trail. I tramp over some soft sand, half-slide down the slope of the bank, and find a place to sit. It is quiet here. I settle my bag. There is an odd shaped mound of concrete. I don't know its purpose. It slopes and it too is broken, here and there, like so many other things including the bank. It is right next to the river bank of sand and pebbles and loose soil. The concrete slab disappears when there is a flood. I move away from it and go down closer to the river. I sit there on the sand. I look and I can hear. The breeze - it rustles through the trees. The sudden wind gusts through. The water rustles. It rustles over pebbles and the stones and the rocks. There are soft splashes as big fish jump out of the water and leap back in. The sunlight reflects off the surface of the ripples. The ripples are radiant. I close my eyes for a second. The sounds rush through. The murmur of the river. The murmur of the breeze playing lazily with the ripples, and the water lapping against the shore, against the bank of sand, and over the pebbles and the rocks. I smile and open my eyes.

The trees on the bank opposite cast their reflection on the ripples. I used to go to the other side at one point, especially when the river was very low. The bank on the other side merges with the river and one can sit very close to the waters and walk along the sandy and "shrub-y" stretch for a while. I was looking at those banks now from this side. It wasn't the same spot - not even close - but I was wondering what it was like on the other side. I had to chuckle at the thought. Were there people a bit like me with more courage and initiative who made boats or rafts to go exploring? I could only sit on this side, looking at the pulling currents and wonder what lay beyond that particular stretch of the forest on that side.

It's awfully peaceful here. One can sit and sit and smoke quietly, and drink some coffee. I know I could. I don't think any brilliant idea would come, no matter how long I sat - sad that - I'd probably grow woollier in the head and forget almost altogether how to communicate with people but I could sit and sit. Sometimes it's nice to think about somewhat more pleasant what-ifs while sitting near that bit of the river or not think at all - which is very difficult.

Maybe I am somewhat of a "regular" misfit - not good enough to be a rebel with a cause and please some non-normal folks and neither normal enough to fit in placidly and smilingly and normally. Maybe that's part the reason that I sometimes dream of living in the middle of some forest with a waterfall. I'm sometimes more wary of human beings than of wildlife of the raccoon and the wildcat sort. Bears, I'm not so sure about. I don't particularly want to meet them face-to-face and I hardly think I'd be living somewhere where there might be any mountain lions left. This is not the 'more pleasant' what-if though...

Thoughts come in and leave only to return when I'm looking and listening. The sun shifts. The ripples glow silver and gold. The reflections of the trees grow longer. In my head I can see masterpieces of paintings of golden green trees falling into the rippling river. A couple of songs play in my head...I do give one a try. But there's the gruff hiss followed by the flat note. I can hear it perfectly well in my head though. How can it not come out the way I hear it? What breaks down between a tune in the mind and it being released by the vocal chords, I wonder. I chuckle in the breeze and shake my head.

There's a silent long-legged graceful heron flying almost slow-motion over the river. A noisy and heavy duck on the other hand arrives not a second later, making that strange desolate gawking that those ungainly ducks do, swoops down and skims the surface of the river and starts 'sailing' along and bobbing up and down at top speed - still gawking away and rather frantically. Another heron and another duck join the graceful and the rather frantic. Some favourite dreams have been swirling around in the air, and for the time that I've been sitting there...

Now it's time to go.

I look down at the waves lapping the shoreline. The shoreline is deceptively safe. The slippery shore, however, takes no weight whatsoever. The waves are always a little cheeky just when I'm leaving. They sort of draw one in and before one knows it - one is splashing in the river, and trying to drag oneself up a slippery and slipping muddy slosh. I stay away this time wagging my finger while the cheerful innocuous little waves slosh teasingly near the banks, saying "Oh, wet your feet. Oh, wet your feet. Just wet your feet. You know you want to do it." I wag my finger again, saying "Oh, no. You got the better of me the other time. I know better now." "But you liked it. You liked it. It was exciting." So it was. I couldn't argue against that. "Yes, that it was but I don't want to slip all in again. And I nearly didn't get out." "Oh we'd spit you out. What would we do with you? Wet your feet. Wet your feet. You're wriggling your toes. You're wriggling your toes!" "Bye". I holler. "Cowardly custard." Say the waves. "I'll be back again." The waves have gone silent. "I'll be back again." I say a little softly this time, crouching near the shore-line, keeping a safe-distance... "Gmmfh." That's all I get in response. "Well I'll be back all the same!" So saying I let my fingers skim the waves, turn around and start climbing the river bank.

I walk back. I come back. I don't know what good the river walks/'sits' do for me. I have absolutely no idea. I don't see what would have changed in anyone's life if I were unable to go and sit beside and walk next to the river. I don't know what changes in my life with the sittings. I miss the river. I go to the river. The river calls to me. I go to the river. And I stay away sometimes till I run all the way to it. That's all I know.

P.S On some days the river doesn't want me near it. Some days ago, I went down to my spot. The river was heavy, sluggish, slow, stagnant, smelly, and scowling, and it shooed me away. There were hundreds of little flies/mosquitoes and I couldn't sit for more than ten seconds. I'm glad though in a way. That means, on other days the river does want my company, which is gratifying to know...

9/11/2010