the beach-house

Sometimes I wonder, if all the amazing romanticism of mine were for trash. Relationships are effervescent, how long can I hold onto it. You know, its like you are shaping your dream on the sand too close to the waters, cause its only there the sand is wet. Of course, that is because the waves sweep there.

“So you see, if you put a little thought, you might be able to build a sand-house that lasts longer”


“By applying your thought, son”

Just a moment before I was willing to trade him in as my gradpa for the stern-looking photograph hanging right in our dinning space. But then, may be all old men are as vague as my own granpa.

There, my sisters have already built their huge mansion, and oh……its gone. They started all over again…

That moment I decided to build my home farther. Farther for the waves to stretch themselves but only occasionally and so mildly to wet enough. My brothers came along, they wanted to be part of it. I said no, it was my deal.

I waited for half-an-hour to see the vigour of the waves, the level of water that touches my area. And then I gathered sand to level it just above the water level. That was the foundation I laid. Then I shaped my dream above it, giving it a rugged fort like look.

After an hour, satisfied, I looked around for the old man. And at that moment, one of those irregular waves marooned my high-laying plateau. It barely touched the walls of my house. Part of the pateau i created was smoothered, but I knew my house was secure at least untill a tide late night. That was the “testing” I thought.

Then a heard cheerful screaming of my sisters. When the wave receded they were celebrating their house being washed away. I ran upto them, it seems it looked better that way. And then another small wave, and a wave of laughter again. Before it recedes completely, another wave came marching with full strength. But they were screaming, look at this, it looks like a boat house. And in a minute the boat was drowned. It was fun, they claimed and moved on.

I returned to my pride creation. I dont exactly remember, if to guard it, or take pride in it. Waves barely touched the base, leaving the house intact. Soon I was bored.

I returned to my brothers. They have built their house farther away from water. They have carried wet sand there, and built the house on the on the dry part of the beach. They had put a red cloth and some wild flowers and few rice grains to make it look like some kind of worshiped place. They had also placed some nails in the sand in case some miscreant doesn’t care and tramples it.

” We just applied our thought to make a house that lasts long”

“Did the old man tell you to do that”

“What old man ?”

Then we chased the ball my father kicked.

When the sun was about to set, we walked into the water.Holding our hands we went farther into till the water touches our pants-rolled-up. My mother cried out and sent out my father. He came and stood with us charmed by the orange waters and orange sky. He called out everyone. We had to move back a little, we still felt the water high above our knees.

And we were standing forming a human chain, all nine of us, looking at the setting sun. Saying Goodbye. It was an amazing sight, there wasnt a figment of cloud. The only thing that ruled the sky was the sun. Yet it was going down, its time has come calling. It riped along the way down dipping into the waters at the other end. And the blue sea was turning its color, keeping up with it slowly reddish. It went on adding colors till it went dark.

Before going back, me and my brothers peed on their sacred house. I had not thought what to do with mine, but as we turned around the waves had already taken care of it.

On our way back, in the van, we were arguing whose was the best. My mother said, there was not one best. All were equally well, but for different reasons. Its so typical, we jeered.

But now I understand, there isnt any best in real life. Everything is situational, relative. Even relationships.

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