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Writer's pictureVinay Payyapilly

Beach litter



The wind whipped around him like an invisible cloak. His hair flapped around like a black flame. In the horizon, the orange sun was in the final moments of a losing battle against the inevitable night that was to come. Two years ago, when he cashed in his shares and sold his home to move to Goa, people warned him that he would be bored to death before the end of the year. After two decades of being a successful part of the rat race, they said he would feel empty. But those dire predictions hadn’t yet come to pass. He still enjoyed waking up in his flimsy prefab shack to the sound of crashing waves outside his window. His book was almost done. Over the past week, he had reread it two times and he felt he could read it again. He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a long drink. At that moment a glint caught his eye. It was not the normal glint of light reflecting off the surface of the water. It was something shiny. Planting the bottle in the sand, he got up and went to check it out. As he made his way to the water’s edge, he was already cursing people who threw away their garbage into the ocean. Twice a day, once in the morning after breakfast and once in the evening after tea, he would walk along his bit of the beach and collect all the rubbish that washed ashore. He would put them in segregated garbage bags and keep them for the municipality garbage collectors.


The object was now on the shore. It was another bottle. When he picked it up, it wasn’t the usual beer bottle. Instead, this one had a cork and a rolled-up piece of paper inside it. Intrigued, he uncorked and slid out the roll.

An oil painting of a tender moment between mother and child. The mother is seen holding a toddled in her arms.

I miss you, mama

Where did you go?

Did you run to peace or to some other?

All your life was spent in service of us

Never complaining, never a fuss.

With quiet resignation you toiled

All your dreams and aspirations foiled.

In times of trouble and fear

You were a safe harbor.

Your bosom wide enough

To drown out all fears.

Your long, luscious, black hair

Strong enough to keep ghosts away.

Your kisses magically

Made pains disappear.

I miss you, mama

Where did you go?

Did you run to peace or to some other?

Remember the nights we cried to sleep

After dad, in a fit of rage, had beat?

Remember the afternoons of joy

When dad was away, and we were free?

Remember the misty mornings

Of winter when we huddled for warmth?

Remember how we danced in the rain

Letting it wash away our pain?

I miss you, mama

Where did you go?

Did you run to peace or to some other?

The flowers we pressed in my books

They drop out now and then like gentle kisses from you.

The last shirt you darned for me

I hug when sleep is hard to find.

The smell of Comfort I disliked

It clings to all my clothes now.

The taste of your sambar

Oh, the taste of your sambar!

I miss you, mama

Where did you go?

Did you run to peace or to some other?


He started to reread the poem. But it was getting dark. Picking up the empty bottle of beer and the bottle he found, he went back into his shack. Opening another beer, he sat down on a beanbag and reread the poem. Then he rolled it up again and slid it back into the bottle. Replacing the cork, he went back out. Winding his arm, he flung the bottle as far out as he could. For a while, he got brief flashes of light reflected on the bottle. The flashes got more distant and finally there was only the black ocean.


Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone.


“Hi mom”, he said.

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