Deep down, deep dive

Navigating fear in the waters of Puerto Rico

Warm afternoons are back in Gurgaon. Teacups have become harder to hold at length. Little bougainvillea flowers have started waking up on the side wall, and if all goes well, they will be in full bloom for Spring to qualify. Last week, we had reached the stage where Badi Mumma sits in the sun with only one cardigan on. Since she always wears her pocket sweater under her non-pocket one, this has made it easier to access the small iPhone 6 on which she presses ‘play’ and ‘pause’ buttons for Sukhmani Sahib, her early afternoon recitation. This week, she started going into the veranda for the sun, and ended up sitting in the shade instead. Last week, we also had a Tea and Tales meet up and offline book sale at Khwaabghar, which benefited a great deal from the soothing cold.

In the last edition of the newsletter, I had promised you all a series on delightful moments and experiences which have set my feminist body free in a patriarchal world, or at the very least, allowed it to laugh. This is as much for me to remember as it is for you to read. It is an attempt to fulfil the promise I know I made to myself at each of these occasions- “My god, I must write this down, so that I don’t forget how it feels!”. So, here’s to the first one of these promises.

Plunge

The last time I took a flight long enough to indulge myself was also the longest flight I ever took. In February 2020, I travelled to Puerto Rico for work, an ‘unincorporated territory’ of the United States. This was to attend the brilliant Feedback Labs summit of 2020 to be held in the capital city of San Juan. Travelling to this country from Delhi is so uncommon, that the airline authorities sincerely believed I had showed up without a valid visa, the visa to the United States. The staff was so confused, that I had to google Puerto Rico’s political status and explain to them why a US visa was required to enter a separate ‘country’. Given my inherited, non-white, postcolonial terror of territories, I almost believed I was wrong. Anyway, short trip long, I made it to the capital city of San Juan after what felt like 5 days of travel.

I must confess, this had not even made it to the most ambitious of my bucket lists. Before leaving for San Juan, I had spent hours on my laptop, walking the yellow Google Maps bot in the streets I was shortly going to be navigating on foot. I had memorised the map of the old city, picked up phrases of Spanish for easy movement, researched their best hotels and food, and read San Juan: Memoir of a City cover to cover. The first time I saw the old city of San Juan, I was a woman in love. I walked the length and breadth of the streets, bumping into the same intersections, squares, pharmacies, and lanes over and over. Despite being a tea and kebabs person myself, I relished their coffee without milk, and fish tacos, and circled in reverence the cafe that invented Pina Colada. I stayed in what is easily the most beautiful inn I have ever seen or lived in, a restored sculptor’s heaven: The Gallery Inn. 

The city in which every street leads to the sea. Sometimes both ways.

I see this becoming a “everything was so great and here’s where you should eat” travel blog. As much as I would love that, let me shift gears here. I gathered the courage of stepping into the old city after 2 days of locking myself up, working remotely inside a very commercial new city hotel, video calling my sister in Toronto, and family in Delhi to cover all time zones. On the first day, I managed to eat breakfast during the rush hour, and walk as far as the nearest cafe for dinner. On the second day, I sat by the hotel pool in a city by the sea, in a country made up of islands. On the third day, I decided this fear and hesitation was absurd and headed out. I walked through the city, moved into the Gallery Inn for the rest of my stay, ate hummus pizza courtesy Stephen at La Masa Pizzeria Conceptual and let the Google Maps imagination unfold under my feet until I hit the sea. Repeatedly. 

While making a day wise list of activities I hoped to accomplish when I reached, I had chanced upon something so beautiful, I could hardly believe my luck in being able to witness it. Puerto Rico has three of the world's five bioluminescent bays, which look like northern lights in water. Okay, I haven’t seen northern lights, but THAT is on the top of my bucket list. Anyhow, parts of the seas in Puerto Rico are home to tiny organisms which glow when the water moves. Unfortunately, this isn’t exactly a beach phenomenon, and one should ideally be deeper into the ocean on a waning moon night to witness it in its full glory. After finding the nearest bay to the capital, I had called, emailed, and texted multiple travel agencies to confirm if a non-swimmer could hop on to their tour, which involved diving into the Atlantic Ocean with a life jacket, and move vigorously to make the water glow. They had all said yes. I told them I had scolded trusted friends for letting go of my hand on Goa beaches, when the water was only upto my calves. They still said yes.

At around 3:30pm on 24 February 2020, I took a cab to the tiny coastal town of Fajardo, determined to watch from the boat as my co-passengers wiggled in the water. After all, I only wanted to see the water glow, and had no interest in having a panic attack in the deep ocean on a waning moon night. With no cameras good enough to capture what we were about to witness, my only shot at remembering this was to watch with all my senses. Our guide on the tour had been nice enough to bring buckets of water from the sea onto the boat for me to splash, but he reminded me of how far I had come for this. By 8pm on the same day, I walked out of the boat dripping sea salt, with tiny organisms waking up ablaze as if from deep sleep on the neck of my T-shirt. In the hours between 3:30 and 8, I had jumped into the water wearing a life jacket filled with the confidence of everyone who had worn it before me. I had walked on a sand path flanked with mangroves in the middle of the ocean. I had taken the plunge, and ceased to occupy the poolside in a city by the sea, in a country made up of tiny islands.

In the days that followed, I also ended up a few miles away from one of the deepest points on Earth, the Puerto Rican trench. I can’t remember how many miles it was, but that the distance could casually be uttered in conversation on a boat ride, was enough. I had asked our guide what would happen to the glowing organisms if someone took a bottle of water away to preserve. “They would smell real bad.” We had all laughed.

I have no pictures from the final dive where we saw the water glow. I don’t remember the first wave of panic when the water swallowed my chest. I don’t even remember climbing back onto the boat and making it to the shore. What does remain clear as day is the long moment when the bacteria glowed all over me, the distance I travelled away from the boat, and that I made it back. Repeatedly. So that’s what it was going to be- noisy splashes of dark water, two minutes of glowing swimsuits, and a plunge away from fear, hesitation, and swimming rules, caught in the whirlpool of time.

Floating in the Atlantic.

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Khwaabghar Book Sales

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to check out the Khwaabghar Book sale running online, and do share ahead with your bibliophile friends!