THE LANGUAGE OF THE OCEAN
The wind lashed across my face, pulling my hair in different directions. As I tried my best to stop my tresses from going beserk, salty greasy water sprayed over my face, and I made an effort not to be disgusted at the taste it had to offer. I watched the waves tide. It had been quite sometime and I had gotten used to the incessant splashing noise. In fact I was quite oblivious to it. It seemed like everything was quiet. Silence. A different kind. Not the kind of a pregnant silence that would make you restless, or an oppressive suffocating one. This was silence in the true sense. Maybe that is the language of the ocean.
I could’nt help but wonder at the monotony that the ocean has to offer, but surprisingly it doesn’t seem to lessen my interest. The vast expanse of almost nothing seemed to envelope in a friendly hug. As if the entire universe wanted to embrace me. I felt at peace, and drowned myself in the caress of the ocean.
I lifted my eyes grudgingly away from the splendour of the waters, that twinkled like the ocean was laughing at my innocent and admiring eyes, I couldn’t help but look at the horizon. The variegated horizon, the thin line between the sky and the sea. It seemed to exert a stormy influence on the otherwise calm ocean. The sun peeped out, shyly, appearing as if it were to melt into the darkness.
The waves hit the rocks with a splash. It reminded me of a bubble that slowly forms, caustiously, judging its imminent fate, and then all of a sudden, it bursts, before I could take in its beauty. Aren’t most of our dreams like that? And it is the sound of the bubbling bursting or the tide collapsing and hitting the rocks that hurts the most. The poor bubble, little did it know that it was formed only to be burst. But still the ocean perseveres. It sends out more and more waves. Each one approaches the shore with a certain expectant silence and then suddenly whacks the rocks. Then the sea tries to recede, like it was hurt from the shock, trying to withdraw into its own shell, but nonetheless there is always another wave. The sea seems hesitant to let go and tries its level best to stick to the shore, but finally gives up and gracefully recedes. There is something so beautiful in the way it recedes, its like a diamond on failure's forehead. The numerous fine crystals of sand twinkle in frothy mirth, laughing at the futile attempts that the ocean makes to come in union with the shore.
Waves form in succession, break in succession. This happens everyday. The horizon never manages to dip into the ocean and the waters never reach the shore.
Knowing that you're almost there, just another step, but never reaching there. Because with consummation comes satisfaction, and it is satisfaction indeed that is the mother of all dissatisfaction. Keats once said in his poem, only those who have experienced sadness will know what happiness is. To extrapolate that, I guess only those who have failed and have experienced discontent can define success and satisfaction. The sight of the resplendent sun gracefully being engulfed by the calm and serene blue ocean surpasses any other in space and time. It’s a spectacle that will always leave me speechless.
