Women at leisure

 We walk in hand in hand. It is an assurance and a silent promise- that we shall shield each other and be each others' crutch. 

The crowds are huge, but they no longer feel threatening. 

We feel the occasional judgemental eyes, but a slight squeeze of the hand lends the spring and sureity to my steps. We walk in, determined to breathe in the sweet harmony of community that enfuses in the beach air, without any emotional toll and taxes. 

Once inside, we stroll through the shore and then settle into a cozy spot, imbibing the huge calm exuded by the sea. 

She takes her notebook and begin sketching a rarity she spots- 3 women, very likely in their 40s, without the usual accompaniments of a husband and a couple of kids. 

This demanded my attention. I kept staring at them, hoping to partake in some of their lives through serendipity. I see them laugh, loud tinkles that might perhaps have made the constant background music of their lives, had the circumstances been different. Their chats have familiar tones, families, jobs, children- lives subsumed by familiar concerns. The talk then turns sober- the trials of their lives turn out to be grossly unequal, the intensity of some problems pale in comparison to others. There are stray tears that, in the beach air, lend the eerie chill that pervades their life. There are advices, reassurances and promises of support extended. The hands are held even more tightly. They turn to sea in comfort. The tumultous waves mirror the waves of grief crashing their shores- expanding in hope of a different life, crashing like that hope shattered.

Slowly smiles dawn. The credit is due to an unassuming camera. One of them wants to document and lend permanence to their small rebellion, a taste of freedom otherwise inaccessible to the billions of their other sisters. 

The camera flashes in succession. The memory and the assurance from their sisterhood form a stronger impression than any digital proof of their little trip.

They make their way to the numerous eateries that dot the beach. I see them laugh again at their small clumsiness, savour the taste of the bajji and sip the tea, once again at ease with their personhoods and expectations from it. 

The sun was setting, i assumed they were planning their return to their homes, those ironical cocoons of safety, that very often violate their personalities. 

I eavesdropped again. They were planning alright, but they were discussing fastest routes and cheapest hotels, smiles brighter than the radiance of the full moon. 

I see them walk away towards their freedom, and turn back to the sea. 

The waters seemed to reflect those women, how easily I dismissed their trials as routine initially, but with a closer gaze, how their depths revealed itself to me. 

The spread of the waves seemed to hint at the inifinite hands holding each other up and through- a promise of steadying support through each crash, a loud peal of cheer through each swell.