Punch it
When the tide goes out, you can walk across the dry bed of the Gomti river at Dwarka. By the ghats at the mouth of the river 1,000s flock everyday to offer prayer; I’m here to offer something else to the river. An 18 foot long kayak with a kayaker on a mission. The mission is kayaking from this sleepy town on the Western tip of India all the way to the Southern tip, Kanyakumari. Over sea, 3,000kms across 6 states, relying solely on human power and sheer will.
It’s 17th November and by 8 am I am on the banks with my kayak and the cycle that my girlfriend, Shanjali will use to cycle the same distance. We’ve finally got a green light to taking to the water and the commander of the Coast Guard at Okha, Cdr. Harish More is here to see me off himself. As he wishes me good luck and provides welcome advice on the coast in these parts, I’m brimming with energy. I need to get this kayak wet and start on this epic adventure. Three days of running from desk to desk securing last minute clearances, 2 days of driving 1200kms with all my gear and 6 months of planning have led me to this moment. By 8:30 the tide is high and the river is awash with sea water and praying tourists alike; both curious about my vessel and I.
Mom mandates a last minute prayer and shortly after, armed with a red ‘teeka’, I can now take to the water. Two people take my kayak down to the water, but are afraid of putting it in. Cops don’t let people enter the water when the sea is coming in this strong. The waves at the mouth of the river provide an influx and outflux that has this river moving in both directions, slapping along the sides of the ghat, climbing almost half a metre at places. I’m mostly measuring my heart. I kiss Shanjali a quick goodbye and jump in. Butt in first, legs across the kayak and then into the cockpit; I paddle my first strokes in almost a year. The swaying of the crystal clear green water is constant but I’m loving it.
I’m about to cast off and make for the mouth of the river, when I hear my mom call out for me to wait. ‘The coconut. The coconut!’. Absurd of me to think this trip would start without me offering a coconut to the gods. I parry back toward shore as my dad tosses the ceremonial coconut at me. If it had fallen in, I would have already gotten off to a great start. But I scoop it up mid air, open my kayak skirt and tuck it safely inside. I look back and wave at the crowd gathered.
I paddle slowly for the mouth of the river where so far the waves have been coming in calmly. In my eagerness I haven’t secured the kayak skirt; half thinking I’d like to toss the coconut grating against the inside of my kayak. That’s when I see it. A wave building up. It starts from the left mouth of the river and as a line starts forming right across the length of the river. On land, my parents tell me later, people started gasping and ‘oh’-ing. I’m too committed to this exit to turn back and trying to escape it is futile. At two metres high, it’s going to tower over me sitting on the water’s surface. As the white tops start forming, I don’t have time to secure my kayak skirt, the only thing keeping the water out of my kayak. I paddle furiously straight at the wave and brace for impact.
Boom. A truck of November-cold sea water slaps my face & torso. My kayak cuts through it, but the absence of the skirt means I’ve taken on a good 10–15 litres of water. My cap has come off and my glares have been cast aside like a hurricane would a loose twig on a dying tree. The coconut is swimming in my lap, and every inch of me is wet and salty. I exhult, wiping the water off my face. But no sooner than I’ve woken up, I see the sea forming again.
Back on land, people applaud and just as quickly turn back to fear as they see the second wave build, more furious than the first. The boat of the local scuba diving club cowers for cover by the side of the river, but for me, standing bang in the middle, there is just one way out — Forward. So I thrust my paddle in again and paddle hard. Again it comes at me and again I meet it. The wave a good metre or two above my own head. Cold salty water like the first, but twice the strength. Just as I feel I’m going backwards, I punch out of it. In the clear. I quickly paddle a short distance to be clear of any other forming waves, but that is it. I’m through. The sea’s welcome. An apt start.
It’s day 1 at Dwarka and I have 82 more to go.
