By the Beach

The Barnacle Geese

After the morning routine, Damayanti sat by the window, silently sipping on her liquorice and spearmint tea, watching the ripples of the Baltic Sea touch the cove...her eyes casually travelling to the string of beach igloos. "That's quite a fad, and good reason for tourists to flock to these parts", Martin had reminded her before she arrived. "Crime rates are low, Don't get conspicuous down there. Don't go for your morning Tai chi by the beach. You are sure to get a lot of unwanted attention". And they had laughed.

Staying invisible has never been Damayanti's problem. She could disappear in a near-empty room, merging seamlessly with the furniture. She loves that. Beavering on, acknowledged, but not expected to wear a black dress and drink Liber Pater with the Prime Minister. This part of Helsinki is perfect for that. Shadowing the who's who in world politics, in this tucked-away part of the city.

Damayanti settles herself on an open balcony, overlooking the cove, keeping her eye out for a lone dog-walker, the kid on an orange bike, the elderly couple sauntering to the bench, the toddler impatiently waiting for the ice-cream kiosk to open...

"What makes you do, what you do?" Nayantara, a close friend had asked her once. "Does it bring you money or fame, or adventure that you are after?" None of these three, Damayanti knew. It is this relentless bee in her bonnet to maintain the status-quo. For one last time.

Helen had taken her to the Science Museum once, for a talk by Odele Coddington on solar winds. It made a 20-something Damayanti, way back in the early 2000s, realise for the umpteenth time of things beyond her control, And that made her stick to her job more...a space where she felt she was in charge.

Her reverie suddenly disrupted by a sharp bark from a Peekapoo, Damayanti reaches for her phone, as she waits, realising how waiting is most of what she does. Beyond the admin, beyond the desk work, beyond the Glock 17.

This morning, before getting drowned in paperwork, it is simply waiting to call Ma; to ask how the doctor's appointment went, how the plumbing issue in the kitchen got fixed, or didin't...

Before she knows it, the sea of paper work and interviews are done. The probing, the questioning, the decoding, and the chats are all over. And it is evening already.

Damayanti sits by the beach, intently watching a family of Barnacle Geese that have flown to these parts, probably all the way from the Arctic. They are sunning on a patch of leftover evening sunshine. It makes Damayanti aware, yet again, of her migratory nature. Of the fact that she has no fixed address either....working for the status quo by her watch.