Before me the Arabian Sea, or Sindhu Sagar, as the Indians call it. Blue, calm, mysterious. I had a first glimpse of this sea, with its promises of Orient, of spices, of gold and bare-breasted women, from the beaches of Beira, in far-off Africa, at the end of a short but traumatic trip across Mozambique from Zimbabwe, a tale that was lost, with all my luggage & possessions, to the quick able hands of some African thief. As I swam in those rough waters, that day, I looked to the horizon and I knew India was there, waiting form me somewhere in the future, and that one day I would be looking back, smiling, with a bright hot sun in my eyes. I see the swift boats, made of hollowed-out trunks of heavy tropical hardwood with their felucca-like sails coming in with their nets full of shining silver fish. And if I close my eyes I can see the pirates, and Arabian ships with their cargo of gold & slaves on their way to Muscat, to trade for dates and carpets, caravans of the sea, criss-crossing the desert of water. And for a moment I am a sailor, tasting the salt-water in my eyes, sailing over centuries of storms, and battles, and dreams.
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