First off, a few facts. This could be embarrassing. Not for you, but for the people involved. That is, me, three of my closest friends, and the cops who came to our rescue. Second, the names have been changed, not to protect identities, but merely to save this writer from a beating. After all, even close friends have varying levels of tolerance. And third, contrary to popular belief, skinny-dipping is not an activity restricted to the big, bad West alone. I hope, with all my heart, my mother doesn't find this page. She's Net-savvy, which can be a disadvantage at times like these. This happened years ago. When we were young. When life comprised flings at college, wild partying, reckless driving, and truth or dare. When none of our group of five would think twice about defying parents and heading off into another night of uninhibited dancing. When the word inhibition had absolutely no place in our vocabulary or demeanour. Of all those many nights, however, the one I think about most is the one I choose to write about now. It was June, I think. One of those cool, clear nights soon after exams, when the world seemed a good place to hang out in. We had just finished partying somewhere at Aksa beach, dragging ourselves out and struggling to keep our eyes on the road. It was around 2am, and there were no signs of human existence as far as we could see. Half-asleep in Tarun's Maruti Omni, Deep Purple doing Highway Star on the music system, it was a perfect end to one heck of a tiring day. Or so we thought, until Karan came up with the idea. "Why go home? I wanna go for a swim." The van screeched to a stop, as we contemplated the idea. Suddenly awake, we grinned. The van swung promptly around, moving towards a desolate stretch of beach between Aksa and Arengal, colloquially called Dana Pani or Blue Ballerina after two restaurants built in the vicinity. It was around 3am. There were no lights, just a full moon above and the limitless sea stretching and glistening below. We parked, jumped off the six-foot-high embankment, and touched sand. Minutes later, we were in the water, yelling at the top of our voices, our clothes spread messily somewhere on a number of rocks. Then, we saw them. Headlights. At 3.15am, it could be no one but the police. Thinking of all our many gods at once, we prayed they would drive on. But the gods let us down. The van stopped, right next to our own. Then there were torchlights flashing in all directions. We were caught in a matter of minutes, with our pants down. Literally. All except Anish, that is, who couldn't find his underwear. A tragedy, yes, but true. Cross my heart. The four of us were hauled up, dripping, shivering. It wasn't the cold. There were five of them, all carrying powerful torches that they now used to examine us. We stood with our backs to the sea, fully clothed by now, but wet and uncomfortable. "Where's the woman," one of them asked. "What woman?" I returned. "The one you guys were with on the beach." I thought he was joking, till he yelled. "Where is she?" We all began speaking at once, then. "No woman, saheb," "We are college students, saheb," "We come from decent family, saheb," "Only our friend is there, saheb...." At this point in time, we heard swearing. All eyes turned. The torches found Anish, wet, clad only in his white jockeys. It was a moment he will never forget. Nor, for that matter, will we. So this was our 'woman' then. The cops looked at each other, smiled, then laughed out loud, and gave us five minutes to get out as quickly as possible. We decided to obey at once. The rest jumped into the van, Tarun raring to drive off as if his life depended on it. But I stayed back. In the rush, I had left my shorts on the beach, and stood trembling in my jeans trying to locate them in the inky blackness below. They all groaned. "Not now!" "How could you?" "Are you nuts?" "Can't you buy new shorts?" "Here, use mine..." I heard them all out, grimacing with disgust at the last suggestion. Engrossed in our petty argument, we didn't hear a thing until headlights shone, again. The cops were back. Why were we still there? "My shorts, saheb," I told the head constable. "They're down there somewhere." Shaking his head, he then did what I never thought a policeman would, ever. Bringing out his powerful torch, he started flashing the rocks in slow sweeps. "Look hard," he said, in pure Marathi. "Is that it?" Minutes later, it was found... a small white patch on slabs of black rock. They left, for the second time that night, leaving us to our resources and me to my shorts. Fifteen minutes later, we were back on the path leading away from Aksa on to Marve Road. A familiar blue van lay parked on the other side, while we drove past quickly. Three of the cops standing outside gave us an unmistakable wave. We waved back. For a minute or two, none of us spoke. Then, we shrieked with laughter. We learned a number of lessons that night; ones we continue to believe in. Cops can be human beings, too. And yes, when they're not hunting down crazed criminals, they really can have a sense of humour. Lindsay Pereira hasn't skinny-dipped since that fateful night! Illustration: Dominic Xavier Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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