The atmosphere was as still as that of a graveyard. The man sitting beside the tree with a pole in his hand was as motionless as a statue. The bidi (local cigarette) at his lips was almost finished and the flame was about to burn his lips. He , however, seemed to be too absorbed in his work to notice it . His grip on the pole was steady and strong, his eyes fixed on the float over the water, but his mind was underneath the water. He could feel what was happening there quite clearly. Small bites were inadequate. He was waiting for an unlucky fish to swallow the bait. He shouldn’t get too impatient or else he would lose his luck. When he felt the pull, his hands became heavy. He could feel his prey gulping the bait. With in a flash of a second his eyes, mind and hand turn into one. Through a flick of his hand and his reward would be in his basket.
This was just a dramatic pretrial of fishing which was my favorite childhood hobby . Nothing had given me more satisfaction and enthusiasms than going to the lakes and ponds in our neighborhood and coming back with my a bucket full of fishes. With my obsession with fishes, I should say that I am blessed to be born in a village that lies between the Arabian sea in the west and a canal called Canoli Canal in the east . Moreover, my village is packed with plenty of small and large ponds. I believe I inherited my fishing gene from my father. I grew up hearing his stories of expedition to the near and far lakes and ponds. But I should say that my father is more interested in seeing the fish in his plate rather than in the ponds. A strong lover of fish diets and a devoted patron of fishing, I used to joke saying that the fisher men in our area had two “Chaakara”(a particular marine phenomenon in which a large number of fish and prawns throng together during a particular season ), one at the time of actual chaakara and the other when my father comes home from Middle East . The the fish vendors would bring rare and big fishes especially for us knowing that my father would buy them at any cost.
My childhood is replete with fishing memories .When I return from my fishing adventures in the nearby ponds in the evenings, I remember my late grandma asking me “What is your catch today, shall I heat the pot for curry" .Though I know that my meager catches would never make up for the day's dish , I felt an inexplicable pride when my catch was cooked .It was my grandmother's way of encouraging my hobbies. We used to keep special fish traps called “kuruthi” at junctions between two water bodies so that when the fish swim against the flow they would be trapped in it. My mother had bought a kuruthi at my request. These had to be kept in the water at night so that in the early morning next day we could reap our reward . My father used to tell us how ineffable his feelings were when he used to lift up the fish trap full of live fishes especially prawns. My mom and I used to wake up early in the morning to check it. She used to say that I used to wake up on her first call itself during those days. I wondered in those days that even amidst all household chores my mom found time to accompany me to lift the trap. I even suspected it to be a plot to wake me up early on time which I suppose is the most tedious task my mom had to undertake while bringing me up. Now it is done quite enjoyably and efficiently by my better-half.
We have a pond in front of our house. We usually have small fishes in it. But since it was a safe ground we used to try our luck in it too. One evening I and my brother was fishing. It was a boring day with nothing in our basket. As I was frustrated with the waiting period , I handed the fishing pole over to my brother Munib .I was about to leave the place when with much of commotion my brother pulled off a large fish called “Pilathan”, about two feet long weighing one KG with silver skin . I had never seen something so beautiful. He even found it difficult to get it ashore. So I assisted him to pull it up. I was more remorseful and sad for loosing the chance to catch such a fish . I felt that being elder and more experienced than my brother I should have got the prize fish. Everybody was praising my brother and he was the hero of the day. I should admit that out of my jealousy I stressed the part where I had to pull up the fish ashore as my brother was weaker than me. To whomever I told the story I twisted the event to to look like that it was me who caught the fish and not my brother But it taught me the importance of patience in any work you do and the need to fight till the end.
I had got the chance to go fishing with my father when I was studying in Class IX in Doha when our family moved to Qatar for the second time. There we used the costly fishing rod to fish in the bay close to corniche .Once I was there with my father and brother when we caught a long fish “Kolaan”, but unfortunately the twine snapped and the fish was swimming afloat and jumping on the surface in front of us. The next thing I saw was my father jumping into the water. I and my brother were shocked. People gathered around to see what my father was up to. We were afraid since we had heard stories of people attacked by sharks .But the fish swam away with the hook and the broken thread in its mouth and to our relief father returned ashore safely.
In our area we have large ponds. Catching the fishes in these ponds was almost considered as festive occasions. All the local people used to gather to enjoy it. Experts in catching fresh water fishes from far places are invited to entertain the people. Large pumping machines are used to pump the water out of the pond after which the mud is removed manually using bamboo baskets and metal buckets tied on both sides to strings. With local folks songs on their lips, the workers clean up the mud from the ponds while others begin catching the fishes from the mud. Our ponds were full of cat fishes .They have stings on both sides .Stings from them were extremely painful. There were many local remedies to relieve the pain like reversing the cigarette and blowing smoke into the wound and urinating over the wound. For many years I used to urinate immediately after getting stung, not knowing that I had to urinate over my wound. No wonder I didn’t have any relief of pain.
Everyone has their favorite childhood sports. When we sleep at night our mind would be let lose in a fairyland where we would be constantly in touch with our day’s ventures. We would close our eyes just to open them for a new day where we can jump into the fresh air, race in the ponds and puddles, run in the dirt and mud and return home in the evening with nothing but scratches and wounds to show. Looking at today’s children huddled into their computers and video games, one very often wonders whether they ever know the smell of nature? Do they ever have time to inhale the fresh air?
By the eldest son
