My fishy stories

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