[Nish]

Synopsis: A story about being caught in two very different places.

NATALIE'S BEACH

I tell him to pick the one with a thin layer of cream. Their milk is usually sweeter.

He knocks on a few of them and bobbles his head gesturing that he has found just the perfect coconut for me. Satisfied with his discovery, he removes the knife and starts working on pealing it. His actions reveal that he is an amateur, lacking the finesse and dexterity of a veteran.

I notice that he is wearing black pants. I remember from my younger days that the coconut venders on this beach use to wear lungi, the traditional South Indian cotton cloth tied around the waist and wrapped in such a way that it resembles a Scottish Kilt. But now, all lungi wearing coconut venders seem to have disappeared. The beach of my childhood has changed.

He awkwardly props open the coconut and puts a straw in it for me. From his accent, I can tell he is a recent North Indian immigrant and had perhaps never even seen a coconut tree before he left his village and moved to this big city on the west coast. He seems to have figured out the mechanics of cracking open a coconut. He is yet to master the art.

Strangely enough, the coconut vendor on the beach reminds me of my first day at work in Orange County. A regular customer came charging to the counter. His body language and frame suggested he played Pro Football. He wanted no onions but extra pickles on his burger. I went blank. He lost his cool because I could not navigate through the cash register with the self-confidence of a veteran front-line fast-food cashier. “No onions and extra pickles, comprende?” I appeared Mexican to him. I guess he was in a hurry. I super sized his meal.

Randomly, a word pops into my head. Pinche Aladdin!

I always wondered why my Mexican coworkers at the burger joint called me Pinche Aladdin. It was only later, when Natalie told me, that I figured out what Pinche meant. She couldn’t stop laughing. And I am surprised I never felt offended. At both Natalie and my coworkers. I should have.

I look at the ocean as I sip the milk. Sheer Abundance. Tony Dyer’s audiotape starts running in my head. “The Universe only has abundance to offer you. Ask and you shall receive. Attract the perfect job. Attract the perfect mate. There is no scarcity. There is only abundance. An endless stream of Abundance. The question is, are you ready to receive abundance. Don’t go to the ocean of the universe with an eyedropper and then complain that you don’t have enough in your life. How many of you are with me on this? Say Aye…” I say Nay. It didn’t work with Natalie. She left me. I keep sucking on the straw. The milk seems to be endless.

The coconut in my hand now turns into a sourdough bread bowl filled with creamy clam chowder. I can smell the chowder. And I taste it. I am hungry for more now. I want a few raw oysters with horseradish sauce. The beach is slowly transforming.

Natalie once took me to a very special place. At the end of the pier, an oyster vender displayed his oysters on a slab of ice. Natalie looked at me in anticipation as I tried my first raw oyster with horseradish sauce. I loved it. Her skin glowed in the sun and I kissed her neck. She smiled and my heart went racing. The seagulls were screaming out of apparent joy.

But this is the wrong beach. Back to reality.

I look to the distance but the pier is missing. The boardwalk never existed here. The palm trees of my childhood that once lined this beach have been replaced with ugly, uniform looking, uninviting, concrete buildings.

The sun is about to set on this beach. It is covered with a sea of humanity. It's thanks-giving weekend frenzy on the beach. Mad rush. Kids playing cricket and running after kites. Out-of-towners fascinated by the ocean. Getting their feet wet but too scared to go knee deep and running away screaming as the wave comes in. Food venders with colorful shacks. A small rusty ferris wheel abandoned a long time ago. A fortune telling psychedelic robot. Your future exposed for Rupees 10 only. Teens with air guns taking aim at balloon targets. The soft toys are missing. There are no surfers. Or sounds of seagulls. Just the occasional crow. Human sounds dimming the ocean hum. Sand covered with littered plastic bags.

Natalie would have cringed. She was registered with the green party. The environment was her big cause. My head hurts when I think about it. A part of my brain tells me, why bother about things you can’t really change? So I am indifferent. Natalie would have disagreed.

“Even one man can make a difference.” Her words ring in my head as I see population around me, not people. But in the magic hour, as the sun sets, the beach starts transforming again. The damp humidity transforms into a cool breeze. Population begins to disappear. The water turns blue. I am on a secluded beach with Natalie watching the sunset. “I am taking you to my beach” she had said.

Earlier today, we packed the Jeep Cherokee with our camping gear and left for the central coast. Natalie brings me to a little known camping ground. Just the two of us. We find a camp site next to a stream. We hike up stream and reach the water fall. We swim. We kiss. We walk down stream and it leads us to this beach. Our own private beach surrounded by mountains. The sound of the waves reverberates. Natalie has pillows under one arm and blankets around her shoulders.

We make love on Natalie’s beach.

Natalie’s beach is history now. Back to reality.

When John Phillips of The Mamas & the Papas wrote “California Dreaming” in 1965, he was trying to escape from the Mid West. I am California dreaming too. I want to escape this once wonderful beach of my childhood.

But why this yearning when Natalie is just a figment of my imagination?