Turtle Recall

It’s three o’clock in the morning and the moon is playing hide and seek through the thick reams of fog that hang over the water. At first I blame it on the exhaustion. Then possibly on my altered state of mind. But when I hear the creaking planks of its large wooden hull crashing through the black waters, I’m pretty damn sure of our predicament. It’s not rocket science – we are screwed. Out of the darkness, a sail-ship on steroids materializes out of nowhere as our little matchbox-sized fishing boat imprudently bobs in its path. And this is a usual restless night on our undersized roach-ridden vessel as we merrily get tossed around on the deep ocean looking for Olive Ridley turtles. We are somewhere in the uncertain waters of Orissa. I know they are uncertain for a few reasons that I’m certain about. There are huge fishing boats that come in from down south and can do pretty much anything here. A week before I arrive, a fisherman has been shot to add to the dramatic atmosphere. Then there’s the added issue of a fresh white paintjob that makes our boat look exactly like the one and only coastguard vessel in this area. And out here, ‘they’ really don’t like the coastguard.

After diving for several years in the pristine waters of Lakshadweep, the churning, dark waters of the Bay of Bengal are not luring to say the least. My crew is fabulous. They only speak Oriya and three other words that we have taught them – ‘Espraaasso’ (for tea), ‘forgedabouteet’ (for, well, forget-about-it) and ‘ciao’ (for everything else). Not the most useful words to have learned, but at least we get a good laugh every time someone speaks. They, on the other hand, seem to find it hysterical that we are venturing underwater. It takes us a few weeks to figure out why they find diving such a hilarious sport. Back on shore, a marine biologist informs us of a number of saltwater crocs that frequent the delta.

During our several days out in the ocean, we spot hundreds of Olive Ridley turtles popping up on the surface for a breath and a curious look at a world they chose to abandon several thousands of years ago. It’s their nesting season and almost fifty percent of the world’s Olive Ridley population comes here to lay their eggs. Unfortunately thousands get stuck and die in illegal nets within the designated sanctuary. So here we are, swimming in the middle of deep waters, lugging camera gear and scuba equipment towards these massive creatures with the sole intention of intruding on their lazy afternoon romps. Now I’m not sure how freely available Viagra is in these parts, but once these turtles start going at it, they just don’t stop. For over forty-five minutes they stay locked on the surface, turning circles. Once they passionately embrace, nothing will split them up and believe me, they aren’t exactly camera shy either.

After twelve days at sea, the crew finally takes the boat to firm ground to buy a cock (of the bird variety) in honour of our farewell meal. The next morning we are back in deep waters with this cock crowing madly. It’s not something many people will experience, but it is bizarre to hear a cock crowing in the middle of the ocean with no site of land. I guess it has figured before I have, that it is going to be breakfast very soon. The only problem that lies before us is that nobody knows how to kill it. After much deliberation, Arjun the skipper, repeatedly karate-chops it into shock before twisting its head around so many times that The Exorcist girl would have got a complex. As we sit around relishing this unappetizing last supper early in the morning, I feel like I’m with old friends. I guess that’s what happens when you are out at sea. Even if the common ground is three redundant words, you have to bond as there’s really no place you can go. More than that, witnessing the idiotic massacre of so many turtles stuck in illegal trawler nets was something that has brought us closer together. It needed to be documented so someone, anyone, will sit up and just make a small effort to monitor the turtles’ safety just during these couple of months when they come here for a good ol’ romp and to plop their babies out into the world.

Post last supper, we do one last dive before returning to shore. This time we aren’t looking for turtles, we just want to descend into the deep, since we’ve been diving shallow all these days. The first thirty-odd feet are fine and then suddenly the water turns pitch black. It’s pretty daunting when all one can see is three feet ahead. We drop to about seventy feet and decide it would be wise to abort this dive. And then something large and luminescent catches my eye. As we approach it, we figure that it’s a massive jellyfish. Turning around we see a second, then a third, a fourth… We aren’t sure how many there must be around us owing to the poor visibility. Now it really is time to get out. Back on the surface we are surrounded by jellyfish that seem to have ascended with us. We frantically wave to the boat guys who politely wave back at us. At this moment, the idea of being stung for the hundred time in my life is not a pleasant notion. The boat finally comes alongside us and I hurriedly pass all the gear to the crew on board. I have seen big jellyfish, but these guys look like the mother-of-all-jellies and I think how lucky I’ve been as I desperately stick my hand out to be pulled onto the deck.

As he looks at my cringed face pleading for a pull up, the boat boy stands motionless and a wide grin stretches across his face.

“Forgedabouteet!” he casually shouts.