Sunrise on the eastern coast is a special event. I stood at Dolphin's Nose, a spur jutting out into the Bay of Bengal, to behold the sun's first light over the horizon. As the eastern sky unfolded like crimson petals, I was overcome by a wave of nostalgia — vivid memories undimmed by the passage of nearly ten years.
Back then, I was a young bachelor in Visakhapatnam. Every Sunday, I would rise before dawn and head to Dolphin's Nose to witness the sun majestically rising from the sea. The fresh, salty breeze was a perfect cure for Saturday night's excesses.
After sunrise, I would walk downhill to the rocky beach for a swim. Each time, I noticed activity around a distant, decrepit building. One day, curiosity led me closer. It was a fish market, frequented by housewives from nearby residences in their "Sunday-worst" attire — a stark contrast to their polished club appearances.
I was about to leave, dejected, when I saw her for the first time. I stopped dead in my tracks. She was tall, fair, and freshly bathed, with lustrous hair dancing on her shoulders. Her large, expressive brown eyes and sharp features were accentuated by the morning sun. An intense yearning ached in my heart — I knew this was love. Yet, I also knew I stood no chance, for she wore a mangalsutra, a sign of marriage. Nevertheless, I approached under the pretense of buying fish. Smiling guardedly, she selected two pomfrets and held them out. Our hands touched briefly — an electric sensation that sent a shiver through me. With a teasing glance, she communicated an unspoken goodbye and walked away. Dazed, I returned to my room and had fried pomfret for breakfast. It tasted delicious.
Soon, this became my Sunday ritual, pursued with religious zeal. She never missed our silent rendezvous — same place, same time, precisely seven o'clock. Not a word was exchanged. I was too shy, and she seemed to cherish this delicate, ethereal connection. Surprisingly, I developed a lasting taste for fried pomfret.
Years passed. I left Visakhapatnam, traveled the world, and met many women, but I never forgot her. A man's first love holds an enduring place in his heart.
Now, almost a decade later, I was back. Walking toward the beach, I could still vividly envision her playful, sublime smile and communicative eyes. My heart pounded with desperate anticipation. Reaching the beach, I saw the sun was already up. It was almost seven. I hastened to the fish market, to the exact spot of our old meetings.
Trembling, I looked around. Nothing had changed — except she wasn't there. Crestfallen, my mind went blank. Suddenly, I felt that familiar electrifying touch and thrill. Jolted back to reality, I found her softly placing two pomfret fish in my hand. I was in seventh heaven.
Looking at her, I was not disappointed. Her beauty had matured. Yet, something had changed. Her large brown eyes no longer danced teasingly; they held a trace of sadness, a tender poignancy, as she bid her silent farewell. Dumbstruck, I stood frozen. Only as she was leaving did I notice: the mangalsutra was gone from her slender neck.