The Old Mallu and the Sea, and other fishing stories

The Old Mallu and the Sea, and other fishing stories

Bengalis and Keralites share a lot in common. They both have a tendency to elect communist governments, smoke a lot of cigarettes and prefer football to cricket. They also love fish, with one small difference. Bengalis prefer fresh water fish, the kind that are designed by nature to conduct a minor Inquisition of the insides of one's mouth when eaten. Sea fish, which Keralites prefer, on the other hand are fleshier, less bonier but tend to smell to high heaven. Fishing, in India, isn't really much of a hobby unlike in the US. For one, fisherfolk don't take kindly to clumsy yuppies taking what's rightfully theirs so we stick to hobbies like "exploring the mall" and "trying out the new coffee at Barista". So when a bunch of friends came over to my desk some years ago with a pamphlet that advertised a deep sea fishing expedition for $50, I was intrigued. Not that I'm much of a fish person, but I wanted to experience firsthand what fishing was like. Man against sea and that sort of thing. I imagined it would be like Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, except hopefully less tragic. Now these friends weren't your typical urbanised landlubbers, mind you. They were small-town, healthy chaps from Kerala, with excellent swimming skills and an appetite that included everything aquatic and non-toxic. We carefully kept out whiny, stereotypically desi bad travelers who couldn't handle physical exertion and off we were, to the city of Corpus Christi, on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Our guide was a tall Texan with a drawling Southern accent who took us through some instructions. I had chosen to watch rather than actually embarrass my way trying to handle a fishing rod, so I wasn't paying much attention till he announced what he considered to be the most important instruction. "If you want to puke, don't puke on me", he said to peals of laughter from all the seasoned fishermen standing before him. Clearly, those instructions were not meant for them. They were meant for thetwo strange brown looking fellows from Alappuzha. You see, a small thing we had overlooked was seasickness. Experienced deep sea fishermen wouldn't fill themselves with a footlong bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich with extra bacon, southwest dressing and extra cheese before going on an eight-hour ride in a small tub on choppy seas. My friends, on the other hand, did exactly that. But they were confident that they wouldn't get sea sick. I wasn't so sure, so I kept my distance. Two hours later, one of the chaps had essentially run out of fluids to expel violently from his body and had passed out in the air-conditioned lower deck. The other chap did get seasick, but eventually got over it and even tried fishing. The guide pointed to a bucket that seemed to have several large fish swimming in it. Those large fish were apparently bait for the even larger fish they were to catch. He further instructed them on how to pick one of those live fish and put the hook through its head while it struggled for life. Deep sea fish apparently aren't into small worms and dead bait. On seeing that, our brave chap puked again, breaking the one rule that the guide had set right at the outset. He was promptly dispatched to the lower deck where he joined our weaker friend regretting our decision to come on this trip. What was I doing, you ask? Thanks to a quick internet search I did on how to avoid seasickness prior to the trip, I was watching, laughing and mentally taking down notes so that I could write a column several years later.