13th March 2:20 pm
Havelock Island, Andaman.
It’s unnervingly hot and sticky for March. We are all feeling it, no one says a word though, the excitement to tidepool today is palpable.
As we walk through the mangroves, a purple climber crab watches us intently from the mudflat. All we can see from afar is a hint of purple and a blazing gaze. The mudskippers and periwinkles trod along —they can’t be bothered — it’s a busy day.
Spring tides (bada paani) are always special - during these particular low tides the ocean sighs deeply - pulling the water further away than normal, in a solemn retreat. Somewhere we feel drawn too — the moon is tugging at all of us.
I am accompanying Priya and her students today, two of them - Rajeshwari (class 8) and Dinesh (class 9). The brother and sister duo live on this shore. These children - these uncomplicated philosophers - are the island’s true keepers. To them, the sea is not just a backdrop of water and salt - it is home, a playground, a classroom all at once.
The tidepools, glisten under the sun, as the children pick their spots and crouch to take a closer look.
Tiny creatures scurry: we see mini-squids bob about - shapeshifting before our very eyes and Rajeshwari quips, “ekdum baloo ke tarah rang badalta hai” — It changes its colour to look just like the sand. We all marvel at these blobs that are keen to show off their newfound skills.
In a close distance, a white-throated kingfisher is stalking us per usual - it cackles every time we get distracted. “Look at me, you fools!” We pay no heed.
Dinesh walks ahead and informs us of a new crab species that’s he’s discovered, “Hum kabhi nahi dekha! Kya mausam badalne ki wajah se nikalta bahar” — I’ve never seen it on this shore! Do you think it’s coming out because of a change in the weather?
We pledge to find the answer.
Dinesh is an expert spotter - having walked these shores innumerable times, he has always known these creatures, he is just starting to learn their names now. And in turn, make associations. I tell him that knowing the names is not important, understanding the creature is. He invites me to his next observation of a swimmer crab feeding.
We turn around to see Annie waving at us from a distance. She was a corporate lawyer who is now working on environmental law and methods of waste management on the islands. Our little group of explorers grows by one.
As we get closer to the reef, Rajeshwari spots multiple colonies of boring clam. She gets captivated by their vibrant hues and intricate patterns. Dinesh follows his sister, and claims loudly that some bear the prints of tigers, rechristening them: “Tiger Boring Clams”. The siblings share a laugh.
Our afternoon stirs with a thrill as the abalones emerge, one, then two, three—four! Four! It’s almost too wondrous to believe. I tell the others it reminds me of a dugong grazing, and they laugh, watching the way their graceful muscular foot moves.
The reef is unravelling - little by little - sea cucumbers are having their lunch, bringing their tube-feet to their mouths; nudibranchs are strutting their colorful stuff in the crevices; hundreds of brittle stars — curling their arms in sinuous elegance; anemones are unfurling like marine flowers — while Rajeshwari looks for clownfish in each one.
Inhabitants of the intertidal
As we stroll back toward the mangroves, the air is filled with the rhythmic, guttural “kroo-kroo-kroo” of a Kanha Kowah (Andaman coucal), its call perhaps in a way is announcing the tide’s return. Rajeshwari’s voice breaks the stillness, “Yaha pe padina bilkul nahi hai, sirf sargassum” — there’s no padina algae here, only sargassum. We exchange knowing smiles.
The children, spot a pair of pipefish, their excitement bubbling into a joyful squeal, “PIPEFISH!” It feels like a final breath of magic, a last hurrah before we must return home.
I ask them what the sea means to them, both don’t have a definite answer. There is fear of the unknown, but also admiration and curiosity.
The sea is a living memory, a connection that binds them to their history and their future. They might not seem to fully know it yet, but they understand it in a way that only island-born children can — intimately, as a part of their very being.
Equipment:
All photos have been clicked on IPhone 14/Iphone 14 pro max
Underwater photos have been clicked on the Olympus TG7
About the authors:
Sarah is a silly goose, who waddles through life with a microscope in one hand and a paperback in the other. She loves exploration, science, maps and swears by Lord of the Rings. 🏴☠️
Priya is a local girl from Havelock who is both an engineer and an educator. She has been teaching island kids for the past 3 years. She has helped and supported more than 300 children with school and empowered them to realize their dreams and ambitions.
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