Off the grid

TTHAT R8, F-TYPE, GT S AND i8 STORY you see in this issue was the last time I went fast and the last time I went sideways. That day, I distinctly remember questioning my decision to go diving as the R8 howled to its 8750rpm redline. Well, it has been exactly forty-six days since and life couldn’t possibly be more different.

I have to admit, the jump from driver to diver is mildly terrifying, especially since all I know is the former. I was worried I would miss going fast. I was worried about not having access to a long term car. I was worried I would no longer get to do cool things like driving a GL to the Sahara and I still worry about those things. Now let me tell you about the flipside.

These days, my day starts at 5am – I ready and assemble SCUBA units on the boat, wolf down a scrambled egg toast and Madras coffee and on most mornings I’m underwater by 8am. Some days, there’s approximately 30 metres of visibility underwater and on those days, it’s like I’m in another world.

A sting ray accompanied me on a dive the other day and man, they look like alien craft on a reconnaissance mission. Anyway, two dives a day and I’m back in the dive shop by 12pm, a quick lunch, a swim in the sea, some studying for the upcoming Divemaster exam, dive shop duties till 7pm, dinner and back to my hut. Bed by 9pm. I try and watch a movie after dinner on my laptop but on most days, I’m so pooped, I wipe out halfway through.

This island has erratic internet (this word file barely made it out at 256kbps), there’s no newspapers and the chap in the resort next door has a 14-inch TV that forces him to use a magnifying glass to watch DD News. Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit, but you get the picture. To compensate for the lack of connectivity, people here have rediscovered an age-old art form – conversation. I met an ex-Israeli army diver who rode an Enfield from Hampi to Manali back in 1995. I met an Australian lady who runs a restaurant in Hoi-Ann, Vietnam. Her father made a yacht and they sailed it from Australia to Cochin a couple of decades ago. Then there’s a chap from Hyderabad who worked a year as a software engineer just so he could come here and take up the Divemaster internship at Dive India. Oh and if you come here, I’ll introduce you to Frodo, Buffy and Leia – the dive shop’s awesome retrievers. They come for a swim with me sometimes.

I’m far from nine-speed ZFs and 500-plus horsepower. To get around the island, I either walk or get a lift in the dive shop’s Chinese-built electric three-wheeler. The Triumph Tiger has now become a BSA

"To compensate for the lack of connectivity, people here have rediscovered an age-old art form - conversation"

Ladybird (yes, I know it is a cycle for ladies but that was the only one available on rent). Oh, and the dive shop has two boats – one has a 100bhp Yamaha outboard and the other, 200bhp – neither of which I’m allowed to drive.

In some ways, I miss the old life – I was watching a documentary the other day on rallying and there’s this bit where a blue 555-liveried Impreza makes an incredible ‘yump’, spits flames from the exhaust and disappears in a furious cloud of dust and flat-four warble. It made my hair stand up and made me ache to get on something that can go 200kmph.

And then I wake up to a spectacular sunrise, head to office barefoot and go work in azure waters. The Twitter-free life. I’m finding deep comfort in it.

We suspect Ouseph’s had a mild case of nitrogen narcosis when he was writing this. We know him, he’ll be back.