As per Captain’s instructions I plotted the noon position and gave a copy of the noon chit to Radio Officer Chan and sent another to Chief Engineer for filling up the fuel figures. I checked the gyro and magnetic compasses, the last of the tasks that I was supposed to complete in the next four hours. I looked at the clock. It was 1215.

I kept staring out at the fog. Cold air seeped in through the gap in the bridge wing doors. The food had made me sleepy. I needed to get on with the chart corrections, but a cup of coffee seemed far more appealing at the time. I was standing there, contemplating my choices, when I felt a presence behind me. I turned.

Ujjwala stood nearby, looking outside, mesmerized by what she saw.

Her dark lustrous hair blended in easily with the black gown she was wearing. The silky black gown flowed down to her ankles, hugging her body softly. The high collar buttoned around her throat, and the loose transparent sleeves gathered in a tight cuff at her wrists, showing off her slender arms.

‘Good afternoon, bhabhi-ji!’

She looked at me, startled. Her face wore the expression of someone who has woken from a dream and is faced with reality. That lost look, the shock and the gradual dawning of realization as she returned to reality . . . Ujjwala’s mannerisms were slowly becoming familiar to me.

I didn’t understand them though. Her huge green eyes slowly came to life when she looked at me, and she bestowed on me a beautiful, honest smile. She was never like this around Deepak; an invisible wall seemed to erect itself around her in his presence.

‘Good afternoon, bhabhi-ji!’ I said again.

‘Good afternoon!’ she responded, still smiling.

‘Anant!’ I reminded her.

‘Good afternoon, Anant!’

She had such a sweet voice!

‘This is so beautiful! This bright white fog, the green water and just our ship on it!’ she said from where she stood near the bridge-wing door, gazing around her in wonder.

‘Why is this door closed? Can we open it?’

I went forward and undid the latch on the door. The door rattled in the wind as I forced it open, letting in a gust of cold air. Ujjwala stepped out on to the wing and stood there, feeling the wind on her face, arching her back a little. The black silk fabric of her dress clung to her body, outlining her curves. Her long hair danced in the wind mischievously. Her lips were pursed, her expression serious. Her large eyes looked out at the sea, unblinking. ‘Her eyes are like the sea’—I remembered Bosun’s words.

She was staring at something intently. I followed her eyes to see what it was, but I couldn’t see anything – only the wind moulding the fog into strange shapes. My eyes began to water from the cold. Wiping them, I turned to her and saw a single drop trickle down her cheek. Gazing into nothingness, she stood there like a statue.

‘Bhabhi-ji!’ I called out. ‘BHABHI!’

She didn’t seem aware of her surroundings. I awkwardly reached for her and had barely touched the silk on her shoulder when she shuddered and jolted away from me. Suddenly she became the Ujjwala who had jerked away from my touch on the launch. Terrified of climbing the pilot ladder only a few seconds before, she had managed to step on it the moment I touched her, without sparing any thought to her life. Was she repelled by just me, or . . .?

I looked at her. ‘Are you crying, bhabhi-ji?’

She raised a hand to her cheek, caught the lone tear that had trickled down, and wiped it away.

‘What happened?’ I asked, avoiding her eyes.

‘Nothing,’ she said, stealing a glance at me, her cheeks flushed, a smile on her lips. This was a different side of her.

‘Let’s go inside. You’ll catch pneumonia.’

She followed me in and I shut the door tight again.

‘I’ll take over. You make coffee,’ I told the seaman at the wheel, and grasped it.

Ujjwala looked at it in awe. ‘This huge ship runs on such a small wheel?’

‘This wheel is about four feet in diameter. The last ship I was on had a steel knob to steer with—the size of my thumb— instead of a wheel.’

‘Must have been a small ship.’

‘Two hundred thousand tons! About four times this ship.’

‘Oh!’ she said, gaping. This was a different Ujjwala, not the lost-in-herself woman from five minutes ago.

She went on to ask me about every gadget she could see on the bridge. I answered each question with pleasure.

The AB returned a few minutes later with the coffee. She took her first sip and asked him, ‘Who made the coffee?’

‘I did.’

‘Best coffee I’ve ever tasted!’ she said and it was clear that she meant it.

‘Thanks!’ The Filipino seaman blushed and bowed twice. ‘Where’s Deepak?’ I asked her.

‘Chief Engineer called him. Something came up. He told me I could go to the bridge if I wanted to.’

Her tone changed suddenly. That innocent yet mischievous girl was lost again, and the woman with the invisible wall around her spoke, ‘I have not been on the bridge before. I didn’t know what happens here. I didn’t really want to come up here, but he . . .’ She did not continue. Raising her eyes, she looked up at me. She seemed lost in another world again.

‘You don’t regret it, do you?’ I asked.

‘Of course not. I regret not coming here sooner.’

‘You can come here every day if you like.’

‘Really? Are you free like this every day?’

‘I’m sure I can make time for you.’

‘And the coffee?’ The mischievous girl again.

‘He made it today. But for the regular customers I make it myself.’

‘You’re here at the same time every day?’

‘Yes. Daily. From twelve to four, afternoons and nights.’

‘I’ll be here.’

Excerpted with permission from Aiwa Maru, Anant Samant, translated from the Marathi by Prashant Pethe, Penguin Books.