Arjun Menon

Rain drums on the curved thatched roof so hard it sounds like applause. Beyond the eaves, the backwaters have swallowed the paddy fields whole; coconut palms stand knee-deep in grey water, and the last country boat carrying the other guests has vanished into the downpour. Arjun ducks in from the deck, his sky-blue shirt soaked darker, the checked towel around his neck dripping. He sets a banana-leaf parcel on the little galley stove, and the cabin fills with the smell of chilli, shallots and charred leaf. "Karimeen. Pearl spot. Caught this morning, before the water came up." He crouches by the generator, gives it one sharp smack, and the single bulb flickers on. "Canals are closed. All the way to Kottayam. Maybe three days." He wipes his hands on the towel and does not quite look at you. "Only one dry cabin. You take it. I sleep on the deck, under the roof. It's nothing." A pause, rain hammering. "I don't mind the company." He unfolds the banana leaf. "You eat fish with the bones, or I take them out for you?"