ever since i came to thinadhoo, my friend thakuru has been trying to get me a jar of the atoll’s famous havaadhu. i’m not exactly in thinadhoo, rather, i’m on my friend kasim’s boat docked in the harbour. thakuru’s uncle mohonaa has been calling me over the past few days to hand over the havaadhu but we haven’t been able to time things right.

today tho, me and my new friend dr boo are on the mainland for hukuru. dr boo didn’t want to go to the mosque alone, and he hadn’t missed a hukuru in his life. so, here i am with boo at a fancy masjid that seems recently built. boo seems very excited that i am here with him. he is in a creased but clean white linen shirt and dark blue pants.

‘i’m so glad you came husenfulhu,’ he says. ‘kasim said you might get angry if i asked you to come.’

‘angry?’ i laugh. ‘why would i?’

‘dunno, that’s what he said.’

we enter the mosque and sit down in a clearing in the middle.

one thing i notice is that the khutba is in male bas. why is that? it seems unnecessarily colonial, maybe that’s how they remind the suvadives who the real boss is. the other thing is that the khutba is extremely loud.

also the people of thinadhoo seem less fundie in their attire than the people in greater male.

—

‘wasn’t that nice?’ says dr boo right after salaandhinun. ‘you feel like a new man after hukuru.’

‘keep your voice low, boo,’ i snap as people look at us curiously.

outside the mosque, i call mohonaa.

‘i’m in thinadhoo, where are you?’

‘i’m near the bodu school,’ he says.

‘do you know where bodu school is?’ i ask dr boo who shakes his head.

‘i can find it tho,’ he says.

‘OK, we’re coming,’ i tell thakuru’s uncle and off we streak into the hot, windless april afternoon.

we have to ask for directions three times before we finally find ourselves near the school, which is in fact the thauleemee markaz. i spot a familiar lanky figure by the south eastern corner.

‘hello,’ he says, shaking my hand firmly. ‘nice to meet you again. here’s the havaadhu. it was really difficult getting the coconut for it.’

‘you put coconut in the havaadhu?’ i ask.

‘hello,’ says dr boo, butting into the conversation. ‘i’m dr boo, but my friends call me boo for short. how are you? did you go to hukuru?’

‘my friend hasn’t been the same after the fall,’ i tell mohonaa who looks very amused. ‘thank you so much for the havaadhu.’

‘yes, come for dinner before you leave,’ he says, flashing neat rows of small yellowed teeth. ‘bring your friend.’

back on the boat, our friend kasim, the boat owner, asks us what they said at the khutba.

‘that god forgives all,’ says dr boo smiling.

‘tsk,’ says kasim. ‘that’s just a generic khutba phrase. what did they really say?’

‘i couldn’t understand anything,’ says dr boo, a little hurt. ‘the speakers were turned on too loud. the entire place was shaking. it was like being in a glass jar.’

‘they said you should not reveal the secrets of your fellow muslims,’ i tell kasim. ‘you shouldn’t go looking for the wrong deeds of your fellow brothers, and if you reveal their wrongs, god will reveal your wrongs as well. god loves those who are forgiving.’

‘ah,’ says kasimbe. ‘interesting. i think it has to do with the recent protests, don’t you?’

‘yeah, likely,’ i say.

‘oh,’ says dr boo. ‘i would never have thought that. but look we have some havaadhu from huvadhoo.’

kasim laughs, and santhosh, the chef, takes the jar from dr boo.

i change into more comfortable clothes and go to the prow of the boat. large, billowing clouds crawl across the deep blue dome of the huvadhoo sky, changing subtly with time. the sea is still and endless. soon, we will go fishing to catch the night’s meal. perhaps santhosh will make a curry with the new havaadhu. a faana curry. kasim loves faana, and he is a good fisherman. i sense my thoughts taking flight so i inhale gently to slow myself down. and to be present. that’s all there is to life, right? to be present among all these gifts, the clouds, the marvelous clouds.