Later in the evening, everyone has to take part in the safety drill. We had been asked to bring along our safety vests. For the first time, I see all the crew together.

Petru, the safety officer, briefs us on the guidelines in a mixture of French and English. He asks Vasilescu to demonstrate how to put on the emergency vest. Once Vasilescu has zipped himself up, he looks like a banana shaped alien, smooth curves, smooth rubbery skin, and bright yellow. Petru, a man with a deep voice and curly hair, looking like an embodiment of sincerity and integrity, asks us with all seriousness, “Do you also want to try on the emergency suit? Then we can throw you into the swimming pool to simulate how it works if you were to fall overboard.”

When we are about to go back to our room with our vests, Vasilescu says, “Take good care of it because I will be staying at your room after you leave.”

Later, Vasilescu shows us around the deck. Perhaps, he thinks that the safety features are the only things worth showing, “Here’s the life boat. Down there is another. Here is a spare emergency vest. There you see some fire extinguishers.” He is delighted to take us to the fire control room, “Fire is common, sometimes at the engine room, sometimes from the cigarette stubs left carelessly. Once a South Korean liner was carrying fireworks in the cargo and it caught fire. It must have looked fantastic, but I pity the crew.” He shows us the sludge pipes, “Now the law is very strict; we can’t just throw away the sludge anywhere. The oil and other waste have to be separated and then treated accordingly before disposal at proper places.” All the same, the industry is infamous for using the ‘magic pipe’ occasionally, a crude concoction that can be devised by the crew to offload the entire sludge load into the sea to show good parameters for the engine to the ship’s management. In February, the US Government penalised Hachiuma Steamship for using the ‘magic pipe’, asking them to pay 1.8 million dollars, and placed it on probation for three years; the whistle blower in this case was paid 250,000 dollars.

Vasilescu shows the anchor chain, each ring the size of a human torso, good enough to chain Minotaur.

The crew, including the officers, have formed the habit of shaking each other’s hands. The officers have to behave well towards the Able Seamen or ABs to keep the morale high. The master had told us, “Well, the most important aspect of being a master is managing people. Sometimes, you are with them all day and night for four months. I have to keep the discipline and morale high. So, sometimes, I have to organize things like table tennis competitions, barbecues. See, I also have to be the chief of party.” That was not too bad, given that not too long ago, morale and engagement was usually kept high among seamen by keelhauling recalcitrant sailors!

Nonetheless, container ships still maintain a certain feudal feel about them. The officers have bigger accommodations at higher levels as compared to the ABs. There are separate entertainment areas for the two groups; even their dining areas are separate. During meals, junior officers stay quiet unless asked a question. The master had told me in private, “I don’t like this distinction. But I am helpless. This is how the companies want us to operate. I can’t change such visible rules on my own. Maybe the company still thinks it’s hard to maintain discipline within the crew if the officers get too close to the Abs.” Marius, while being a cadet, gets to sit along with the officers. He had an explanation, “Merchant shipping used to be a militarized business earlier with all the hierarchies that came with it; perhaps the legacy has remained. Or maybe if you put both the groups together at the dining table, fights would erupt every day.” Vasilescu had been able to cross the barrier, “I used to be an AB before. Then the company sent me for some training. So now I am a cadet. I hope someday I can be a master. It is the best job but there are also a lot of responsibilities.” Vasilescu is in his late forties. I could imagine his delight when he got promoted from an AB to a cadet; that first walk across the galleys, from the AB’s mess to the officer’s dining hall, taking the white napkin with his initials marked on it, and sitting gently on the same table as the master.

Earlier, Marius had shown the same hope in his job, “I am only twenty-five but I have already been to so many countries on other people’s expense. I can’t be a master but at least I can be a chief engineer someday.”

We are adjusting to the rhythms of the ship; the wake up alarm for sunrise at the starboard side, over to port side for the sunset, the precise timing of the meals, the one hour cycling in the ship’s gym, the swim, the finding people to talk to, the evening movie, and in between all these, watching the seas like watching a giant palette flooded with blue, always blue, never the same blue, turquoise near our ships foam, further out, it’s the colour of cheap hospital curtains. We keep waiting for the phone to ring, because Ismael had promised to call us if he spotted dolphins. The dolphins do appear once. But for the rest of the time, the sea is one busy runway, flying fish taking-off and touching down every minute.

To keep ourselves in shape, we come up with a cunning plan; take the stairs whenever going up, take the lift only when going down. But the elevator has an irresistible charm, a world of its own, playing happy French songs all the time; we cherish each ride, and whenever we get out we just stand there and keep its door open till someone else appears.

Omelette meal number three: Doru, the steward, gives me an apologetic smile every time he serves my main course. But I don’t mind; while the main course is always an omelette, I could still enjoy the daily variations of salads, desserts, fruits, juices and wines. As such, I was extremely thankful to Edouard, the chef, for having understood and accepted my vegetarianism. Edouard, a man in his forties, looked like a twin brother of Steve Jobs but with a more amiable personality. When I apologize to him for making him do extra work for my dietary needs, he waves and says in his broken English, “Not at all. Anyway I have to customize for the other Indian men. They don’t eat any pork or beef because of their religion. So, one more religion is no problem.” I wonder what name Edouard gave to this strange religion of omelette-devourers.