An evening stroll

And then there's the sea.

I walk down in the evening, sidestepping cow dung. The narrow lane is shaded by old trees; the small houses on either side screened by tall hedges of brambles and mixed foliage. Few people are about. I pass Malati, in her bright pink nine yards, searching as usual for her three cows so she can shut them in for the night. I tell her the monkeys are not allowing the papaya plant she gave me to grow. Ramakant saunters past, his gaze directed as it always is at the sky. He is a small wiry man with gentle eyes who cuts and trims trees for the villagers, and brings down their coconuts. Now he stops to say something to me in Konkani, gesturing with his arms. In return I say something in Marathi. Neither of us understands the other, but it is a pleasant exchange. At the end of the lane, the friendly, cross-eyed drunk raises a hand in greeting. Three little Muslim girls, in pyjamas and with colourful dupattas tucked behind their ears, are returning from their lessons at the masjid. In the day they go to a convent school, wearing brown pinafores. "Aunty!" they chorus, flashing me a smile.

I am continually astonished by the friendliness of these people. In my old neighbourhood in the city, people I saw everyday remained strangers to the end.

As I walk along the lane by the side of the sea, a subtle change comes over the landscape and people. Those who see me regularly still smile and nod. But to some I am a stranger, like the tourists who descend in season, a stranger whom they must nevertheless greet. Hello, they say mechanically. Hello, the children say smiling coyly. Hello, hello. They have learnt this from the tourists and it always sounds strange. A tall fisherwoman from whom I sometimes buy fish at the door strides past. She is wearing the traditional nine-yard sari tucked between her legs, a large nose ring and a big tikka on her forehead. 'Hi!' she calls out to me cheerfully.

There's hardly anyone on Patnem beach today. Some women are strolling about. Three small boys are playing cricket. The sun will set soon. Two men pull in a fishing net. One of them is a tailor by profession, but he seems more in his element by the water. They shake the net. Two small fish fall out. The tailor puts them into a bag. I pick up a large shell that has fallen from the net. There's something live in it still and I throw it back into the sea. Barefoot I walk down the long curve of the beach. At the end there are bare black rocks rising from the sea and merging into a low hillock thick with bushes. Sometimes the sea recedes completely and you can walk round the rocks to the even quieter beach on the other side. I clamber up as high as I can. The beach looks very tiny from here. I look at the miles of sea and the sky. The sun sets. The sky changes colour. I forget the time. Slowly I realise I am the only one still on the beach. In the tourist season tiny coloured lights will be coming on at this time in the shacks lining the beach. Now it's as if I am the only person in the whole world. Reluctantly I walk home. I notice there is a crescent moon in the sky.