dusk by the sea

The evening was as laid back as the morning I'd spent. What else is to be expected at a place which is yet to be shackled and made machine-like by the demands of time. Where its difficult to distinguish between periods of the day unless you are transfixed by the sight of an orange blob slipping beneath the ocean and realize that dusk approaches. Where the tops of the casuarina trees dance sinuously in the gentle breeze, as if beckoning you from a distance. Where there is space to do your thing, for I saw a pony-tailed artist, squatting on the sand, sketching the abandoned trawler. Local revelers draw patterns on the sand using their fingers, maybe more secure in their belief that these spontaneous bursts of creativity will endure for a while in these deserted sands. Even the sea seems to tolerate these transgressions into its realm; its waves lap harmlessly, inches away from the 'sand art'...

Thankfully, dusk here does not bring with it the gaudy lights and the cacophony of sounds one associates with popular haunts. Instead, its a gentle transition: the darkness gradually envelops the place. Its almost eerie. The water catches the orange glow of the setting sun and is luminous while the abandoned boat casts a ponderous shadow over the dark sands. Scattered kids scurry about, making the most of the dying moments of the day. Its one of the few few beaches I've seen where the water, the sand and the human silhouettes are in complete harmony.