There are usually quite a few people out on the beach at sunrise. Days start early here because once the sun is up, it's too hot to be out unless absolutely necessary.
The sunrise over the Bay of Bengal; the women in brightly colored saris, kurtas and salwars; the men in plaid veshtis with striped shirts; the bougainvillea; the people people people everywhere, walking in the streets; the cows, dogs, goats, emus; the beautiful houses; the piles of garbage; religious festivals; temples; political rallies; the street vendors; the piles of fruits and vegetables on carts everywhere; the colorful flower vendors outside every temple; families of four all on one motorcycle; the kolams outside every house.
The waves pounding; people speaking the kings English with the distinctive Indian accent; people speaking Tamil; dogs barking; horns honking, honking, honking all the time; chanting here at home and in the distance; ceiling fans whirring; crows cawing; the squeak of the gate out front opening and closing; the zoom zoom of motorcycles; the putt putt of autorickshaws;
The wonderful smells wafting from Indrani's magic kitchen; the ocean; fresh mangos; autorickshaw exhaust; the cow shelter down the street from us;
These have been the sights, sounds and smells of home for me these last three months. I will miss them.
Like this one just down the street. It has been decorated for the first night. A puja is done when the house is ready, and people spend their first night in the house.
I think it must get hot sitting in the middle.