I walk early in the morning, leaving my room just before dawn. By six thirty, the sky is just light and the air is still cool enough that I am glad to be wearing sleeves. The beach is far from empty, though. Hung-over tourists trudge across the sand, regretting the boat trips they booked the day before. Boatmen cast about for more passengers. Women with men's shirts over their saris pick up bottles and smooth the sand in front of their hotels. It's the hour of the dogs, who wake and stretch, greet their favorite friends, and bark at the non grata. Further down the beach, a group of North Indian men do calisthenics in preparation for a football game, enjoying an hour of freedom before their long workday. The waves lap closer, tickling my toes, wetting my cuffs. Everything is covered with sand, and no one seems to mind.
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