Puri, the eighty-sixth day

The night was again very agitated, not because of inner activity as the night before but because of the outside hustle and bustle. It appears that three nights around the full moon are devoted to singing and dancing in the village of fishermen. A sail, three vertical neon lights and two powerful speakers make up the scene where two transvestites and a half-dozen musicians dancers occur. My first tribal drag show. The two "singers women" dressed in saris and wearing a very "tribal" make up had still an extraordinary energy at half past six in the morning, for the sunrise, which was naturally suspicious. I followed a little ten years old boy ("you are my friend!") in the hut of his parents as I was invited for tea. We would like to give fifty francs which would be enough to build the house of their dreams with outbuildings but we don’t. Something is blocking us, perhaps this assisted attitude that often poor Indians have considering natural any charity.
On the way to the beach we met the two transvestites in the village. They were both standing, having abandoned the saris for hardly more masculine outfits and were talking with the fishermen. Talking with them was difficult because their rudimentary English. The very green eyed could not speak a word, so the other one joined us on the beach under the pretext of giving us cucumbers with salt. We then learned that they came from a village thirty kilometers away, they often danced in the region for weddings and made us the proof of the dance of the cobra. I was so fascinated by the primitive side of the situation, a man in a small Indian village where the status of women is so bad and who would identify with them, and extraordinarily, fit.
The rest of the time I watched the little game of Chris, one from the Australian group, and Lita. As they were the only ones not to be a couple, everything seemed to push against each other but because they are way too "cool" to introduce a sensual dimension to their friendship, there is this kind of game that evokes the contemplation of happiness. We twirl on the beach offering our "Lungis" to the wind in the way to dry them. We fall on each other, laughing, our heads swathed in Indian fabrics. We go arm in arm in small puddles left by the backwash. I offered certainly a comparable spectacle with my behavior to Sven who spent the farewell party of the Australians with us on the terrace. Watching the waves with him and hearing further on the hits of George Michael back on the guitar by Lita and Chris was quite wonderful. Lost in time...