Postcardesque rural sceneries unfold as we travel down south.
Roads are like conveyer belts of impressions…
Saree-clad women with jasmine garlands on their braided hair drive past us on scooters.
Men walk around in sarongs, constantly re-tying the knot around their slim waists.
Little over-dressed girls in shiny cream-puff dresses with rustling silver anklets tread along on their way to a temple with their families.
Patchworks of colourful merchandise is on display in small shops that look like brightly painted holes in the wall…
In road-side stalls cookies longingly call out from big glass jars, waiting to be gently dipped into a cup of spicy tea, or milky coffee.
School children bike to school in their uniforms, the girls wearing their hair in braided loops with matching ribbons.
A woman empties her bowels on a sidewalk and a group of men are washing themselves in a pond of stagnating green waters covered with blooming lotus flowers.
And then, suddenly the land finishes and meets the big blue of three seas.
We are in Kanyakumari, the tip of the subcontinent, the edge of India, where the Bay of Bengal meets the Arabian sea and the Indian Ocean.
We get up to catch the sunrise and see people briskly walking up the pink view-tower in a happy human spiral at five fifty am.
This is India. Even at the very end of it you can always feel lonely, but you can never be alone…