While my photos are no Hiroshige, I have an endless object of fascination in the view from our window--and the (unswimmable) beach that opens up when you walk down to the water, a couple of minutes from our apartment. When the heat subsides a bit (and it has fortunately been more merciful in these last few weeks as the monsoon has started breaking), locals come out to wade in the surf or just look at the lapping waves at sunset or after dark.
Some of them, incidentally, hold hands or cuddle--quite a no-no in Indian culture, although Mumbai is the least conservative of Indian cities, and there are a few make-out spots where youngsters on motorbikes who live with their parents congregate.
Yet, when we once held hands walking down this beach, we were immediately faced with a few intense, heavy, lustful stares--an Indian specialty.
For the owners of the rundown beach shack you see in one of these pictures, the ocean is not a romantic spot but a place to wash their clothing and perform all other functions--they have no other place to live.
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