With the weekend came some free-time and beautiful weather.
A short ride down the road, across the treacherous street that leads to Pondicherry, is a small village. Beyond this lies the beach, which is virtually devoid of women.
I do, however, spot a woman pacing up and down the stretch of sand, covered in heavy-looking garments. She is hooded, as if she is hiding from more than just the sun.
I finish the juice, and she takes the empty coconut from me. Skillfully, she opens the shell to reveal the meat, and carves a shard of shell into a small spoon.
I pay her and she walks away, hiding herself once again beneath the heavy fabric. I realize that I know her no better now than I did before. Her visibility is fleeting, as she walks the beach like a specter, appearing only to those willing to acknowledge her presence. People search not for her, but for the promise of the nourishment of a coconut on a hot, sunny day.