I'm off to the beach to read a book

The plan is simple: hit the beach and read a book. It is a glorious plan, splendid in its simplicity. What could possibly go wrong?

My feet barely touch the sand when I am accosted by a young man in shorts and a tshirt, who immediately wants to know where I am from and why I am here. These are fast becoming standard questions, to be expected even before a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’. Answering politely but somewhat warily, I traipse over to where one of the local lifeguards has set up a hoisted tarp to create shade with rental chairs underneath. This lifeguard was to become one of my favourite people on the beach by virtue of his sense of humour and good nature. I plonk myself in one of his chairs, in a beautiful spot close to the shoreline with a wonderful breeze in my hair.

The wonderful lifeguard, in his distinct pointy hat to make him easy to spot

The young man follows me and continues to chat. This is Santos, the first of many friends I make on Puri beach over the course of two days. Santos is 22 and hails from Andhra Pradesh, in the south of India. He makes his livelihood from fishing and moved to Orissa a number of years ago when the fishing in Andhra became so competitive that it was difficult to earn money. He lives here with his mother, four sisters and one brother. His father died eight years ago, and with Santos being the eldest of the children, he is now the man of the house and expected to provide for the family. It is a lot of pressure for a young man to take on, but Santos is rather cool and collected. He tells me about his involvement in rescue efforts during the local floods. His boat incurred 8,000 rupees worth of damage and he is still trying to recoup this from the local government in order that he might continue fishing. Santos doesn't have an easy life; he works hard and he works often. Despite this, he is jovial and good-humoured.


Santos

We chat for about an hour, after which he eventually plucks up the courage to ask if I am married. I had been waiting for this question; of course the answer is YES. The answer is always yes. Soon after, Santos politely makes his escape but returns throughout the day to check on me and make sure no one is hassling me. He is the personification of manners and chivalry and I am relieved to find he is not sleazy in the slightest. In fact, he claims to have a Belgian girlfriend. How cosmopolitan!

As Santos wanders off down the beach, I fish my book out of my bag as a dog plods over and lays down beside me. Bliss. Although Santos was good company, I am now wonderfully alone and can lose myself in the pages of a novel. Right?

Oh so wrong. Over the course of the day I am continuously approached by curious Indians wondering why I am here and more importantly, why I am alone. It is very unusual for a woman to be alone in Orissa; she is almost always accompanied by a man, be it her husband, brother or father. The differing interests and concerns of the women I speak to are fascinating. The older generation appear genuinely concerned for me, asking if I am alright to be sitting alone and wondering where my husband is.

The younger women are riveted by the notion that a woman can travel freely on her own and can sit without fear alone on a beach. They express feelings of jealousy, of amazement, of wonderment. I do make efforts to explain that in my culture it is perfectly normal for a woman to spend time on her own. I also go to great lengths to curtail their jealousy, and attempt to illustrate how lucky they are to live in such a wonderfully hospitable and friendly society. I think I feel guilty for some reason, guilty that I have the freedom to do as I like purely by virtue of where I was born; these women do not know this freedom. Generally, they aren’t interested in my ideas of India, but rather want to know the logistical details of how I manage to stay in hotels alone, how I eat meals alone, how I take a bus alone. This is a world beyond their lives, one of which they are intensely curious.

Rita, from West Bengal. Fascinated that I am alone and somehow surviving

Orissa is notoriously conservative, and women not only keep company at all times, but also stay modest and covered up, even while at the beach. It was a culture shock to see women in full saris and elaborate outfits wading into the sea, throwing themselves into big waves and mucking about on the sand. It was kind of refreshing actually, almost as refreshing as chucking myself in fully dressed (the sand-in-the-pants afterwards made me regret this decision).

Fully clothed women cool down on the shore

The end of each day at the beach finds me exhausted, my energy thoroughly sapped from again and again explaining myself to the locals and repeating reluctant lies about having a husband waiting for me in Bhubaneswar. Despite my fatigue, the days at the beach were wonderful and the stories I shared with each person I met were enjoyable.

Babuli, letting the side down by being interminably sleazy

Two local kids who collected shells and sold them to beachgoers

As for the book, I managed to read about ten pages in two days at the beach. It was far easier to enjoy the novel over a quiet beer in my hotel room in the evening.