Melancholy seas

Anindita takes a drive down East Coast Road.

I’ve always loved East Coast Road for its particular bleak, cold sort of beauty which is so different from the sunnier mood of the western coast. The sea looks mournful, the sand is greyer and full of shrubs, and the coniferous trees stand like watchful sentry guarding the secrets of men who come to weep here at eventide. I mean, they don’t really. Or I don’t know if they do. But they probably should. It’s that kind of sea. If I lived in Chennai, I’d definitely exorcise my blues on its shores.