We traveled on a whirlwind tour from Chennai to the southern coast of India, into history and people I had never known. Deserted temples, toppled bridges, rivers full of washing women and buffalos, the crowded bus stands with off skewed pictures of movie stars hanging on the walls . . . I remember the heat mixed with sand and the beaches full of seashells and discarded ornaments, the rubble of the shacks and buildings on the shores where the homeless had lived before the tsunami. My relatives had been named from towns or temples, revered even now, only slightly masked by rubbish and pollution. Still life goes on, where the children play on the streets and the women sit outside on porches, in a place so close to natural beauty, the people pray for the same gifts . . .