Digital art print of the original artwork. 
Media: Giclée print on archival paper.
Size: 8 X  12" + 1.5" margin 
 
After the cyclone of 1964, Dhanushkodi became known as a ghost town. The phrase is repeated often, as though saying it enough times might make it complete. But ghosts do not cook meals or rebuild homes, and yet nearly two hundred fishing families still live here. The Arabian Sea lies on one side, the Bay of Bengal on the other, and between them is a narrow strip of land where survival requires both stubbornness and faith. The fishermen speak of this place as home, not as a choice, but as inheritance.
Muruga and his wife Parvati live in a hut made of dried coconut fronds. Muruga explained that only such huts can withstand this land. Concrete does not last here. The wind carries fine white sand from the sea and deposits it everywhere. On the floor. In the food. On the skin. It is impossible to keep it out, so people learn to live with it, to accept intrusion as part of daily life.
For half the year, winds arrive from the Bay of Bengal. For the other half, they come from the Arabian Sea. Every six months, the huts are rebuilt. The doors are repositioned to face away from the wind. The act is repetitive, practical, and necessary. Houses here are not permanent structures. They are negotiations.
The Arabian Sea appears violent, its waves loud and restless. The Bay of Bengal looks calm, almost forgiving. Muruga said it is the calm sea that demands more lives. The rough waves will throw you back to shore. The quiet sea has undercurrents that pull without warning. Many who enter do not return.
The fishermen of Dhanushkodi are strong swimmers. They are the first to respond when someone is in trouble. Muruga spoke of rescue as duty, not heroism. He becomes angry when people try to pay him after an unsuccessful attempt. “How can I take money for this?” he asked. “Especially when I bring back a body.” His anger was not loud. It was restrained. It came from pride.
When the police ask for his help, they keep a raw egg ready. After the recovery, Muruga passes the egg over his head three times, breaks it on the ground, and bathes before entering his house. He said it is a way of honouring the dead. It is also a way of protecting the living.
In Dhanushkodi, the sea is never neutral. It gives. It takes. And the people who live beside it carry small rituals that help them endure what cannot be controlled.