It is just past 6 in the morning and the sky is overcast with light clouds. We walk in through a white iron gate into a yard of bright green grass, wooden poles, hanging clothes lines, and several rows of rectangular grey stone water basins. Towards the back of the yard is a large well, 15ft. wide, pumping water into two large square holes. From here, pale blue and yellow tubes feed water into the stone basins that line the yard. The sun has not yet fully risen but the men here seem to have been hard at work for quite some time already---scrubbing, dunking, rinsing, folding, hanging.

Two small dogs immediately begin barking at the strangers they do not recognize. If this is some reflection of the workers sentiments towards us, there is no indication in their reaction to our arrival. Their random glances between rinses remind me that our presence is an oddity, but it almost seems as if we are going unnoticed…or at least ignored. Here there is an air of professionalism.

“Nimah photo theghi boudha?” Courtney asks, ‘Your photo take can I?’ and receives a side-to-side nod of the head. This means yes.

Once the dogs stop barking, the many sounds of the washing place reach an incredible audibility. Set against an otherwise quiet early morning, a constant flow of water into the stone basins sounds more like a slow moving stream than a running water faucet. A scrub brush scratches soap over a bright blue shirt and a slap! slap!slap! follows a distinct tempo as a dhobi beats a yellow towel against the flat stone. Deep blue buckets produce a hollow thumping sound when drops of water first fall into them and every now and then the few garments hanging from the lines can be heard flapping amongst a slow and infrequent breeze. At another tempo, splashes of excess water beads follow the circular pattern of a dhobi’s blanket swing before smacking into the ground while his heavy breathing resembles that of a weight lifter struggling to finish the last of his reps at the gym. Their movements fluid and methodical, the dhobis work in silence leaving me to close my eyes and listen.

I listen and listen until a woman comes through and interrupts with the first native voice I have heard since entering the yard. There is no way to know what she is saying, but her partner in the conversation appears annoyed. I laugh at the thought that perhaps it is a lover’s quarrel then get up and walk to other side of the yard. There is more to see.

Two cows, one black and one brown with white spots are tied to the trees; five sheep lay in their midst still asleep. The sun rises higher; shadows become more pronounced and more piles of clothes line the aisle outside the columns of basins as more men arrive. The majority of the clotheslines remain unused so far, but it is easy to imagine the scene when the washing is finished. It is easy to recognize a technique and a routine in their labor. Organized and thorough, they work fast but not hurriedly. One dhobi drapes a set of trousers over a metal pipe to drip dry---each one folded exactly like the other. He stops to smile and pose in front of them before getting back to work. Another offers tea. “No thanks, I’ll be leaving you to your work soon.”

I sit for a bit longer—seeing, hearing, and thinking. So this is what’s happening in Lingarajapuram, India when on the other side of the world I’ve just finished eating dinner. Yes, I’ll be leaving soon and I shall hope to remember the sights and sounds of this morning.