It is the season of neem, and chicken-pox and local festival.
The village is getting ready for the three day festival next week and the evenings are the time for dance at the temple courtyard.
The time is around 9 and the drummers are warming up their instruments with the burning straws, the handsome men and their family move after dinner, drawing and encouraging their friends to come along.
The dress code is lungi, vest and a towel tried as a turban, these days the boys have slipped to shorts and elderly men still in dhothis.
The beats start to the shouts and yelling of the boys, enthusiastic to show off their steps to the beauty village women who are the silent cheer girls for our handsome men.
The steps are simple and the dancers get into orderly line formations to move around with ease and for the benefit of the audience and visibility to their silent sweethearts.
The dance is a sort of a relaxation and catharsis for the village men, and the audience bring on the best of the men folk to keep them in health and custody of the village discipline and honour, for the betterment of humanity.