Somewhere near the equator, right off the coast of an island, four friends danced to the upbeat "Zingaat" from the movie Sairat, without a care in the world. They swayed and skipped to the music inside a villa supported by stilts over aquamarine waters,🅠 making a dance floor of the see-through glass tile bang in the middle of the room. The quartet stepped out onto the sun deck, now effectively a moon deck, for the occasional smoke and to muse on the infinite expanse of a calming, crystal-clear sea. The rest of the villas formed the backdrop, but at a considerable distance. This might as well have been the group's private island. Maybe it was.
