Reflections on the Golden Sands

Is this a land I have been before? I ask surprisingly - 

Ignorant that more than the world, has changed the eyes that see

It was the end of December, perhaps one of the most pleasant times to travel in the sub-continent. And I was standing on the ochre sands at one end of the Golden Beach in one of the busiest, most touristy beachside towns of eastern India - Puri. It couldn’t get any more festive than this - the skies were drowning in pale crimson, as a magnificent sun was dipping in the Bay of Bengal, as if in obeisance to Lord Jagannath himself. All around, throngs of tourists and travellers, from every part of the nation, had descended on to the sands to make the most of yet another speckless sunny day, their collective zeal as if supercharging the golden sands, and riveting all senses of any passerby. You could smell the crackling oil that was frying hot crispy pakoda and samosa, while elaichi tea was being sold in the gallons all around. Colourful beads and bangles, shells, natural and synthetic, pearls, jewelry, trinkets - not to mention cellphone covers and selfie sticks,  were making countless sales. There were cameleers and horsemen on the sands, and banana boats in the seas; a sand artist was giving an interview nearby, his ‘Frozen’ figures in sand, the subject of great intrigue among children, while all around, snapshots of the sunset were being captured perhaps in petabytes. I turned around, and found literally every inch of every balcony, occupied by multitudes, enjoying the sunset. As if an icing to this anthropological ardour,  the nearby lighthouse had started beaming its monster-flashlight as well.

So much zeal, it was almost festive. But a part of me, a large part, was quite melancholic. I do love such an atmosphere, mind you. Yet something bothered me. And I realised that the melancholy emanated not from that introvert that loves to stay outside the merrymaking of the multitudes, but rather from the chronicler who was all the time, opening up diaries from the past. 

Not years, but decades - three, to be precise. For it was around three decades earlier that I had first come to Puri. And the memories of the sleepy town then, and the inevitable comparison to the carnival now was mind-blowing - and melancholic. It was a small cosy little township then, and we were staying right in its heart. Yet, I recollect empty roads that could breathe anytime of the day, empty sands that were a delight to run without stepping on someone’s toes,, and empty seas where a little kid could discover shells in plenty. In the present, the only emptiness was in the heart. I still recollect strolling out to the beach at night as a kid - I just had to cross one asphalt road to gambol on the sands - and the beach delighted me in the dark, as much as it had intrigued me in the day. No streetlights, no vendors, no sand art - just one natural beach, so dark, I had actually witnessed bio-luminescence in the seas. Every wave had brought with it, fine sand like residues that glowed darkly in muted blues and green, and left them behind, creating ephemeral glows in the sand. That was a sand-art a kid would never forget! And if this was not enough, the enigmatic sea had brought with it nocturnal denizens - Cuttlefish bones were strewn on the beach, while I vividly remember a conch shell like structure scurrying on the sands, disturbed by our unexpected presence.

‘Rasgullas babu, rasgullas?’ a vendor dragged me through the time portal from that past onto the present. The difference was blinding. The sun had set - the streetlights had all come alive, supported unanimously by the lamps in the kiosks, and the hotels and the cars - which seemed to create a perennial jam by the Golden Beach. Bio-luminescence? Conch-shells? I smirked, they were an illusion from the past. So much have you changed! I couldn’t help cry out in that melee.

..Three decades, and the change was unrecognisable! It seemed I had visited a different Puri altogether. This couldn’t be the place I had been to ….too much change, my heart cried...

And yet, a different part of me couldn’t help sympathise with this place. That part, in turn, allied with the seas, and asked me difficult questions….

And what of you? Have you not changed? Have three decades of change not impacted you? Where is the little kid who was overwhelmed to see a tortoise in the garden pond? Today, a humpback will breach the seas, and will you bat an eyelid? The innocence to splash in the waters of the Bay has gone away, for today, you dip your toes and retreat. Then, have you not changed as well? The boy who was overjoyed to sleep on a train, today has returned after travelling around the world - the truth is then, there is no baseline to compare. For the eyes that saw the sands of the past is no longer the same. Seer and seen, both have moved, where then is the comparison?

True, I reflected...it was harsh to compare. For it was not the town alone that had changed. My ability to judge, compare and contrast, had moved on as well. I have walked on isolated beaches on the Konkan, hiked in the valleys of the Mediterranenan, and swam with jellyfish in the aquamarine waters of the Pacific. Would I be equally enthralled to see a fiddler crab today? Perhaps the problem was more internal. Who was I to complain then of change?

And to add to it, people like me had also contributed to that change. I was a part of the multitudes that had descended upon this place, that in turn added the fumigating cars, bought the knick-knacks and well, took selfies at every nook and corner. Tourists like me demand selfie-sticks that have replaced souvenirs of shells, seek the exhilaration of parasailing and water scooters, devour endless snacks and countless teas to watch a sunset - how can the same tourist then demand isolation and solitude?

Mentioned in the vedas and the puranas, Puri has survived through centuries to add layers of history from the Bhakti revival to the Mughals and British. It has survived, perhaps because it could change. Who was I then, a speck on the line to infinity, to complain?

Though melancholic, I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, and decided to walk up to climb the lighthouse nearby. It was time for newer experiences, newer discoveries and newer joys. A new chapter had to be written. For bioluminescent beach and bewildered boy, both were now memories hidden in a different land, in a long forgotten time…

25th July, 2020