Capers on the Konkan coast

Befuddled was an understatement.

‘So where exactly is the sea?’ asked Justice, somewhat appalled that we were at a sea-less beach.

Calling the black sands of Bordi a beach was proving to be extremely difficult especially after I had dragged my friends into an Innova to explore the dramatic sea-line up to nearby Daman. I mean, there we were, after over two hours of a sticky, sweaty, summer drive on a sultry, soggy Saturday, most dressed in swimming trunks, to splash in the seas - only that there were no seas! The sea was present, of course, but it seemed to have receded far away, to the horizon, leaving us  stranded on what seemed more like an ugly wet mudflat rather than a sandy paradise.

‘Where are the palm trees? The white sands? The cool breeze of the Arabian? At least give me some water to chill!’ demanded Nikhil. I wished I had a bucket, I would have happily splashed it on him at that moment.

I turned around and headed to our cab driver, ‘Sharmaji, where is the sea?’

The corpulent man had just ensconced himself into his reclined driver seat, and had nearly dropped into a sleep despite the sun, when I trampled upon his midsummer’s day dream.

He got up, annoyed, and had that mutual-fund-investments-are-subject-to-market-risk look in his eyes. He checked his spirits, and calmly responded, ‘You had asked to come to Bordi beach, right? Here it is…’

‘But there are no waters here!’

‘Did you ask if there were waters here? The sealine retreats a lot back, it seems…’

‘You knew that?’ I asked in a heady mix of anger and disappointment

‘No,’ he replied nonchalantly, as he tried going back to sleep, ‘I just learnt that today, no one bothers coming to Bordi of all places...’

I was gazumped - Of course, I had not read the offer document carefully!

I returned, confused what to do next, when I found my motley group of friends, settled under the cool shade of a cluster of trees at the edge of the beach...or mudflat or tar-pits, or whatever the dark, evil sands were. 

A cool sea breeze had begun to blow, and that with the comforting shade seemed to have brought down the sense of revolt a few minutes earlier. Acceptance is a great attribute that impacts the human mind. More often than not, our annoyance and anger arises from our inability to accept life, as it is, hence the rebellion. But once you have accepted the as-is, you expend your energy in searching for the next best thing, instead of brooding and complaining.

For my friends, that next best thing was to sit and have an adda - Preeti was already discussing some Bollywood belter she had seen recently, while Prashant had found beauty in the dark veins of the black sands, capturing that moment in his Nikon. I was still wondering what to do, and sheepishly broached the option of moving to the next village that also had a ‘beach’ tag to it as per the maps.

 Justice was wearing his legendary shades (that always justified that he should have swapped his management diploma for a modelling degree) - even without taking them off, I could read the cynicism in his eyes. ‘Can you guarantee white sands and blue seas? Then sit down and enjoy the breeze!’ 

‘Baith ja, gup marte hain...the weather is good, we have got a great conversation on, and it is not everyday that we have a full house with everyone joining a day trip!’ Nishant added, reminding me what he always believed in, that people matter more than anything else, not space or time or any other variable.

I had to admit, with friends like these, life becomes easy.

The day did not turn out to be an absolute damp squib, for that matter. With expectations low, there was satisfaction and joy in the little things - in the free-flow conversations we had, in the zen-ness of Prashant’s photos, in our attempt to pose for clicks that would otherwise seem natural, in the black crabs that scurried in the sands, in crispy chicken and chilled beer, and finally in the erstwhile Portuguese colony of Daman. The capital of the union territory of Daman & Diu, it salvaged some glory eroded in Bordi and improved the returns from our day.

Being a Portuguese colony for over 400 years, Daman has a high heritage tag to it, though to be honest, there is a slight rundown melancholy to its existence - unlike the more vibrant Goa, or Pondicherry. Yet, every other nook and by-lane will reflect back its riches, either in the form of an antiquated statue, a mural, or a richly decorated wall of a medieval fortress. It was once an important port of call for the Portuguese seafaring trade that hauled spices from south-east Asia to mainland Europe after Vasco da Gama’s epic discovery of the sea route to India in 1498. Its fortunes waned though when the British and Dutch overtook Portugal as the predominant spice traders in the Indian Ocean. Daman continued to be a Portuguese colony until the 1960s, when the Nehru government annexed Portuguese territories  to form the union territory of Goa, Daman and Diu. Goa was separated to form its own state in 1987, leaving Daman to be a sandwiched sliver of historical richness between Maharashtra and Gujarat - only to be fused with neighbouring Dadra and Nagar Haveli (also a Portuguese colony and Indian Union Territory) to become DNHDD in 2020: A Shah Rukh Khan movie-initialism styled short form for Dadra and Nagar Haveli and Daman and Diu. If there was an award for the use of ‘and’s in administrative taxonomy, this would definitely win first prize! 

The small and quaint city of Daman is divided into two parts - ‘Moti’ Daman or big Daman, and ‘Nani’ Daman or small Daman, though Nani Daman is actually larger than Moti Daman. Yes, freedom after four centuries of imperial rule comes with its own set of complexities! We traipsed on the dilapidated walls of the Moti Daman fort, then crossed the Damanganga to spend the sunset on Jampore Beach- our last stop for the hot summer day. 

Neighbouring Gujarat being a teetotaller state, tourists throng to Daman to indulge in a bit of drunken revelry - talk of alcohol tourism! When we stepped into Jampore beach, we could immediately feel an uplift in the energy of the place, thanks to a large number of these tourists, and the ensuing travel industry that has developed in this place. Liquor shacks and food stalls aside, it felt quite festive with its camels and kids and kites and horses - more importantly, there was water to splash there! 

When it comes to instilling a philosophical sense of profoundness, few things compare to a sunset on the seas, and that on snow-clad peaks. The black sands of Jampore - a legacy of the black volcanic soils that led to its formation, similar to many more beaches in the northern part of Maharashtra - added to the crimson glow of the sunset. The clear skies had turned ruddy, the mellow sun orange, as the black wet sands and turbid, blue waters had turned into a huge reflector, all chorusing to say adieu to the day, momentous enough as it would never return, despite the stark similarity with a yesterday and a tomorrow. The repetitive crashing of the waves was meditative, as if empowering the everyday Yogi to will to push the other noises and din into the background. Thus, despite the merrymaking on the sands, there was enough space for inner silence, to feel that soulful reverberation, that could unite the flicker of the winds with the force of the chakras. In hindsight, it amazes me that such powerful thoughts could be evoked even in a touristy place like Jampore, far away from the picture postcard perfection of an isolated Maldives or a solitude- filled Whitsunday. That perhaps, is the profundity of a sunset on the seas. It acts like a universal constant, independent of latitude or longitude, turning every onlooker into a storyteller, each wayfarer into a pilgrim.

The melody of the sunset over, we mortals descended back on terra firma - while the lights of the shacks tried in united vain to replace the luminosity of dusk. And around these million suns, hovered the planets of merrymaking and roistered tourism. We packed up and decided to call it a day - yes, a single afternoon was never enough to explore four centuries of history, but at least we had seen a mighty long trailer. The rest of the movie could wait for another day.   

Or so it was - for I turned stubborn and crestfallen when I found the 400 year old Bom Jesus Church closed on our way out of the city. I waited at its intricately carved doorway, searching for a display to its timing, hoping it could open for the evening. But the others had lost their patience: Mumbai was a long way. Finally, Justice came over and reminded, you couldn’t tick all the boxes in one day, that you would have to return to see it all!

‘When?’I asked obstinately as he gave an impish reply, ‘On a day when there’s enough water on your favorite beach….’

[Cover Image: Jampore Beach, Jan'2013]

2nd August, 2020