A necklace of 53 beaches in Konkan

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who love beaches, and those who love mountains. I had always belonged to the latter. So much so that if only one frame were left in my camera and I had to choose between shooting the beach in front of me and the mountains behind, I would turn my back on the beach.

But a journey of 1,106 km from Mumbai to the border of Maharashtra and Goa was to change my beach-view forever. In a fortnight of exploring the Konkan coast, I counted no less than 53 beaches from Mumbai to Redi, the last coastal village right at
the border.

Some of these beaches are literally oceans apart, from the dull grey of the Arabian Sea in Kihim to an ultramarine blue in Kondura. The ones near Mumbai, from Kihim to Nagaon, and the last set near the Goa border, from Shiroda to Redi, also bear the marks of being easily accessible to the fun-loving urbanite who doesn’t think twice before dumping plastic waste that washes up the beach with every high tide. The rule of the sea is simple. Whatever you throw into it, it throws back at your face.

Far from the crowds
As the cities receded, the beaches became cleaner and more beautiful. The sand changed its hues too: from brown and black to red, gold and white. Korlai, a quintessential Konkan fishing village, was the first of the unexplored stretches I came across. It had a lighthouse, a fort on a hill from which you could see the Arabian Sea down below, and a beach that only had the footprints of the fisherfolk.

My next stop was Nandgaon, which comes after the busy Kashid. And just a stone’s throw from this secluded beach is Phansad, the only wildlife sanctuary on the Konkan coast, which made for a nice detour from the beaches.

Blissful ignorance
Back on the coastline, I hit the twin beaches of Shreevardhan and Harihareshwar, which presented an intriguing contrast. Shreevardhan, a popular picnic spot, had the tell-tale signs of irresponsible tourism, whereas Harihareshwar, a popular pilgrimage centre, had a pristine look. The reason for this, I discovered, was not that the pilgrims were better tourists, but that they were simply unaware of the existence of this wonderful beach, and happily gave it a miss.

A short drive from Harihareshwar took me to the jetty of Baagmandla, which in turn took me back to my childhood in Kerala where the only way to reach my father’s village was to take a ferry across the backwaters. At Baagmaandla, the ferry takes you to the Velas beach, which is the largest nesting site of Olive Ridley turtles on the western coast.

I made a night halt in Kelshi, and here I saw a scene that was transplanted from Jaisalmer. Right on the edge of the beach was Valoocha Dongar, a natural hill made out of sand. The only difference was that, unlike the sand dunes of Jaisalmer, this one was formed by wet beach sand, which made it look like it had been sculpted by a human hand.

Not on the maps
Kelshi and the next four beaches I visited —Paadle, Harne, Tamasthirth and Budhal — are my pick of the top five beaches on the Konkan coast.

Paadle is a beach that is apparently yet to be discovered by cartographers because it doesn’t figure on any of the maps I’ve seen. But it’s so breathtaking in its beauty that it could easily displace a few of the beaches featured on popular maps of the
Konkan region.

Harne had a different charm. This must be the busiest fishing village on the entire Konkan coast and it took me back a few centuries. Large boats came in from other villages with various commodities for trading, and these were off-loaded directly onto bullock carts parked in the shallow sea.

The next beach, Tamastirth which actually means the Red Sea. The sand on the beach was truly red, and every time the waves receded from the beach with blood on their hands, the sea looked more furious. At Budhial, I took the advice of a fisherman to trek my way up a steep hill near the beach. Sure enough, the view as I looked down from the cliff was stunning.

As blue as the Mediterranean
Next up was another string of beaches which don’t figure on any tourist map: Undi, Munge, Khavne and Kondura. And as I journeyed from one to the other, the sea kept adding a liberal dash of ultramarine blue till at Kondura it became as blue as the Mediterranean. No wonder, someone said so succinctly, ‘In India, you will see the world.’

On each of these four beaches, there was not a soul in sight, and I really felt like the monarch of all the blue sea I surveyed.
This refreshing blue diminished as I proceeded further south, till I reached Shiroda where it became a much-too-familiar grey once again.

The very last beach on the border of Maharashtra and Goa was Redi, a once-pristine landscape ruined by industrialisation. As I gazed at the wasteland, I remembered that many anxious villagers had told me about the power projects that would soon be coming up in this largely unexplored land. And as the sun set on the gloomy sands of Redi, I just wished that it was just the sun setting on one beach, and not on all the other 52 beaches that form the breathtaking necklace of the Konkan.