Skip to main content

Beachbumming in Deobag



Every year the Indian Konkan Coast swells with tourists and travellers looking for fun in the sun and sand. In laidback Tarkarli and Deobag, however, it’s as much about what to do as it’s about who’s next door. Chances are that you’ll be by yourself, despite the peak seasons (fingers crossed).
Tarkarli wasn’t exactly our first option. In fact we had only distantly heard about its pristine beaches from friends of friends. When our plans for a road-trip to Gokarna fell flat at the last minute, we (my boyfriend and I) picked the first destination that had a train seat available on Tatkal. And so Tarkarli it was.

On an uneventful night in the middle of the week, we took the Konkan Kanya Express from Mumbai to Sawantwadi, about 38 odd kilometres from Tarkali. Despite buses which ply every half an hour we hitched an auto-rickshaw, so that we could check out multiple homestays without hauling our backpacks under the steaming afternoon sun.

Tarkarli is a sort of a drive-by town along the Konkan Coast. Wedged between the backwaters and the Arabian Sea, it is just a sliver of houses running along the white beach. The winding road shaded by indigenous coconut trees and shrubs, will take you all along the village till you reach Deobag, that is the delta.


To an unseasoned tourist, everything about Tarkarli is likely to seem unremarkable. The houses are a random selection of bland face-brick structures, strewn between overgrown hedges. The rundown eateries have a few tables with old plastic chairs thrown around it. A handful of local shops dot the arterial road, with shiny plastic packets of fryums and greasy glass jars of sweetmeats along the dirty countertops. There’s likely to be nothing distinctive about the village; that is until you step onto the beach. And suddenly, it all fits.



The making of the beach bums

The dictionary says it’s a slang for someone who spends inordinately long hours having fun on the beach. While we are not your most experienced beach bummers, we did spend an unreasonable amount of time warming our asses on the sand; swimming, reading, drinking, playing poker and squinting at dinghies in the horizon. And just to put things in perspective here’s a small what-to-do-next guide for potential beach bummers in Deobag.

1. Far from the crowd, closer to the sea!

Stretching our legs and lazing by the foaming sea

















While Tarkarli still has a relative number of families visiting during the long weekends, its postcard cousin - Deobag is the perfect getaway to perch yourself up and completely distance yourself from the holidaymakers’ humdrums. The pristine white beach, lined with heaving palms and coconut trees run in a narrow stretch for miles. On an ordinary sunny day, the sea is calm and just perfect to dive in and cool off.

2. The picture on the wall 

The view from our room

























Imagine waking up to Neil Young crooning Pocahontas at the backdrop of waves crashing in extended whooshes. The sun is yet to fire the sky and the beach is bathed in a sombre greyish blue. As I stared at this incredible living picture on the wall, I was filled with an inexplicable hope of the brand new day ahead of me.

3. The rustic life by the sea
Morning chores of sea-side dwellers


















Mornings are busy for people making a living off the sea. You’ll find small clusters of rowboats and dinghies as the fishermen unload their day’s catch. Don’t be shocked to find a handful of them taking a dump at the edge of the water. Hygiene be dammed; go natural I guess! Ambling along with water lapping at your feet over the soft squishy sand, you can spot women rubbing spices on fresh fish over interwoven mats of dried coconut leaves. Till your tummy starts complaining for breakfast, put on some JJ Cale on your playlist and watch the rustic village scene unfold along these Arabian shorelines.

4. Breakfast by the bay
A simple breakfast chai-biskut


















If you follow the arterial road right to the end, you’ll walk straight into the delta with a long wooden jetty on the riverside, right opposite the local cafe. Unlike most of Tarkarli and Deobag, here the beach opens up into a huge v-shaped sand field, wedged between the river and the sea. Order a plate of idli sambar, vada, dosa or poha with hot milky tea and watch the sea currents gnawing into the calm backwaters. If you fancy snorkelling or paragliding, head over to the cafe owner and book a speed boat with a guide.

Instead we spent a few hours lying in hammocks, reading and drinking lots of tea under the shade. 


5. A headrush of gin and juice

When in doubt, carry a bottle of gin! Unless you’re in a commercial beach in Goa or Gokarna, it is unlikely you’ll find beer at your beck and call. Instead buy yourself some coconuts and douse it Lime Duet (Blue Riband) to make yourself a refreshing afternoon cocktail on the sand.

6. Time wasted is time well spent

Beach paraphernelia 













































The bible says “man was created in the image of God”. Well, we don’t exactly see God running to catch the 8:15 local, do we? Or charging down the corridors of heaven, to sign the Great Big Muster in the sky, before he’s marked absent for half the cosmic calendar? Instead I imagine after the seventh day, he would have stretched out on a beach working out the mating rituals of bumblebees.
Rediscover the virtues of idleness as you stretch out and enjoy the unadultered pleasures of pondering over the bigger questions of life between lazy swims and gin laced coconut water.

Beach paraphernalia for some serious vellapanti

  • Swimsuit 
  • Sunscreen 
  • Beach towel and/or sarong 
  • Pair of mini speakers or earplugs (depending on your preference 
  • Shades 
  • A bedsheet 
  • Playing cards 
  • Coconut & gin 
  • And some Dire Strait

7. Magic in monochromes

















On our second day, the showers came in tumultuous torrents. October is hardly the time for monsoon, but that didn’t stop the grey cumulonimbus clouds to blanket the setting sun. Casting a veil of darkness over the agitated water.


8. You had me at Rawas Tawa fry

Malvani thaali of surmai fry, Malvani kombdi, kombdi vade, paneer masala and sol kadi 
Nothing beats the spice tinged aroma of fried fish wafting through the no-frills homestyled restaurants of Deobag. You would be hard-pressed to find vegetarian fares along the Konkan coasts where seafood is the predominant protein. But don’t hold me to my word! I couldn’t be bothered with veg specialties unless I accidentally come across it as part of the usual thali.

To put it mildly Malvani recipes use coconuts in one form or the other; fresh, dried, crumbed. It differs from home to home (which is the same as restaurant to restaurant in Tarkarli) like most other cuisines. But what remains common is the use of Bedgi chillies (which lends a spicy tang and a bright red hue) in most fish curries. The most common thalis comprise of fried Surmai (king mackerel or seer) or Rawas or pomfret. Considering this is all home-cooked, asking for boneless preparations might draw the angst of the chef (usually the wifey of the sole waiter/owner). Instead go for the spicy Malvani Kombdi (chicken curry) along with aamboli (Maharashtrian dosa) or kombdi vade (fried bread). Wash down the spices with a tumbler of sol kadi (spiced kokam digestive beverage) and you’re good for the next seven hours (depending on your metabolism).

Crab masala

But to put it in our newfound ‘beachbumming style’, here’s a step-by-step guide for the uninitiated.

  • Do a recce of the restaurants – Talk to the owners, find out whether they take pre-orders and of course the prices (chances are they’re all equally inexpensive, but beware of the duper anyways) 
  • Make a note of a handful that you like the most. Pick one for lunch and another for dinner 
  • Pre-order your lunch the day before. Why? Most of these restaurants don’t stock up on seafood. Usually it is the waiter cum owner who goes fishing himself in the wee hours of dawn. And if you want to give the succulent tiger prawns or some crabs a go, inform him a day earlier. So that your lunch is both scrumptious and hassle-free. And while you’re at it, pre-order some beers as well. 
  • Wrap up some fried crab in a foil to enjoy on the beach for laters 
A quick wrap-up on highlights we missed
  • A trip to the famous Sindhudurg fort (the untimely rain wiped out our plans) 
  • Snorkelling and scuba diving (I’m saving that up for the Andamans) 
  • Paragliding (overdone and overrated) 

Popular posts from this blog

Other Names #14: Girija

  Girija was a woman. It was a condition she suffered from birth. The ailment limited her to talk a certain way, dress a specific way and behave in a manner that did not draw negative attention to herself. The slightest aberrations tended to anger or at least annoy people with inevitable ease. It was especially tough for Girija because she did not see herself as a woman much. The condition for her was purely physical. It did not dominate her thoughts or passions every waking minute. If she had to put a gender to her inner world – she would’ve said that she felt like a mixture of all kinds of people and sexes we don’t even know about and she liked it that way. Eventually she came to the conclusion that it was more than the condition of being a woman that plagued her – she was also a feminist which came with a daunting side-effect in her twenties of self-awareness. It made her head pound and her stomach churn at harmless words like ‘pretty’ and ‘feisty’. But Girija rarely discussed the t

When Joan Didion said, ‘we tell ourselves stories in order to live’, I think she meant - the stories we delude ourselves with.

I used to think that if I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning, I’d hammer through the noon and end it with a Thud! Whack! Clanggg! before I hit the sack. But once I had a hammer, I realised I wasn’t hammering as much I said I would.

Three salad dressings with a side of honesty

Salads. The healthy-and-mighty of all meals. The snooty accompaniment to a glass of rosé. The veritable rainbow on your plate. In Fran Lebowitz’s words, a salad is not a meal – it is a style. Well, as long as ‘style’ includes a fair amount of mud under one’s fingernails – I couldn’t agree more with Fran. Sure, it’s fashionable to eat a salad – but there’s a certain panache to going down on all fours in wet mud, rummaging through fresh lettuce pods every morning and wondering what you’re going to dress them in. While it’s far from the fashion statement that salad has come to symbolise, growing your own food definitely is a style of its own. There are many categories of salad snobs – the ingredient minimalist, the chop-it-right evangelists and the brigade of dressing-goes-first, but the only consensus between the salad factions is that you don’t actually need packaged dressing. A homemade vinaigrette made from basic ingredients lives just as happily on your refrigerator door, not to ment

A road-tripper’s recipe to beach-hopping: Sri Lanka south coast

Nay-sayers said it couldn’t be done. Well-wishers said it probably shouldn’t be done. The fact that the mercury would rise to its zenith high in the peak summer didn’t stop us from travelling to the southern coast of Sri Lanka last month. After a rickety eight hour bus-ride that saw us descending into the plains from the hill country, we reached the bustling sea-board town of Weligama. If you are travelling along the same route, keeping a day in hand for the Yala National Park would seem like the most obvious choice. However, short of money and time – my fiancé and I headed straight for the holy trinity of sun, sea and sand. It would be safe to say that any road trip involves the road (duh!), a pair of trusty-ish wheels and at least one companion (who you will most likely fall out with at least once a day. But regardless the offense these silly skirmishes that start with ‘let’s stop for a cola’ have a knack to smooth itself out soon enough). Like life, which’s about the journey and n

Project Other Names #7: Dr. Prarthamesh Potty

  Professor Potty scratched these words on the blackboard, punching the period at the end for dramatic effect. He turned to face his class of forty. Forty miserable, clueless schmucks, most of whom didn’t know the difference between a period and an ellipsis. And yet they thought a minor in Creative Writing would be a piece of cake. An easy grade to brighten up their mark sheet. He had overheard on his way to class, some of the students casually joke, “Next class…” proceeding to clutch their tummy and ejecting a fart-like sound from their mouth. The joke lacked half-a-decent punchline but regardless, the junior year would pick it up from their seniors, giving new life to a lame old gag. Professor Potty did not have a sense of humour. At least, none when it came to his name. You would think after years of being tormented by friends, foes, colleagues, relatives, lovers and eventually his own children as well, the professor would at least pretend to smile and take the power out of the old

Other Names #15: Balwan

  Settling into a chair for coffee with his friend, Balwan felt his heart race and tension creep into the tops of his shoulder, pulling the nerves at the base of his neck into tight knots. Anger vibrated in his solar plexus. But he was not upset. His friend sitting across from him was. Balwan soaked up other people’s moods like a sponge. If you’ve met Balwan, chances are you’ve already made him cry. He often described himself as someone with an exposed nerve, fine-tuned to every little flutter in his environment like an emotional weather vane. Sometimes these moods were pleasant but even those moved him to such overwhelming awe that he was often reduced to tears. A glimpse of a bird’s nest or a half-furled leaf filled Balwan with inarticulate joy. An unexpected compliment could send his mood soaring and fill him with unbridled enthusiasm. Balwan noticed details that most people missed – a heightened sense of smell and touch and sight. It was like he felt the world around him with fifty

Windows between waves

Back in 2009, during my last year in college, my friends and I used to take a three-hour train ride to Gokarna over weekends. It was a small seaboard town with a penchant for attracting people who listened to Bob Marley and chain-smoked cheap cigarettes. But what I remember most distinctive of Gokarna was the sea. It was a beautiful sunny morning like any other and we had all woken up late. After a heavy breakfast of Nutella pancakes all of us headed out to the sea. It was calm and we all wore our sun shades into the waters, lying supine on our backs and floating with the sun in our eyes. Unlike other days, we had given up on playing pranks – no one went underwater to imitate a sea creature tickling a feet or neck, there were no sudden shrieks of friends splashing the salty sea water into each other’s eyes and mouth – we were pinpricks in the vast ocean drifting further and further away from the shore, blissfully unaware of how close to danger we lurked. At first, we thought we were be

Other Names #10: Mrs. Ghosh

She sat on a wooden bench facing an empty communal pool, contemplating its green chlorinated waters, with her hand resting on the silver handle of her cane and thinking about death. The first time Mrs. Ghosh had visited Dolphin Square, she was no more than five herself. Her father, a district magistrate in the Calcutta high court and a skilled swimmer himself had unceremoniously doused her in the pool. It was the first of many days that would become her entire adolescent years. The pool was emptied and cleaned once every year in the winter. There had been numerous deaths at the bottom of the diving board but all of Calcutta’s best swimmers frolicked to the murky green pools to compete with children from nearby slums who inevitably turned out to be stronger and swifter in the district championships. Every second Sunday of the month, young people who couldn’t afford the membership fee of the government run swim club, competed against each other to earn their place by merit. It afforded t

Other Names #8 and #9: Sahil and Mira

  It had been three years since Sahil had last seen Mira. A lot had changed (physically) for Sahil in that time. His jaw had hardened to an angular shape, he had lost that baby beard that everyone made fun of and the unruly curls had been tamed to a neat close crop. He had returned to civilisation - unrecognisable beyond repair, as his friends often remarked. So, it came as a surprise when Sahil found himself looking at Mira, untouched by the passage of time. She still had the look of an alert school girl. Head held high, a neat round chin, wide thin-lipped mouth, snub nose, bright eyes and a forehead that was often flushed with effort or appreciation. She was finishing her thesis in Sanskrit from Xavier’s when they were together. Sahil always marvelled at how much the professors delighted in her – as though they were grateful for anybody who still took up ancient languages, especially for someone so gifted – but they were always worried as well. The problem Mira used to say, was becau

Rude Awakening Series: You might find it offensive. But so is the world around us.

It has been one year and nine months since my last entry. A lot has happened since. The dude who used to say “You’re fired” on reality television is now the very real President of United States of A, Delhi beat Beijing to become the most polluted city in the world by a chest-thumping margin, the planet regardless of our skeptical opinions has continued to become warmer - putting the birds and bees out of business. On the other hand, some things haven’t changed. North Korea is still batshit ballistic, China ghost towns are at best dead, Japan is LOCO but still zen, fortunes (as usual) have waxed and waned to the changing tides of tax reforms, share prices and demonetisation. If there is a hidden lesson over the months that I have learnt, it is this - nothing changes or gets better in this world unless we act (as opposed to react) upon it. And it is with this foolhardy notion that I once again set about to write; to abuse, to anger, with a direct intent to offend the blogosphere.