Chasing the Rain in Konkan

I alighted the autorickshaw at the Bata store on Hill Road in Bandra, Mumbai, as I had been instructed. My eyes were glued to the map on the phone screen. Turning around to get a sense of direction, Peter and Katherina were in the corner of the frame. “Can we help you?” said Peter, who is from the Netherlands. This is Mumbai, and, I definitely do not come across as a non-native, but, then, there’s globalization and Google. We happened to be crashing at the same (backpackers) hostel that night, call it coincidence? I took the invitation to follow them, though the eternal skeptic in me would keep going back to the map; not that Google is the one to be trusted, always. I tailed them through narrow alleys to the hostel, which does not have a façade distinguishable from the aging structures around. In retrospect, it was good that they found me and Peter would later mention that it was my backpack that prompted the offer to help.

Peter and Katherina, who’s German, are in India for two months. They were without a plan and still deciding on a schedule. First world luxuries I suppose. My weekend trip to Ratnagiri, a coastal town in the Konkan belt of Maharashtra, took much research and planning.

A halt on the Jaigad-Ratnagiri route near Ganpatipule

5 AM next day, the emptiest I’ve seen of the Mumbai local; boarded a train to Dadar to catch another to Ratnagiri about 420 kms south of Mumbai. Two good friends, Ajay and Sundar, with whom I primarily connect gastronomically, also joined at Dadar. Though they expressed great interest in the lush monsoon version of the Konkan, I was certain it was the fisherman’s net that had them hooked. 

Trains connect Mumbai and Ratnagiri day and night long; but take a day train to fill your eyes with the Konkan magnifique – the endless waterfalls dotting the Sahyadri on the east, the narrow streams and healthy rivers (because I live in a city through which the Yamuna River apparently flows; no, never seen it), struggling to find a hue other than green. If it rains, you are indeed blessed. Amen. The only distress comes when smoke from the diesel locomotive turns the compartments into gaschambers.

Forts, cliffs,clouds, rain and autorickshaws with doors sum up Ratnagiri for me; and the food, of course. Bakri – a type of pancake made of rice – replaces the pav in Ratnagiri. That’s a relief, and it changed my perception about Marathi cuisine (my bad I judged from what Mumbaikars ate). The typical meal was all about seafood, mutton and chicken. Sorry vegetarians, all you get is a local variety of raita and onions. Amantran restaurant is a must visit.

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Everywhere in the world, I guess you can't wait to get home from school.

Ratnagiri is not touristy, yet. Marathi movies drew me there. It is a port city with a population of less than a lakh (2011 census). Over a 75 km-stretch along the coastline on the west of the city are three forts – Ratnadurg, Jaigad and Purnagad - in ruins. Located in the city, Ratnadurg Fort and the vast ocean beyond are popular attractions (read selfie spots) for the locals. It stretches across a cliff that overlooks the bay. Built in the 16th century, the fort changed hands from the Bijapur Dynasty to the Marathas and to the British. Well Shivaji Maharaj had to have had his hands on it at some point. 

Ratnadurg Fort

At the northern tip of Ratnagiri district, 45 kms from the city is Jaigad Fort. It is located on a peninsular with a view of the merger of River Shastri and the Arabian sea. Supposedly build by the Bijapur Dynasty in the 16th century, the fort was later controlled by the Naiks and the Marathas until the British era. Fast forward to the present day, the grassy interiors of the fort are now a treat to the cows. The only other visitors included a couple and three boys playing cricket.  

Jaigad Fort

The route to Jaigad, along the western coast is mesmerising. The first few kilometres are pothole-riddled and congested but beyond that is a dream canvass. It is a tad difficult to keep the eye on the road without being caught in the enchanting views around. The winding road often runs up and down the cliffs, offering magnificent views of a thousand white waves hitting the coast.

Purnagad Fort, 25 kms south of the city is almost non-existent. Google gave up after a point, leading us in circles. Even the locals struggled to point the way to the 'kila', which is at the end of a flight of slippery mossy stone stairs. The structure is hidden behind thick vegetation, which has even eaten into its walls. Purnagad is the smallest of the three forts. It overlooks the Arabian sea at the point where the Muchkundi River enters the sea. It's history is less known. 

Purnagad Fort

Thiba Palace where Thibaw Min, the last king of the Konbaung Dynasty of Burma, lived in forced exile after the British defeated his kingdom is another bit of history in Ratnagiri. Given its long coastline, the city also has several beaches. The tide being high, and with the waves bringing back all that we dumped before the monsoon, it wasn't the beach time of the year. 

I was only chasing the rain and managed to keep pace. After all, that's the only thing I really miss about Kerala. Also, thanks to Marathi cinema for bringing me here.

Bhatye beach