Subir Roy: The pleasures of isolation

When we decided to crown our holiday to Bangalore with a few days in Karwar, we didn't quite realise that getting there would be so daunting. Having done so, we know why such an idyllic destination remains so unspoilt. It is too much of an effort for the regular crowd to get there.

A particularly sharp comment on the place on a travel website pays it a great unintended compliment. This irate traveller writes: "Bad place. Pls dont waste ur time. Spend an hour more and go on to Goa." The minuses he lists are formidable: "underdeveloped beach, no good hotels, not much to eat," and to him perhaps the most unforgivable, "ATMs spread out far and wide."

Karwar's blessing is that Goa is just 19 kilometres away. Why should anyone who can go to well-connected Goa want to leave it and go down further to this place, which is no resort at all? And from Bangalore, it takes almost a full day by train; we set out at the crack of dawn and reach at midnight.

Most of the journey is through pleasant country, but the high-water mark is the two hours that the already slow train takes to crawl even more slowly across the Western Ghats. Breathtaking dense green valley upon valley, punctuated by short tunnels and white streaks of cataracts energised by the seasonal rain, makes our day. As soon as the train leaves Sakleshpur, the knowledgeable leave their seats and, digital camera in hand, position themselves at opened doors, to click away endlessly.

This is a suitable curtain-raiser to the view that we get from our sixth-floor hotel room. It overlooks the confluence of the Kali river with the sea, the green finger of the distant opposite bank jutting out tentatively into the sea and deciding not to go beyond a point.

As if this is not enough, you get a second view if you look a bit to the side. The national highway climbs a rise, making the sparse traffic slow down as if drugged by the surrounding indolence. Then it disappears between two high rock walls - moss covered and dripping from some generous stream further up - into which a way for it has been cut.

Karwar town is small and has nothing to offer beyond the typical mix of small-town homes and green country that marks the entire southern coast from Konkan to Kerala. Developers with their high-rises have, till now, mostly stayed away. As we trudge down country lanes back from the beach in the late morning heat looking for an auto, a passer-by helps out. On his cell phone he calls an auto driver and we are off in a few minutes, waving effusive thank-yous. President Kalam's idea of urban amenities in rural or near-rural areas has arrived.

The town is defined by the sea and its two offerings - its beach and its fish. The beach is pale yellow, long, clean and both firm and yielding underfoot - ideal for endless walks while being wafted by the breeze. It is named after Rabindranath Tagore, who spent some time there when he was just about 20, visiting his district magistrate elder brother.

There he wrote Prakritir Pratishod (Nature's Revenge), a dramatic poem. It is the story of a sanyasi who tries to find truth in renunciation, only to meet a little girl who brings him back to the world of human bondage and affection. Thus, the sanyasi discovers the great in the small and freedom of the soul in human love. Tagore found the beach of Karwar a place where "the beauty of nature is not a mirage … but reflects the joy of the infinite and thus draws us to lose ourselves in it."

Joy for the soul in Karwar can also be found in its fish. As we walk into a small roadside eatery, the owner at the counter announces in the traditional manner: "bhangra" (mackerel) - it is the catch of the day. We down enormous quantities, fried in rawa or suji and at the end are handed over a hugely modest bill. He has a broad smile when we say the fish was great.

It is the same at the slightly bigger place where we go for lunch the next day. Their prawns are as good and fresh as they come. Meal over, the owner asks how the food was and is genuinely pleased with our burping praise. They are both classical hoteliers. While they are in it for profit, satisfied guests are food for their soul. I do hope regular tourists continue to give "underdeveloped" Karwar a miss.

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