From the archives, this post originally written almost 3 years back, in February 2005, deserves a comeback. I am posting it as is, again.
“Thats the James Bond Beach”, said my sister.
“Thats the what bond beach?” I asked, my face giving a convincing, confused look not sure about what I just heard.
“James Bond Beach”.
My mind raced back to all the James Bond movies I had seen, the last 4. I could not even recall a single movie scene shot in India. Bond in India? At this place? How come I do not know about it.
“Why is it called that?”, the confused look on my face has transformed into a curious one.
“Oh its not called that. I call it that. Because, you know, it gives a feeling of how a typical beach is, in Bond movies. Blue water, silver sand, no one around, a seemingly private beach. colorful fishing boats beyond the coastline. The James Bond beach.”
She was right. This looked strikingly similar to one of those. It was probably the most beautiful sea shore I had ever seen in my life.
And for the third time in the last few minutes, the look on my face was changed to a convincing one. Yes, the James Bond beach. I was now staring with gleaming eyes on the waves, crashing on the silver sand, as if, in a matter of seconds, a bikini clad Halle Barry would just pop up from nowhere between the waves. The Bond-James Bond, Beach.
I am talking about a place called Karwar, a small town in the northern coast of Karnataka, a 150 km drive from Goa. I have stayed more than half of my life on the coast, and this was, quite easily, the best seashore I had ever seen. The water was bluer than the sky. The sun shone on the white sand, washing it and left it glimmering like silver. The sea was calm, as if pretending to me, that it has always been like this. Like storms, cyclones and the recent tsunami, were strangers to this sailors grave. “It wasn’t me”, as if the sea was telling me. The waves, calm and blue on the surface of the sea. But just before they crashed on the white sand, they suddenly turned green, as if venting some hidden anger only to be released in small quantities at regular intervals so that it goes unnoticed by anyone not paying attention. The anger, it holds inside, I said to myself. Behind me was the Navy establishment giving it the look of a private beach. And no one on the shore. Just the sea and somewhere on the horizon, the deep blue sea and the pale blue sky met. Nothing at all in sight. A sight to remember. It was like a hidden treasure, in the vicinity of the Naval authorities and away from the already little tourist attraction this city receives. It had no name, so we call it The James Bond Beach. The “Bond. James Bond” Beach.