Dahanu-A Town by the Sea*

The guide books said there was nothing to see in Dahanu and they were right.

Why did we go there? The hoped for Easter weekend break had dwindled down to a day’s outing so we decided to chance Dahanu hoping to spot a few chikoo orchards and the odd Parsi mansion and with a bit of luck even Warli settlements. Instead the road out set the tone for the day, with NH-8 passing through uninspired landscape. The jumble of traffic on it was not helped by what seemed to be various overpasses under construction.  Every now and then a township (Welcome to Vegas!) claimed to provide serene, green landscapes that were nowhere in sight.

Turning off from NH-8 was a relief but arriving in Dahanu in the mid-afternoon heat, we knew the town wasn’t promising. Most tourists come for the beach; along it are the kind of guest houses that are populated by mid-level government functionaries and small businessmen enjoying a break. The waters around here are slightly muddy and the beach has a few indifferent attractions.

But being there also made me think a bit about authenticity. Now and then the papers in Australia talk about country towns despoiled by the tourist trade and of course they mean towns that have visibly lost their actual life and instead are reduced to presenting a gaudy front for visitors complete with cute cafes that offer familiar food, knick-knacks and the like. Dahanu is poised somewhere in between, a bit like a second rate tourist town but also still the kind of town that once constituted the “native place” that one visited for long summer holidays. The kind of holidays spent with relatives where little was done except eat and while away the hours and perhaps once in a while visit the bazaar for the odd meal or cinema visit.  In fact a few of the houses with their "thinnais" reminded me of a long forgotten visit to Kumbakonam. Sort of from a time when you weren't necessarily in search of the picturesque and new experiences.  Though the odd spot in the place was charming.

Though we didn't do anything much apart from hastily buying a few chikoos from the market as evidence of the visit, it turned out that the natives were friendly enough - like bailing our car out of a tiny lane. And on a hot day, the town had its own version of the public water fountains found in cities for passers by.

Around Mumbai there were a lot of quirky stores that trade in Indian kitsch, it's sort of the Indian hipster version of converting/appropriating working class fare into "cool" products.  At least some of that kitsch lies in small towns like Dahanu that are innocent of the ironic.  Perhaps the shops and products were on my mind when I took these photographs. Though the gola syrups brought with them nostalgia - I used to have these at school in my unsupervised childhood but the adult me wasn't brave enough to try one at the beach.

 

Leaving Dahanu, we decided to take the inner road and it proved to be far better than the highway.  Along the way lay villages and small towns. Some villages looked dirt poor, others were prosperous as announced by large, garishly coloured houses and two wheelers.  There were unlovely small towns that looked right out of English, August.  And everywhere the promise of residential development projects. Some parts like the Ghats beyond Palghar were so beautiful that the thought of this made one feel anarchic,  you wanted to shout "a pox on all this development!"

At one point my brother asked "Do you think the lives of these people will ever change?". And I had no answer. 

Returning to Mumbai, a traffic jam consumed most of the evening hours and almost wiped away the day out.  It had been a haphazard kind of day, had we stayed for a few days and motored around a bit perhaps we would have seen more - though even as I write it I feel dilettantish.  But perhaps not every visit need be fun or a revelation.

* The title of this post is taken from the website for the place - it does have tourist pretensions after all!

PS: While googling Dahanu, I found a novel had been written about the place. Who knew the place had been immortalised in fiction?