Konkan Diaries — 48 Hours in Malvan: Food, Forts & Freedom
Konkan has a strange habit of calling you back.
Just a few weeks after returning from one unforgettable road trip, I found myself packing my bags again. This time, the journey wasn't with friends—it was with family.
Nine family members. Three generations. One 14-seater Force Urbania. And 48 hours to experience the best of Malvan.
Travelling with family is a different experience altogether.
Unlike trips with friends, where plans are often made on the go, family trips begin days in advance—with packing bags, preparing homemade food for the journey, checking bookings twice, and making sure every little detail falls into place. The excitement is the same, but the responsibility is shared by everyone.
On a soft, chilly December morning, we finally set out for Malvan.
As our 14-seater Force Urbania rolled onto the highway, the journey had already begun inside the vehicle. The kids had taken charge of the music, turning the back seats into their own little dance floor. The elders quietly admired the changing landscapes through the windows, occasionally pointing out familiar villages or sharing stories from their younger days. Meanwhile, the middle generation was busy ensuring everyone was comfortable, asking the classic question every Indian family trip includes:
"Has everyone eaten?"
Watching everyone around me, I realized that the meaning of travel changes with every generation.
For my grandparents, travelling is about slowing down, breathing fresh air, and embracing a change of weather.
For our parents, it is a rare opportunity to step away from the routines and responsibilities that occupy most of their lives, allowing themselves a few days of relaxation.
For us, it is about exploring unfamiliar places, chasing experiences, tasting local food, and collecting stories that stay with us long after the journey ends.
And for the youngest members of the family, travel is wonderfully simple.
It is just about being together—playing games, singing songs, laughing endlessly, and making memories without even realizing they are creating them.
Perhaps that is the beauty of a family trip.
Everyone travels on the same road, but each person carries home a different journey.
 |
| Kunkeshwar Beach |
Our first halt on the journey was at Ballaleshwar Temple, one of the revered Ashtavinayak temples.
After taking a peaceful darshan of Lord Ganesha and seeking blessings for a safe journey ahead, we resumed our drive toward Malvan.
It wasn't long before the youngest members of our family started asking the inevitable question:
"When are we going to eat?"
So, instead of searching for a restaurant, we did what most Indian families do best.
We found a quiet roadside shade, parked the Urbania, rolled out our mats, and unpacked the homemade food that had travelled with us from home.
Within minutes, the roadside had transformed into our dining room.
Steel tiffins opened one after another, the aroma of homemade curries filled the air, and everyone gathered around, sharing food, stories, and laughter. Somehow, meals like these always taste better—not because of the recipe, but because of the people sitting around them.
For a while, the highway disappeared into the background.
It was just our family, a simple homemade lunch, and another beautiful memory quietly finding its place in the journey.
After lunch, we packed the tiffins, folded the mats, and continued our journey.
The effect of a satisfying homemade meal was almost immediate.
The chatter slowly faded away. Even the little ones, who had spent the morning singing and playing, surrendered to sleep. One by one, conversations disappeared until the only sounds left inside the Urbania were the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional melody from the stereo.
It was just the driver and me, watching the Sahyadri ranges unfold outside the windshield.
There is something magical about the Western Ghats in the afternoon.
The roads twist through the mountains, sunlight filters through the trees, and the valleys remain wrapped in a silence that almost feels sacred. The Urbania moved steadily through the ghats, and for a while, it felt less like a road trip and more like a scene from a film.
Then, suddenly, it appeared.
A massive black rock rising above everything around it.
Unshaken.
Unyielding.
Standing proudly for more than three and a half centuries.
Raigad Fort.
This wasn't just another hill crowned with ruins.
This was the capital of Swarajya.
A fort that witnessed the coronation of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj upon the magnificent forty-maund golden throne. The same fort that later witnessed that throne being melted by invaders.
Its stones had echoed with the roar of Shivaji Maharaj, watched young Sambhaji Maharaj grow within its walls, and endured countless battles fought not for power, but for the dream of Swarajya.
As we drove past, the fort didn't feel like a monument.
It felt alive.
At the foot of Raigad lies the quiet village of Pachad.
 |
| Jijabai Samadhi at Pachad |
A village that carries a history just as profound.
It was here that Jijabai spent her final days and breathed her last.
She was more than the mother of Shivaji Maharaj.
She was the woman who nurtured the dream of Swarajya long before it became a reality. She shaped the character of a king, inspired generations through her courage and wisdom, and became the guiding force behind one of the greatest chapters in Indian history.
Before continuing our journey, we stopped to pay our respects at Jijabai's Samadhi.
Standing there, surrounded by silence, one cannot help but bow not only to a mother, but to the vision, sacrifice, and unwavering determination that helped shape an empire.
Some journeys offer beautiful landscapes.
Others remind you why those landscapes are sacred.
For many people, a journey to Malvan or the Konkan coast feels exhausting—long hours on the road, traffic, endless highways, and winding ghats.
But for me, it's never just about reaching the destination.
It's about discovering something new on the same roads every single time.
A forgotten temple, a roadside meal, a fort standing proudly against time, or simply a sunset viewed from a different bend in the highway. Somehow, Konkan never lets the journey become repetitive.
After paying our respects at Jijabai's Samadhi, we continued south. The kilometres kept rolling by, daylight slowly faded into darkness, and the conversations inside the Urbania grew quieter with every passing hour.
A light dinner at a roadside dhaba on the highway was all we needed before covering the final stretch.
By the time we finally reached Tarkarli, the clock had already crossed 1:30 in the morning.
The long journey had taken its toll on everyone.
There was no excitement left to unpack bags or explore the surroundings.
The moment we stepped into our stay, one by one, everyone disappeared into their rooms.
After a day filled with roads, history, homemade meals, and countless kilometres, all we wanted was a good night's sleep.
Because when you wake up in Malvan, the real adventure is only just beginning.
 |
| Morning at Tarkarli Beach |
There's something about mornings in Malvan that feels different.
Perhaps it's the cool sea breeze, the rhythmic sound of waves, or simply the slower pace of life—but Malvan has a way of pulling you out of bed much earlier than you normally would.
At least, it always does for me.
While the rest of the family was still waking up, I quietly stepped out for a walk along the beach.
The shoreline was almost empty. Fishermen were beginning their day, the sea was calm, and the soft morning light painted the sky in shades of gold. There was no rush, no noise—just the soothing sound of waves and the fresh coastal air that instantly made the previous day's long journey feel worthwhile.
By the time I returned, the house had come alive.
Everyone was ready, tea cups were already making their rounds, and breakfast was waiting for us. The table was filled with local favourites—soft, freshly made ghavne, spicy misal pav, hot chai, and plenty of laughter that naturally accompanies a family breakfast.
With full stomachs and fresh energy, we finally got ready to begin exploring Malvan.
After all, the best way to understand a place isn't by rushing through its attractions—it's by letting the day unfold at its own pace.
 |
| Sindhudurg Fort |
After breakfast, our first destination for the day was Sindhudurg Fort.
Built by Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, Sindhudurg is far more than just a fort—it is a symbol of Maratha naval strength and vision. Rising from the Arabian Sea, its massive stone walls appear to emerge directly from the water, reminding every visitor that Swarajya was never confined to the land alone.
As our boat approached the fort, its towering ramparts grew larger with every passing wave. Once inside, the true scale of the fort became evident. The fortifications stretch so wide and so long that walking along them is a journey in itself, offering breathtaking views of the endless sea on one side and the magnificent fort on the other.
One of the most fascinating features of Sindhudurg is its freshwater wells. Surrounded by salty seawater on all sides, the fort still shelters wells with sweet drinking water—an engineering marvel that continues to surprise visitors even today.
Inside the fort, the museum preserves fragments of this glorious past. Models of Maratha warships, historical maps, artillery, swords, and other weapons offer a glimpse into an era when control of the sea demanded not only courage but also remarkable strategy and engineering.
 |
| View through Ramparts of Sindhudurg Fort |
Standing on those ancient ramparts, one thought stayed with me.
Whenever we speak of the sea, we often admire its beauty.
But these waters also remember the unwavering dedication of the Mavlas—the brave soldiers of Swarajya who guarded this coastline day and night. Through fierce monsoons, relentless waves, and the constant threat of enemy fleets, they stood watch with unmatched loyalty.
The sea before us looked calm.
Yet centuries ago, these very waters echoed with the sails of Maratha warships, the commands of warriors, and an unbreakable resolve to protect Swarajya.
Looking across the endless horizon, it became clear that Sindhudurg was never merely built to withstand the sea.
It was built to command it.
After exploring Sindhudurg Fort, we stopped at a local restaurant for lunch, enjoying another authentic Malvani meal before continuing our journey.
Our next destination was Kunkeshwar Temple.
The drive itself was an experience worth remembering.
The narrow Konkan roads were lined with endless mango orchards. Though it wasn't the mango season yet, every tree was covered with delicate yellow blossoms, promising the sweet fruit that would arrive in the coming months. The fragrance of the blossoms blended beautifully with the cool coastal breeze, making the drive feel as refreshing as the destination itself.
Every turn revealed another postcard-worthy view.
Then came a moment I'll always remember.
The winding road suddenly opened into a long, straight stretch, and at the end of it stood the white silhouette of Kunkeshwar Temple. Beyond it, the vast Arabian Sea stretched endlessly to the horizon.
It was one of those views that makes you instinctively slow down—not because of traffic, but because you don't want the moment to pass too quickly.
Nestled between the sea and the Sahyadri, Kunkeshwar Temple possesses a serenity that is difficult to describe. With the rhythmic sound of waves in the background and the temple standing gracefully against the blue sky, the place feels less like a tourist destination and more like a peaceful conversation between faith and nature.
 |
| View from Kunkeshwar Mandir |
Some temples are remembered for their architecture.
Some for their history.
Kunkeshwar is remembered for its setting—where every prayer is accompanied by the sound of the sea, and every visit leaves you standing a little longer, simply admiring the view.
As the sun slowly began to set, we returned to our stay.
Not because the day had ended, but because another celebration was waiting for us.
That evening was extra special.
Our little princess was turning five, and all of us had quietly been preparing for her birthday. We had picked up a beautiful cake on the way, decorated the space as best we could, and gathered everyone together for a simple yet heartwarming celebration.
There is something magical about celebrating birthdays while travelling.
No elaborate decorations.
No grand party.
Just family, laughter, and people who matter the most.
Watching her cut the cake with a wide smile on her face reminded all of us that children don't remember expensive celebrations—they remember who was there to celebrate with them.
Moments like these are the true purpose of family trips.
For the elders, happiness isn't found in ticking off tourist attractions; it's in seeing the entire family under one roof, sharing meals, laughter, and stories. Every family has its share of disagreements and misunderstandings, but journeys like these gently remind us that relationships are always bigger than those moments.
For our grandparents, it was the joy of watching three generations come together.
For our parents, it was a much-needed escape from the routines and responsibilities of everyday life.
And for us, it was a reminder that memories are the greatest inheritance we can carry forward.
We clicked countless photographs, laughed over old stories, and quietly promised ourselves that this togetherness should never become an occasional event—it should become a tradition.
To end the day on a true Malvani note, we sat down for a delicious seafood dinner.
Fresh Pomfret (paplet), perfectly cooked Surmai thali, steaming rice, and authentic coastal flavours made for the perfect finale to an already unforgettable day.
Good food always satisfies the stomach.
But that night, it was the company around the table that truly filled our hearts.
 |
| Sunset at Backwaters of Malvan |
The final morning of our trip was reserved for something completely different.
History had filled the previous day.
This morning belonged to the sea.
Our destination was the waters off Tarkarli Beach, where we had planned to go scuba diving.
The biggest surprise, however, wasn't the adventure itself.
It was my parents.
When I asked my mother and father if they would join me for scuba diving, I expected at least a little hesitation. After all, in India, once people cross a certain age, adventure sports are often considered something "for the younger generation."
To my surprise, both of them agreed within seconds.
That moment made me both happy and grateful.
It wasn't just about scuba diving anymore.
It was about seeing my parents choose excitement over hesitation.
Although we live close to the coast, how often do we actually step beneath the surface to discover the world hidden below?
Very rarely.
This was one of those rare opportunities.
From Tarkarli Beach, our boat travelled nearly 30–35 minutes into the Arabian Sea before reaching the diving point. The instructors patiently explained every safety procedure, demonstrated the underwater hand signals, and made sure each diver was comfortable before entering the water.
One by one, we stepped into the sea, each accompanied by a certified guide.
The moment I descended beneath the surface, a completely different world revealed itself.
The water was astonishingly clear.
Sunlight filtered through the blue, illuminating colourful corals spread across the seabed. Schools of vibrant fish swam fearlessly around us, moving as though we were merely visitors in their home.
Everything above the water disappeared.
No traffic.
No phones.
No deadlines.
Only silence.
The kind of silence that can only exist beneath the sea.
For me, it was an adventure I had always wanted to experience.
But watching my parents embrace something so unfamiliar made it far more meaningful.
They weren't just trying scuba diving.
They were stepping outside their comfort zone, proving that adventure has nothing to do with age and everything to do with the willingness to say "yes."
When all three of us climbed back onto the boat, nobody spoke for a while.
It was just the sea...
my parents...
and me.
We simply looked at one another and smiled.
No words were needed.
In that moment, the Arabian Sea wasn't just giving us an adventure.
It had given us a memory.
And I have a feeling that, years from now, I won't remember every fish I saw beneath the water.
But I'll always remember the day my parents chose to dive into the unknown with me.
 |
| Backwater of Malvan |
By the time we returned to the shore, every member of the family had their own story to tell.
The little ones were completely drenched, laughing and splashing around in the shallow water as if the beach were their own playground.
The grandparents had already had enough of the cool sea breeze and were ready to find a shady place to sit and simply watch the sea.
The sun had climbed almost directly overhead, reminding us that it was time to call it a morning.
After getting freshened up, we gathered for what everyone had secretly been waiting for—lunch.
Nothing can match the taste of freshly cooked Malvani fish.
Served hot with rice, curry, and authentic coastal spices, every bite carried the flavours that make this region so special. There is a certain comfort in a home-cooked meal after spending hours in the sea, and that afternoon, it tasted even better.
With full stomachs and the afternoon heat settling over the coast, the pace of the trip slowed once again.
Curtains were drawn.
Rooms fell silent.
And for the next couple of hours, all of us surrendered to an afternoon nap—the kind that only a seaside vacation can gift.
 |
| Way to Tsunami Island |
As the afternoon heat slowly gave way to the golden hues of evening, we decided to head out one last time.
This time, not towards a fort or a temple, but towards the tranquil backwaters of the Karli River.
The Karli River, before embracing the Arabian Sea, creates a breathtaking landscape of calm waters, mangrove-lined shores, and tiny islands that seem untouched by time.
As our boat drifted through the backwaters, the world around us became unusually quiet.
The only sound breaking the silence was the gentle hum of the boat's engine. On one side stretched lush green islands reflected perfectly on the still water, while on the other stood traditional Konkani homes and charming houseboats, their reflections dancing softly with every ripple.
Perhaps the most beautiful part of that boat ride wasn't the scenery.
It was the silence.
Even the youngest members of our family, who usually filled every moment with laughter and chatter, sat quietly, completely absorbed in the beauty unfolding around them.
Our boat finally reached Tsunami Island.
An island formed after the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, it has now become one of the most popular attractions in the Tarkarli backwaters. Today, it is known for its adventure activities, especially kayaking, set against the peaceful backdrop of the Karli River.
None of us wanted to miss the opportunity.
One after another, family members picked up paddles and ventured into the calm waters. What brought the biggest smiles, however, was watching our little five-year-old birthday girl confidently enjoy kayaking with complete excitement.
Her laughter echoed across the backwaters, and before long, everyone—from the youngest to the oldest—was cheering each other on and sharing in the fun.
It wasn't about how well we paddled.
It was about doing it together.
As the sun slowly began its descent, the entire sky transformed into shades of orange, pink, and gold. The calm waters mirrored every colour, making it impossible to tell where the river ended and the sky began.
It was one of those sunsets that quietly asks you to stop talking and simply watch.
With hearts full and cameras carrying yet another set of beautiful memories, we returned to our stay.
 |
| Our Little member at backwater |
As the evening came to a close, we gathered for one last dinner in Konkan.
Fresh seafood, warm rice, and the familiar flavours of Malvani cuisine made it the perfect farewell meal. There was no hurry anymore. The excitement of sightseeing had settled into quiet conversations, and everyone seemed to be reliving their favourite moments from the past two days.
Rather than staying the night and getting caught in the morning traffic, we decided to begin our journey home under the cover of darkness.
Bags were loaded one last time, everyone settled into their seats, and the Urbania slowly rolled out of Tarkarli.
Outside, the roads were almost empty.
Inside, silence gradually replaced the chatter.
The children, exhausted from two days of endless excitement, were the first to fall asleep. The elders soon followed, while the highway quietly disappeared beneath the headlights.
I looked out of the window as the familiar Konkan roads faded into the night.
There is always something bittersweet about the drive back home.
The destination is behind you, but the memories are still fresh enough to replay in your mind.
In just forty-eight hours, we had travelled through history, stood before mighty sea forts, tasted authentic Malvani food, celebrated a fifth birthday, watched unforgettable sunsets, paddled through tranquil backwaters, and, most importantly, spent time together as a family.
Perhaps that is why Konkan never feels like just another destination.
You don't simply return with photographs.
You return with stories.
Stories that grow richer every time you tell them.
And as the highway carried us back towards the city, I already knew one thing for certain—
Konkan doesn't say goodbye.
It simply gives you another reason to return.
Because sometimes, the greatest destination isn't a place.
It's the peace you find along the way.
To be continued in the final chapter...
Comments
Post a Comment