Chowara beach has an air of forlorn melancholy about it. The sandy expanse draped in lazy silver, the beached catamarans and a lazy monsoon sun completes the picture. We walk down the deserted coastline watching the sea gulls ride the waves. The cattle, grazing on the scant beach vegetation, cast a drowsy, satiated look in our direction and then, return to muse over the wide blue expanse.
Nestled between Vizhinjam and Poovar and less-frequented by visitors, Chowara retains the natural charms of a beach destination. The sand is an unsullied white and the water, a shimmering blue. The tide swelled over in the past days and the sand banks of the estuary had given way, said a woman while filling a pot of water from the public tap. She went on to tell us about the hardships of surviving through the lean months.
Some of the men would take their boats to Vizhinjam during these months. The rest of the vessels
are left to hibernate on the Chowara beach until they can surf down the familiar waters later in the year.
As we walk ahead, the scent of dry fish wafts through the air. Women are busy laying them out on plastic sheets and children join in by placing stones on the corners of the sheets, lest they are swept away by the sea breeze. The poorer of the lot, who do not own fishing boats, make a living out of buying fish in bulk and selling them fresh or dried.
From Adimalathura, which is the first beach you come across on the coastline, you can stroll or drive towards Ambalathumoola and Kurisupalli. Punctuating the coastline are temporary walkways, made of sand bags, leading up to the sea. The water often inundates the shores and the walkway is an ingenious method of fighting the odds.
The resorts on the beach are within walking distance. Down the road, we notice an umbrella-studded private beach. But we decide against blurring the plaintive notes of Chowara in the orchestrated symphony of a commercial resort and find our way back.
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