Between Shorelines and Clouds (Notes from a Journey, June 2018)

Between Shorelines and Clouds

(Notes from a Journey, June 2018)

This travelogue is a record of a brief journey that unfolded across diverse landscapes, cities, and skies, while also opening up inner spaces for reflection. It does not aim to guide or instruct, but to observe—how nature, history, infrastructure, science, and human presence quietly converse with a receptive mind.

On June 9^th and 10^th, I visited Daman and Mumbai with my EE Nilabh ji; some of my experiences have already been written about earlier. Here, I want to recall 10th June, the day of returning to Delhi.

On the night of 9^th June, Nilabh and I stayed at Hotel Jajira, Moti Daman. Breakfast was taken at the hotel around 10:40 AM; meanwhile, Steelcase’s Santosh Kumar had also arrived. Earlier in the morning, we took a beach walk. The sea appeared to move steadily toward the shore. By night, it retreats with the tide; by morning, it seems to expand again.

It was an ecstatic morning at the ocean, with heavy clouds covering the sky. In Mumbai, the monsoon had already begun, and Daman is not far from it. The sun kept peeping through the clouds, playing a continuous game of hide-and-seek. I felt quite in heaven; my sense of vastness expanded—something that often happens in the presence of colossi like the sea.

In the roar of the sea, I tried to sing from my heart whatever came to mind:

देखते रहो, समुद्र को तुम, इतना विशाल देखते रहो
समुद्र किनारे बीच पर कल शाम दूर तक पत्थरों को देखते रहो I
कुछ देर तो आत्मसात होऊँ, पर समुद्र की दहाड़ में मेरी आवाज़ गुम हो जाती
मेरे राम, मुझको भी बना दो कुछ तो महान
कर दो मेरे मन को विभोर, मैं तो बहुत अदना सा हूँ तेरी विशालता के समक्ष I

(Keep watching the ocean, witness its vastness endlessly.
Along the shore, watch the stones scattered far and wide.
For a while, I try to merge, but my voice is lost in the ocean’s roar.
O Lord, make me something great too;
Fill my heart with awe, for I am so small before your immensity.)

Lofty thoughts emerged naturally. I dipped my feet in the seawater, picked up snails & shells, admiring their beauty. The stone beach was rugged & difficult to tread; in pockets, clear water collected. I picked some water and drenched my head & body, trying to feel that vastness more fully.

I experienced this vastness within me, too. My parents’ ashes had once met this ocean through the Ganga. My forefathers, too, had merged with this immensity. I felt myself a tiny part of cosmic vastness. I breathed air that had travelled far distances, my hair waving in happiness. I went a little deeper, but the sea retracted & then rushed again toward the shore.

Nilabh came closer. We spoke about the sea, water, snails, rocks, and human littleness. I recorded the live movement of snails in clear water—creatures complete in themselves. Their upper shells were rugged, almost like pieces of stone. Dead shell deposits lay scattered on the rocks, though I could not gauge their ages.

Two young women in their late twenties stood nearby, with a little girl of five or six. The child hesitated near the water, while the elders appreciated the beauty more freely. I guessed one was her mother and the other a maternal aunt. I spoke gently with the little girl, trying to add some warmth to the atmosphere.

I took photographs of the clouds over the sea, some selfies too. Today, when I look at them, I can return to those moments. Mobile cameras are handy tools; they allow us to preserve fleeting experiences. I had taken some snail shells to the hotel, but found one still alive & moving. I returned it to the sea—it felt right. Saving one life is good, though ultimately, all have to perish.

After writing a little in my diary, we had breakfast. I wore a red-blue-white chequered shirt, and we left Hotel Jajira for the next journey and proceeded to Daman Fort. Coconut trees lined the road. The city is developing, populated mainly by Gujaratis and some original inhabitants. Earlier, under Portuguese rule, Daman became part of India in 1961.

Crossing the Daman Ganga bridge, we reached the fort with its thick defensive walls.  The Portuguese had built the fort to defend against Mughal incursions. Nowadays, it houses the office of the Commissioner, Daman Administration, under India’s Union Territory governance.

We then reached the ferry point. Along with Santosh and driver Robin, we took a 15-minute boat ride in a kerosene-powered boat—an ecstatic experience. Baskets hanging in the water were explained as fish traps. The Daman Ganga River separates Moti Daman from Nani Daman; the city lies about 23 km from NH-8.

The merging of river & sea always amazes me. Backwaters intrude far inland before slowly mixing. Sea water is saline, river water fresh—Amitav Ghosh has beautifully described this phenomenon observed in Sundarbans at the confluence of Hooghly & Brahmaputra rivers with the Bay of Bengal in his famous novel ‘The Hungry Tide’.

From there, we travelled roughly 200 km to Mumbai by taxi. Greenery spread across the landscape. The mango season was at its peak. Daman & Silvassa are famous for delicious Alphonso mangoes.  We stopped at roadside stalls on the way, with orchards visible behind, bearing fruit of great value, and tasted & bought some mangoes.

In the way, we stopped at Lonavala Chikki, near Anam Restaurant, where we had eaten the previous day. Around 4:00 PM, we halted at Delhi Darbar Inn, Manor—grand in appearance, elegant in ambience, though the food was average.

Approaching Mumbai, high-rise buildings dominated the skyline. Each visit reveals further development. Roads are narrow due to land constraints; metro lines pass overhead. Numerous overbridges ease congestion. Dharavi’s slum cluster appeared dense with humanity. From afar, the towers looked like stacked matchboxes. Coastal humidity accelerates corrosion; the painting & anti-corrosive coating industry thrives here. Steel reinforcement requires protection, yet maintenance costs remain high.

Entering Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, the approach itself felt scenic—palm trees, hedges, and a well-maintained median lining the road. Hoardings & nearby hotels like Marriott marked the area clearly. Our driver Robin, a Nepali married to a local Christian woman, had been working with Steelcase’s Bhuttas for years.

The airport interior appeared grand & thoughtfully designed. Large columns widened gracefully toward the ceiling, carrying intricate artwork. The sense of investment & care was visible everywhere—floors, railings, lighting, and spatial planning.

We descended via escalators to a lower level, where greenery lined the sides. Small potted plants placed in structured stands resembled a green wall. Similar attempts at integrating greenery can be seen in Delhi as well, especially near the Yamuna bridge at Sarai Kale Khan.

On the lower floor, different ceiling patterns appeared—petal-like forms with lights embedded between them. A gallery of antique wooden, stone, and metal doors stood on display, along with artifacts & artworks. Standing there, I felt minuscule before the human genius that had imagined & built such spaces, filled with quiet amusement & gratitude.

We waited to board Air India 660, Airbus A320, seat 16B, Gate 42B, Terminal T2. The flight, originally at 6:00 PM, departed at 7:00 PM. As we lifted, I saw vast slum clusters below—perhaps Dharavi—each life deserving dignity.

Above the clouds, the sun shone pale yellow. To the west, it glowed; to the east, darkness gathered. Colours shifted—pale, dark, yellow, white. From this height, the concept of time felt relative. Moving westward delays sunset; moving east hastens it—relative motion at play, as described by Stephen Hawking in The Grand Design. The sun appears to move, though it is Earth that rotates.

We flew at about 9–10 km above Earth. Below, clouds resembled a sea; above, sunlight streamed through the window. Gradually, the sun disappeared from view. At around 8:30 PM, only a yellow streak remained on the horizon. Lightning flickered within clouds—caused by electrical charge separation—illuminating the sky.

Dinner was served, though I ate little. We landed in Delhi around 9:00 PM. Nilabh dropped me at Dwarka. I shared the experience with family, feeling contentment. 

Journeys are great teachers; we must be good students to learn from them. Journeys are great teachers; we need patience to learn what they offer.

 

Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 21st January, 2026, Tuesday, Time 9.29 A.M.

(From my Diary, dated 22 & 24 July 2018, Sunday & Tuesday)