Sometimes, all you need is the sea breeze, the lull of waves, and a break from the chaos of city life. “Let’s escape!” — that was the spontaneous declaration echoing through our family group chat one evening. Kolkata’s relentless hum of traffic and routine had begun to weigh on us. We craved the rhythm of the sea — that soothing, timeless lullaby of waves meeting the shore.

“Chandpur,” announced Mashimoni with her characteristic authority, “It’s the newest beach near Kolkata — a hidden gem!” And just like that, the plan was sealed. Our family adventure was about to begin — a little late, as usual, but full of excitement and anticipation.

The Journey Begins

Imagine a bright autumn morning — the sky a brilliant blue canvas, brushed with drifting white clouds. Our car stood ready, bags packed, hearts light. Chandpur, nestled between Tajpur and Shankarpur, just about 170 kilometers from Kolkata, promised everything we were looking for: peace, seclusion, and the sea.

Thanks to Mashimoni’s foresight, we had pre-booked rooms at Hotel Moon — the only air-conditioned accommodation in the area. In offbeat destinations like this, you never really know what to expect until you arrive!

We rolled out of Kolkata around 11 a.m. — not exactly an early start, but the weather more than made up for it.

The drive was smooth up to Balsai. On the way, we stopped for lunch at a modest roadside motel — Sher Bengal Hotel. A simple Bengali meal, a few laughs, and we were back on the road again.

From Balsai, a narrow village road veered toward Tajpur. The final leg was bumpy — the kind of rural road that tests both your patience and your car’s suspension. But as the trees grew denser and the salty scent of the sea began to fill the air, all discomfort melted away.

Checking In: Hotel Moon

We reached Chandpur just as twilight began to color the horizon in shades of orange and purple. Hotel Moon, our stay for the night, stood quietly at the edge of the sea. The property was small but neat, with a lovely rooftop terrace overlooking the waves — the perfect perch to watch the sea breathe.

As the evening breeze kissed our faces, we sat on the rooftop sipping hot tea and munching on crispy onion pakoras. The vast expanse of the Bay of Bengal stretched before us, fading into the twilight. There was a strange, serene romance in that moment — the salty wind, the rhythmic roar of waves, and the sense of being suspended between time and tide.

We had just missed the full moon, locals told us. “On Purnima nights,” one of them said, “the whole sea turns to silver.” Even without it, the shimmering waters under a starlit sky were pure magic.

Morning in Chandpur

The next morning, we woke up at 5 a.m., eager to catch the sunrise from the rooftop. But nature had its own plans. Dark clouds gathered, and soon the sound of rain replaced the call of seabirds. The sea turned moody and mysterious, and we found ourselves watching it from behind rain-splattered windows — teacups in hand.

There’s a quiet beauty in such moments too — the sound of distant thunder rolling across the horizon, the wet scent of earth mingling with salt air, and the endless sea whispering secrets to the shore.

The Eroding Shoreline

Unlike Digha, Chandpur bears visible scars from coastal erosion. The shoreline has been reshaped by the sea’s changing moods. To protect it, large stonewalls and offshore breakwaters have been built to absorb the impact of waves and slow the erosion.

Walking along the boulders, we felt the sea lapping at our feet, cool and insistent. Accessing the beach was tricky — the descent uneven, scattered with sal trunks used for reinforcement. During high tide, the sea comes right up to the walls, but when the tide recedes, a wide, empty stretch of sand reveals itself — raw, untouched, and beautiful.

We spotted an embankment trail running parallel to the coast, leading towards Shankarpur and Digha. Locals spoke of how, year by year, the sea had crept inland, swallowing bits of land and memory alike.

The coastal area is vulnerable to coastal erosion due to unbridled and rampant human interventions. The rate of erosion has been found to be about 15-20 meters per year in some parts between Digha and Mandarmani. Damages are caused by the inundation of coastal areas due to periodic storm and tidal surges, seasonal high-velocity winds, storms, and cyclones.

Sipping Tea, Listening to Tales

Just across our hotel stood a tiny beach shack — a thatched-roof retreat run by a friendly family. It quickly became our favorite spot. Over cups of steaming tea and plates of omelet-bread, Judhajit and I listened to stories about the sea’s slow retreat and the lives tethered to its whims.

The owners spoke with quiet pride about their home, yet their eyes betrayed worry about the disappearing coastline. In their voices, we heard both love and loss — a reminder of nature’s unrelenting power.

A Literary Connection: Bankim at Chandpur

Few know that Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay, the great Bengali novelist and the composer of Vande Mataram, once frequented this very coastline. During his tenure as a Deputy Magistrate, he often rode on horseback to the Chandpur Inspection Bungalow — a colonial-era rest house that, as locals claim, now lies buried about three kilometres inside the sea.

It’s haunting to imagine that a piece of history — a place once alive with conversation and literature — now lies submerged, claimed by the waves.

Lunch at Tajpur – A Feast to Remember

By noon, our appetites led us to Tajpur, a short drive away. The beach there buzzed with life — families, fishermen, and food stalls — a sharp contrast to Chandpur’s solitude.

We settled at Maa Basuli, a rustic seaside shack known for its seafood. The owner asked us to pick our fish — and we chose Pomfret, Ilish, Bhola Bhetki, and a few local crabs. Soon, the aroma of fresh spices filled the air. Plates of rice, dal, and masala crab arrived, accompanied by the best rainy-day companion — chilled beer.

The food? Absolutely divine. The crab was a revelation — spicy, buttery, finger-licking good. As rain pattered softly on the thatched roof, we savored every bite, watching kids play on hammocks and the waves roll in and out.

Before we left, we posed for a photo with the children who had served us — bright-eyed, cheerful, and full of dreams. A simple moment, but one that lingered long after we returned home.

Reflections from the Shore

Chandpur, in the end, wasn’t about postcard-perfect sunsets or resort luxuries. It was about something deeper — serenity, simplicity, and connection.

It’s a place where the sea meets silence, where time slows down, and where the air carries the scent of both nostalgia and salt. You come here not to do, but to be — to sip tea under open skies, walk barefoot on hidden sands, and rediscover the quiet rhythm of your own thoughts.

So, if ever the city’s chaos feels too heavy and your heart longs for the sea’s song — drive down to Chandpur. Let the wind tousle your hair, the waves wash your worries, and the horizon remind you that peace often hides in the most unexpected corners of the map.

As we drove back that evening, the taste of crab still on our tongues and the sound of the sea echoing in our minds, we knew — we’d return someday. Some places don’t just exist on maps. They find a home in your heart.