After around eight hours of drive, we had reached the brink of the State. We reached our first checkpoint. Coupleof back-to-back beaches with hurling waters and thick wet sands littered with brown-black rocks and dense vegatations. It was an absolute opposition to the picture of the white sandy beach where you would roll down in slumbering laziness with a bottle of juice in hand.The sea here was rough, insane and distraught, and big waves would snap at the land with a deep resonating rumble. Waves that would, in an instant, hurl at you like a giant whip if you get too near for too long, and when it receds, it would drag you along, and bury you knee-deepin the lurking wet sands. It was evident that the sea would not tend to our frolics and whims, neither did we intend to. It was a place where you need to sit and surrender at the greater might of nature, its overpowering grandeur, regal, ruthless, driven by dark rolling nimbus clouds merging with the waters in near infinity. It would fill you with refreshing tiredness, you would forget, for a while, the pending deadlines looking ruefully at you in coming weeks. You would look up at the sky as the first drops of rain hit your face with its stinging comfort and you would stare at the absolute vastness of raging waters from the top of the rock-face, jutting right out from the sea and fightingits eventual annihilation with equal defaince. It was a place where you are no more than a tiny audience.It was what you would call a dark and grim beauty.
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