Odisha — A Journey of Temples, Art, Sea and Unexpected Lessons

Sep 5

10 min read

Some trips are about ticking places off a list.

And then there are trips that are much slower—where you spend time with family, explore without constantly looking at the clock, sit over a cup of tea, stop at places you hadn't planned for, and simply let the journey happen.

Our Odisha trip was one of those.

It was a ten-day family holiday, planned around Puri and Bhubaneswar, with no intention of rushing from one attraction to another. We wanted to explore, eat, relax, spend time together and come back with a few good memories.

We started from Delhi by train, eventually reaching Bhubaneswar late at night. And, as travel stories often go, the first adventure began before we had even left the railway station.

The journey begins with a little chaos. We had booked an Airbnb in Puri, with a pickup arranged from Bhubaneswar station.

Simple enough.

Except, after a long and exhausting train journey, we found ourselves standing at the station, trying to explain to our driver where exactly we were.

He was at the station. We were at the station, But apparently, we were not at the same station, Or at least, not according to him.

We tried explaining our location over the phone. He couldn't understand—or perhaps wasn't particularly interested in understanding. After several attempts, we finally found a local person who could explain our location to him.

Half an hour of standing around, calling, explaining and wondering what was actually happening later, our driver finally arrived.

By the time we reached Puri, it was very late. But thankfully, the Airbnb made up for the frustrating beginning.

It was run by a lovely married couple who were incredibly humble and welcoming. The property itself had a completely different feel from a typical hotel. There was plenty of open space and greenery, and they had two extremely friendly dogs who immediately made the place feel warmer.

Our rooms were upstairs, while the dining area was downstairs, surrounded by greenery.

There was something beautiful about having your meals in such an open, fresh environment.

In fact, if I had to pick one of my favourite experiences from the entire trip, surprisingly, the Airbnb would be right there at the top.

Sometimes, it's not the grandest attraction that makes a place memorable. Sometimes, it's simply good people, good surroundings and the feeling of being welcomed.

When faith became a transaction

Of course, a trip to Puri couldn't begin without visiting Jagannath Temple. And there is something difficult to put into words about visiting a place like this.

Jagannath Puri is one of the most revered pilgrimage destinations in India, one of the Char Dham. People come here from across the country with immense faith, devotion and hope.

The temple itself was quite well managed for most of the way. But as we moved closer to the main garbhagriha, the experience changed completely.

The crowd was overwhelming—a confined space packed with what felt like thousands of people, all trying to get a glimpse of the deity.

But the crowd wasn't what disturbed me the most.

It was the feeling that faith itself had become a transaction. And this wasn't limited to Jagannath Temple. Almost every temple we visited during the trip seemed to have a similar pattern.

No money, no proper darshan.

No money, no prasad.

No offering, and sometimes, not even the opportunity to bow peacefully before the deity.

At some places, the gate was literally closed to us because we hadn't offered money.

I understand that donations are an important part of maintaining temples, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with offering money when it comes from devotion and one's own willingness.

But when money becomes a condition at such spritual places, something feels fundamentally wrong.

The incident that affected me the most happened after we had visited one of the temples in Puri.

We hadn't offered any money there. As we came outside, I saw a few cows and thought of feeding them. I went to a shop within the temple premises to buy some bananas. The shopkeeper refused to sell them to me.

The reason?

Because I hadn't offered anything at the temple.

That moment genuinely broke something in me.

I remember thinking about the irony of it.

I was being discouraged from performing an act of kindness because I hadn't paid money as an offering.

I eventually went to another shop, bought the food and fed the cows. But the incident stayed with me.

Jagannath Puri is a place built around faith. People travel enormous distances to stand before Jagannath with nothing but devotion in their hearts. And yet, somewhere along the way, it felt as though the people who were supposed to help pilgrims connect with that faith had turned it into a business.

What disappointed me wasn't being asked for a donation.

It was the repeated feeling that even a moment of sincere devotion had been reduced to a monetary transaction. And perhaps that's why this became the most difficult part of my Odisha experience to reconcile.

Because I went to temples looking for spirituality.

Instead, I repeatedly encountered a system where money seemed to come before devotion, kindness and humanity.

Maybe the problem isn't religion. Maybe it is what we, as human beings, have done to it.

Because when someone can refuse food to a living being simply because you didn't pay money at a temple, the question isn't really about the temple anymore.

It's about us.

And that, for me, was the most disappointing lesson Odisha left behind.

When Puri finally showed me its sea

Puri is often imagined through its beaches.

But my first encounter with Puri beach was quite different from the picture I had in my head.

It was crowded and quite commercialised. There was plenty of activity, but not much of that peaceful connection with the ocean that I had imagined.

Yet, somehow, I still kept looking for the sea. Maybe because I hadn't come all this way just to see it. I wanted to feel it. That feeling came later.

An early morning visit to another beach in Puri changed everything. There were hardly any people around. And suddenly, there was nothing competing with the sea.

Just the sound of the waves.

The wind.

The vastness of the water.

The early morning light.

And that slightly thrilling feeling you get when you stand close to a restless ocean and realise just how powerful it is.

That was the Puri beach experience I had been looking for.

Not the crowded beach.

Not the tourist version.

Just the ocean.

Raw, restless and alive.

Later, Chandrabhaga gave us another beautiful encounter with the sea. it was crowded too, but watching the sunset there was genuinely amazing. There is something about a sunset by the sea that makes you stop, even when there are people all around you.

The sky slowly changes.

The light becomes softer.

The sun moves closer to the horizon.

And for those few minutes, everything else becomes secondary.

Just the sunset.

Konark — when stone becomes a storyteller

From the sea, our journey took us towards one of Odisha's most remarkable landmarks—the Konark Sun Temple.

And Konark genuinely impressed me.

It is one thing to know that an ancient monument is architecturally significant. It is another thing to stand in front of it and actually look at the details.

The carvings.

The wheels.

The craftsmanship.

The sheer amount of work that went into creating every part of it.

It felt like a perfect showcase of Indian art and talent.

The walls weren't merely decorated—they were telling stories.

Stories of culture, people, traditions and a time when art wasn't just something to admire but something deeply woven into everyday life.

What made the visit even more interesting was getting to witness a local cultural celebration nearby.

There was a jhanki-style procession, complete with dhols. One person was dressed as Hanuman ji, another as Sugreev and jamvant and the entire atmosphere had a wonderfully festive energy.

It wasn't something we had specifically gone looking for. We simply happened to be there.

And those unexpected moments often become the ones you remember.

Raghurajpur — the place that stayed with me

If there was one place that stood out above everything else on this trip, it was Raghurajpur.

I didn't expect it to become my favourite.

But it did.

Raghurajpur is a village where art isn't simply a profession. It is a way of life. Walking through the village and seeing people dedicating their lives to traditional art and handmade crafts was something I found incredibly beautiful.

There was something very different about seeing artists work with their hands, surrounded by the culture and traditions that have been passed down through generations.

In a world where so much is mass-produced and quickly forgotten, Raghurajpur felt like a reminder of the value of patience and craftsmanship.

Every handmade piece seemed to carry a little bit of the person who created it. And perhaps that's why Raghurajpur became the best experience of my Odisha trip.

Not because it was the biggest attraction.

But because it felt authentic.

It felt alive.

A morning with the Sun

One of the mornings in Puri began beautifully.

We went to the beach to watch the sunrise, and the atmosphere was completely different from the busy evenings.

It was calm.

Soothing.

The kind of morning where you don't need to say much.

And there was something even more special about that particular day—it was associated with the Sun (Samba dashami).

The Story of Samba Dashami

While in Odisha, we happened to experience Samba Dashami, a festival dedicated to Surya Dev—the Sun God. It is especially significant in Odisha and is traditionally observed by mothers praying for the health and long life of their children.

According to the legend, Samba, the son of Lord Krishna and Jambavati, was once cursed with leprosy. He prayed to Surya Dev with great devotion, worshipping the Sun for several days. Pleased with his devotion, Surya Dev blessed him and cured him of the disease.

To honour this story, Samba Dashami is celebrated with prayers and offerings to the Sun. Mothers prepare several traditional dishes and offer them to Surya Dev while praying for the well-being of their children.

For us, being in Odisha during this festival made it even more special. We got to witness the tradition up close and, at the beach, had the beautiful opportunity to offer Surya Arghya to the rising sun.

Standing there in the early morning, with the sea in front of us and the first rays of the sun appearing over the horizon, it felt like a beautiful connection between faith, nature and an age-old tradition.

Sometimes, travelling at the right time isn't just about seeing a new place.

Chilika — beautiful, but not every place has to impress you

We also made our way towards Chilika Lake, hoping for another memorable experience.

For me, it was just okay.

Perhaps expectations play a role in travel. Sometimes you arrive at a place expecting to be amazed, and the reality simply feels ordinary.

But even there, the journey gave us something unexpected. We stopped for tea during the journey, and unexpectedly found ourselves beside another stretch of sea—the Bay of Bengal, on the other side of Chilika.

It was surprisingly beautiful and, unlike the busy beaches of Puri, almost untouched by the tourist rush. The sea was vast, the breeze was refreshing, and there were hardly any people around.

The place was beautiful, peaceful and far less crowded than the beaches we had experienced earlier.

Sitting there with a cup of tea, looking at the sea and simply taking a break from travelling, ended up being more memorable to me than the destination itself.

And that's something I've come to appreciate about travel.

Not every beautiful moment has to happen at a famous place.

Sometimes, it's just a roadside tea break with a beautiful view.

Bhubaneswar — another side of Odisha

After spending time in Puri, we moved towards Bhubaneswar. The city was pleasant enough, and we explored several local places, temples and historical sites.

We also visited Dhauli, where the light-and-sound show presented the story of Emperor Ashoka and the history associated with the place.

Watching history unfold through a visual presentation was a lovely experience. Stories that you may have read about in books suddenly feel different when you're standing in the very landscape connected to them.

We also explored the ancient caves of Khandagiri and Udayagiri, along with other local temples and places around the city.

Bhubaneswar gave us a different glimpse of Odisha—one that was less about the sea and more about its history, architecture and ancient roots. But unlike Puri, which gave me a few experiences that stayed deeply with me, Bhubaneswar was more of an okay experience overall.

And that's alright. Not every destination has to become your favourite.

And then came the little frustrations, Travel isn't always sunsets, temples and beautiful photographs.

Sometimes it's a driver who can't find you.

Sometimes it's a crowded beach.

Sometimes it's an experience that leaves you disappointed.

And sometimes, it's an auto-rickshaw driver who agrees to take you somewhere, confidently tells you that he knows the destination—and then drops you somewhere completely different.

This happened to us more than once in Odissa.

We would stop an auto, tell the driver where we wanted to go, and get an assuring “Yes, yes, I know the place.”

Only to reach some completely unknown location.

And then came the next surprise—

an additional demand to take us to the actual destination.

After it happened two or three times, it became less funny and more frustrating.

But perhaps these experiences are also part of travelling.

Because a trip isn't made memorable only by everything going perfectly.

The small inconveniences, the unexpected situations, the people you meet and the moments when you think “What is happening here?” eventually become part of the story too.

What I brought back from Odisha

When I look back at the trip, I don't think of Odisha as one particular destination.

I remember it as a collection of contrasts.

The chaos of Puri and the silence of an almost empty beach.

The grandeur of Jagannath Temple and the simplicity of feeding a few cows.

The ancient brilliance of Konark and the living craftsmanship of Raghurajpur.

The sunset at Chandrabhaga and the early morning sound of waves.

The history of Dhauli and the unexpected cultural celebrations around Konark.

The excitement of exploring new places—and the occasional frustration of simply trying to get somewhere.

It wasn't a perfect trip.

And perhaps that's what made it real.

There were places I loved, places I found ordinary, and experiences that genuinely disappointed me.

But somewhere between the temples, the sea, the art, the long journeys, the cups of tea and all those little unexpected moments, Odisha became more than just another destination on the map.

It became a story.

And like every good travel story, I came back with more than photographs.

I came back with a few questions, a few lessons, a lot of memories—and one place that I know I'll remember for a long time:

Raghurajpur.

Because sometimes, the best part of a journey isn't the place everyone tells you to see.

It's the place that quietly becomes yours.