GOAAAA - When I finally sat down to write about my experiences in Goa, I was wondering whether I’ll really be able to do justice to it, as some things in life are beyond description. There are times which cannot be shackled in a few hundreds of words and made to reverberate in your memory every time you read it.
These are the times which are beyond the boundaries of language and comprehension. They are etched deep inside the subconscious mind as moments of truth, moments when everything stands still, moments when you take a decision. Something that enlivens your heart whenever its memory flits by in times of solitude and you end up smiling at the sheer romanticism of it.
That’s what Goa is – romanticism at its intangible best. You romance with it every moment – with the pristine sands, the gleaming beaches, the green hillocks, the tree-laced narrow roads, the intermittent tolls of bells from churches, the shacks on the sea shores and the sunsets on the horizon. And while you are romancing all these, a moment arrives when everything is still.
I also experienced something similar which was my moment of truth, moment when I felt like taking a decision and I took.
I, along with my friend Sanket, reached Goa at 7.30pm, with minds laden with thoughts on how recession is spreading its tentacles on the tourism industry in India. With Goa being the epicenter of tourism in the country, it was sure to take a hit.
Yes it has and people are affected. But for people like Sanket and I, who were there just to take a break from the hustle-bustle of Mumbai life, the place has a lot to offer. Its people, its beaches, its markets and its pace instantly permeates through the senses and withers away the humdrum existence of a monotonous metropolis. And the best part is Goa aptly rewards those who are ready to embrace adventurous possibilities in the state.
Sanket and I had prepared a list of ‘things to do’ while in Goa. Besides having some run-of-the-mill dreams such as water sports, sea food, riding a 350 cc bike and cycling on the beach, there were some stuff which was crazy and cool at the same time.
One was to go to the southern-most beach in Goa – the Polem beach and watch the sun slowing drowning in the sea from there. Though initially it sounded quite an easy exercise as were located in South Goa near Kolva beach, it eventually turned out to be an uphill task, literally.
Geographically, the beach is the last beach in Goa which shares its boundaries with Karnataka. It’s the smallest beach with no tourist activity and is scarcely inhabited. With these rough details and vague ideas of the roads, we set forth on a journey cutting across three mountains, a couple of districts and an unending 85-kilometre stretch.
It took above two hours, two crazy heads and one Honda Activa to reach the destination at 4.50 pm, just an hour before the sunset – tired, fatigued and beer-dehydrated (‘water’ is spelled as ‘beer’ in Goa).
The next one hour was the time when the moment of my life came. It was a mix of feelings, soothing breeze, the waning sunlight, switched off cell phones and two bottles of beer. But as I was gazing at the ships on the horizon, the serene tranquility of the place was slowing overpowering me. While the sun was approaching the sea surface, I was nearing the sea of solace. And then, at an instant, the moment arrived. Everything just stood still – no emotions, no feelings, no breeze, and a still sun. It was me and the stillness of the world.
I felt as if that was the moment I had been waiting all my life - my moment of truth. The moment when my heart called out to me to take a decision – a decision which is pure, noble, great and new. A decision that might change my life forever. And finally I decided!!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
THE FUNNY GOAAA -
GOAAAAAAAAAAA - The three letter word ‘Goa’ never meant a city-state for me whenever I came across this word while in Geography lessons or history classes. For me it was a country inside a country.
It’s not that my teachers taught me this. As a matter of fact, I still don’t know what my teachers taught me all through my nursery till I managed to be a graduate
But that’s what my friends taught me. And friends always led me to believe that ‘Goa’ meant – beautiful girls from Europe. And just before I was ready to pack my bags and leave for Goa, it meant – topless beautiful girls from Europe on gleaming white beaches.
While my eyes were ready to feast on such visuals, my mind was keen on experiencing the ‘real Goa’ known for endless parties, lobsters, prawns, shacks and water sports.
I, along with my friend Sanket, reached Goa on December 3 at 7.30pm. We came out of the Madgaon station and enquired for a 350 cc Bullet Enfield and settled for a gearless Honda Activa.
The owner of the bike hiring agency, Hasan, said, “The mammoth bikes are out of fashion now. People from India don’t go for it.”
“What about foreigners, aren’t they here?” I asked in desperation as I was afraid the dreams that my friends weaved in my head would shatter even before they incubate.
“Of course they are here, but not as earlier. Inflation is a universal truth now. We have seen almost 50% drop in enquiries in the first week of December,” Hasan said.
I was partly shattered and partly relieved but the expression on Sanket’s face clearly ready, “Welcome to recession.”
We thanked Hasan and with a mixed feeling of apprehension and excitement, hopped on the bike and headed straight towards the nearest beach – Colva to look for accommodation. It was dark and most of the shops en-route was closed.
“8.30 pm and shops closed,” muttered Sanket.
I was just about to pop out an intelligently timed ‘recessionary’ answer, when both of us collectively experienced that we were in Goa for the first time. We saw a bunch of young European girls, in typical western outfits, coming from the other side on foot. Stealing furtive glances we felt rejuvenated and ready for the three days of fun to follow.
The next three days were fun-filled but punctuated by stark revelations of how the ‘real Goa’ was gradually getting buried under the debris of global meltdown.
To much of our displeasure we learnt that shacks, as beach restaurants are called in Goa, close by 12 in the night. Even the dance floors in open air restaurants are abandoned by 1 am.
“Jaldi order dena saab, 11.30 baje band karma hai,” was the gruff voice that bellowed every night during dinner, not only because both of us spent ages on pouring over the menu and decide on the sea-food to gobble up that night but also because of slowdown.
“When the guests are not there, there is no point it keeping it opened till late night,” said Arjun, from Nepal, who was waiting on us.
Guests? So two folks from Mumbai are not guests?
“Sir, guests for us are the foreigners. They give us a chance for those extra bucks. But the tight situation across the globe complimented by terrorist attacks in Mumbai has already started hitting us,” Arjun said, and sadly added that he was planning to go back to Nepal.
Yeah, he was right. In fact, both Hasan and Arjun are right. The missing Enfield Bullets, the closed shops and the 11.30 pm deadline all reiterate that the ‘real Goa’ is lost.
All we can do is to wish that people like Hasan and Arjun don’t have to leave Goa and get the guests they always look forward to.
For us, we had our time of life in Goa. We did all that we wanted to, so much so that at the end of it I felt that whatever I learnt from my friends was very right.
You know what I am talking about!
It’s not that my teachers taught me this. As a matter of fact, I still don’t know what my teachers taught me all through my nursery till I managed to be a graduate
But that’s what my friends taught me. And friends always led me to believe that ‘Goa’ meant – beautiful girls from Europe. And just before I was ready to pack my bags and leave for Goa, it meant – topless beautiful girls from Europe on gleaming white beaches.
While my eyes were ready to feast on such visuals, my mind was keen on experiencing the ‘real Goa’ known for endless parties, lobsters, prawns, shacks and water sports.
I, along with my friend Sanket, reached Goa on December 3 at 7.30pm. We came out of the Madgaon station and enquired for a 350 cc Bullet Enfield and settled for a gearless Honda Activa.
The owner of the bike hiring agency, Hasan, said, “The mammoth bikes are out of fashion now. People from India don’t go for it.”
“What about foreigners, aren’t they here?” I asked in desperation as I was afraid the dreams that my friends weaved in my head would shatter even before they incubate.
“Of course they are here, but not as earlier. Inflation is a universal truth now. We have seen almost 50% drop in enquiries in the first week of December,” Hasan said.
I was partly shattered and partly relieved but the expression on Sanket’s face clearly ready, “Welcome to recession.”
We thanked Hasan and with a mixed feeling of apprehension and excitement, hopped on the bike and headed straight towards the nearest beach – Colva to look for accommodation. It was dark and most of the shops en-route was closed.
“8.30 pm and shops closed,” muttered Sanket.
I was just about to pop out an intelligently timed ‘recessionary’ answer, when both of us collectively experienced that we were in Goa for the first time. We saw a bunch of young European girls, in typical western outfits, coming from the other side on foot. Stealing furtive glances we felt rejuvenated and ready for the three days of fun to follow.
The next three days were fun-filled but punctuated by stark revelations of how the ‘real Goa’ was gradually getting buried under the debris of global meltdown.
To much of our displeasure we learnt that shacks, as beach restaurants are called in Goa, close by 12 in the night. Even the dance floors in open air restaurants are abandoned by 1 am.
“Jaldi order dena saab, 11.30 baje band karma hai,” was the gruff voice that bellowed every night during dinner, not only because both of us spent ages on pouring over the menu and decide on the sea-food to gobble up that night but also because of slowdown.
“When the guests are not there, there is no point it keeping it opened till late night,” said Arjun, from Nepal, who was waiting on us.
Guests? So two folks from Mumbai are not guests?
“Sir, guests for us are the foreigners. They give us a chance for those extra bucks. But the tight situation across the globe complimented by terrorist attacks in Mumbai has already started hitting us,” Arjun said, and sadly added that he was planning to go back to Nepal.
Yeah, he was right. In fact, both Hasan and Arjun are right. The missing Enfield Bullets, the closed shops and the 11.30 pm deadline all reiterate that the ‘real Goa’ is lost.
All we can do is to wish that people like Hasan and Arjun don’t have to leave Goa and get the guests they always look forward to.
For us, we had our time of life in Goa. We did all that we wanted to, so much so that at the end of it I felt that whatever I learnt from my friends was very right.
You know what I am talking about!
back to blogging
Now that December is just about to end and of course this year too and since I have not scribbled something in my blog for a long time, I guess now its time.
So life has been friends and work and fun and work and work and work after the two biggest material acquisitions of a bike and digicam.
But December, as usual, happened to be the most happening month of the year once again. But even before December came, November too brought with some good signals of good times ahead,,,, though disturbed in between by the gross realizations that I am not a student…. Saala college ki gate ke uspaar DJ di koi aukaat thi, aur ispaar bade bade DJ piss gaye…
Ya, life becomes a living hell when you start working and as you grow up and rise up the ladder it becomes worst from bad. As Mayank puts it, every morning u get up, abuse office, go to office, get abused, etc…. for me after being abused, I abuse some more people, the world, the work, the culture, the state, the city, humanity, then work aimlessly and endlessly and dispassionately and finally come back home, drink beer, make big plans for the next day and then sleep with the sense of making the next day bigger and better and then same routine again.
But in the midst of all this shit, I do fish out some time for FUN. And one time when my fun-quotient really humbled the work-and-abuse quotient was when I went to Goa.
Although I wouldn’t have written about it but just because I was asked to for my newspaper I wrote. And then re-wrote differently as they didn’t want a philosophical stuff, they wanted me to add humour. And as humourous I was once when I was not a part of the maddening crowd to make a living for myself which has no meaning even for me… so I wrote believing that I might still be having that funny side of me hidden somewhere under inches of arrogance and frustration … By the way, I will put in this blog both the pieces I wrote – the so called philosophical and the funny stuff… But most of then are true to the core except that there are some things I haven’t mentioned as and some have been slightly distorted to make the reader feel that I have a good command over the written language. Rankly speaking I don’t and whatever I write even a kindergarten folks can understand without even referring to their parents who are walking dictionaries for the first few years of their life.
So life has been friends and work and fun and work and work and work after the two biggest material acquisitions of a bike and digicam.
But December, as usual, happened to be the most happening month of the year once again. But even before December came, November too brought with some good signals of good times ahead,,,, though disturbed in between by the gross realizations that I am not a student…. Saala college ki gate ke uspaar DJ di koi aukaat thi, aur ispaar bade bade DJ piss gaye…
Ya, life becomes a living hell when you start working and as you grow up and rise up the ladder it becomes worst from bad. As Mayank puts it, every morning u get up, abuse office, go to office, get abused, etc…. for me after being abused, I abuse some more people, the world, the work, the culture, the state, the city, humanity, then work aimlessly and endlessly and dispassionately and finally come back home, drink beer, make big plans for the next day and then sleep with the sense of making the next day bigger and better and then same routine again.
But in the midst of all this shit, I do fish out some time for FUN. And one time when my fun-quotient really humbled the work-and-abuse quotient was when I went to Goa.
Although I wouldn’t have written about it but just because I was asked to for my newspaper I wrote. And then re-wrote differently as they didn’t want a philosophical stuff, they wanted me to add humour. And as humourous I was once when I was not a part of the maddening crowd to make a living for myself which has no meaning even for me… so I wrote believing that I might still be having that funny side of me hidden somewhere under inches of arrogance and frustration … By the way, I will put in this blog both the pieces I wrote – the so called philosophical and the funny stuff… But most of then are true to the core except that there are some things I haven’t mentioned as and some have been slightly distorted to make the reader feel that I have a good command over the written language. Rankly speaking I don’t and whatever I write even a kindergarten folks can understand without even referring to their parents who are walking dictionaries for the first few years of their life.
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