Ali. Kates. Macuhl. Singa Patel. Yanvi. Rushia. Myself. Once the secret seven from Ahmedabad reached the Mumbai airport, we created a scene because how could our Mumbai-Goa flight get delayed by so many hours? Nothing could be done because the Goa airport was not allowing anything to land till evening? Well, not our fault, we hollered; make us sit in your lounge, we suggested. And then we sat in the lounge and fed free food to ourselves as we killed time. We also wished each other happy Republic day. We were going to Goa. And we were going to have a blast.
By the time, the full team reached Goa and assembled at the Bogmallo beach resort, the count of people was over a dozen. An unmanageable number. My God. Before I did anything else, I clicked pictures of the setting sun. And it was cute the way sun did not set over the sea but over some island.
(above: sunset at Bogmallo beach)
The evening fun started with three folks sitting down at John’s shack to order beer and snacks and things like that. Soon everyone else started joining in. From a regular waiter, John became the man. From the shack we shifted to the shoreline. And dear John had absolutely no problems whatsoever in serving all that we needed, to wherever we had taken seats – even if that meant, quite a bit of walking up and down for him.
The drinking and eating session went on and on. Till God knows what time in the night. When we were not drinking, we were running races along the beach. Running races in the starry moist Goan night. In spite of all my running habit, Macuhl was the undisputed champion. The champion was lifted up on the shoulders and thrown into the noisy ocean. And then I dived into the sea myself. Hanuman joined in. And we swam in the warm salty Goan waters that when passed through us, made us their own.
Next day was the plain and simple water sports day. A – The water-scooter. Where you sit like a chutiya while the driver stands behind you in a classic Kamasutra pose and steers the scooter. While watching our heroes riding water scooters on screen, I had never thought that the real ride was as jerky as I finally got to feel. B – the toppling Banana ride. C – The bumpy ride. Where they attach a tube to a boat, make you sit in the tube and then drive the boat like nuts. It was so bumpy that it felt as if someone was feeling up my ass real hard. I renamed it the gay ride. D – parasailing. If you have ever done paragliding before, parasailing so totally fails to give any real kick. I pinged MRP when I was done with parasailing. She told me she had done that when she was in Goa with her friends some time back. And she told me how nice it looks to watch people going up in the air. But how ordinary it is when you do it yourself. I couldn’t relate to it more.
The second day was about long scootie rides to the Churches of Old Goa; about bright sunny pictures with shining Christian structures in the background. I realized suddenly that my zoom lens was fucked up. I hope it can be repaired without much trouble. Something got stuck between the lens cylinders – so it doesn’t slide. So zoom and auto-focus feature don’t work.
From the church we rushed to check out the Aguada fort. We reached there at 0520 pm. The fort was closed we were told. Many even returned. The closing time was 0530 pm we argued. We entered. To the annoyance of the guy at the entrance. We took some quick pictures. And we ran back to the entrance. Before the gate of fort could be closed. See, we came back in time, we smirked as we exited. To the annoyance of the guy at the entrance. And then followed the rush to the Anjuna beach.
Long long ride. Real long long ride. The sun was about to set when we finally reached. The cute orange sun. The romantically crimson sky. Rushia tried to click a picture of the last glimpse of the cute orange sun in the romantically crimson sky. She realized my lens was fucked up. She couldn’t click. I grabbed the lens, changed the setting to manual focus and clicked whatever little remained of the sun. Very little remained of the sun. And then the sun set.
At some random shack on Anjuna beach, as Kates got drunk over few jars of beer, some of us worried about the number of eligible drivers who could ride the scooties. The resort back in Bogmallo was like 40 kilometers away. And before leaving for that, we wanted to go to Tito’s. It was the most happening pub in Goa, we had been told. And as an icing on the cake, some miss India aspirants were going to turn up that evening.
Tito’s had a typical party scene. Regular dance floors and stuff. Very cramped though. It reminded me of the Ahmedabad farm house party where MRP and I had danced like shit. Except that here at Tito’s, booze was available. We had paid 1,500 per couple of cover charge and we could have as much of booze as we wanted. We had as much of booze as we wanted. And some more. I missed MRP. Right then. Right there. I missed her so much that I didn’t feel like dancing after a while. So I took a seat in a corner and wondered how cool it would have been to have her with me that night. And as I was wondering they played Sheela ki Jawaani. So I ran to join the group. And danced. And when the song got over, I found back the corner where I was sitting, sat again and wondered. How cool it would have been to have her with me that night.
By the way, have you ever noticed that however posh a party is, the Indian crowd that pretends to enjoy English songs (trance, rock, hip-hop, this that, shit shat etc.), gets into its true skin only when the DJ finally plays a hit Bolleywood number? One Sheela ki jawaani makes more waists twist than an entire rap album of Pitbull!
So that was more or less how we had a blast in Goa. Swimming, drinking, partying, water-sportying and scootying. That’s pretty much how adults have a blast in Goa. Go to Goa sometime. Have a blast.
Above: My first visit to Goa, ten years ago
Above: 2011 – how things change!