Go Go Goa – The Prequel

Lighter in Goa

Beach-hopping. The perfect way to experience the beauty of this coastal paradise.

Calangute to Baga was a breeze. 

While enjoying cold lemonade, we seek advice from the beach shack owner at Baga. It’s not going to be an easy trek from here to Anjuna, according to him. 

It’s a much shorter distance as the crow flies, and much longer by proper road. Just that, our journey would be quite a bit different from that of the crow.

There’s a stretch of water that we would need to cross. Then there’s a bit of rocky terrain to trek through. Still, it sounds good to us.

Who wants to walk through proper roads? Why miss some thrills?

But let’s back up for a minute and establish our setting.

It’s 1984. The year of the exposition. The once-in-a-decade occasion when the holy relics of St. Francis Xavier preserved in a silver casket in the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa is displayed to the public.

We’ve never been to Goa. And for us, this was the ultimate opportunity to get approval from our parents to visit Goa. ”A religious pilgrimage”.

And here we are on the beaches. Religiously pursuing our dreams. Feeling the sand between our toes, and the salty breeze upon our faces.

Cut back to the beach. At the beach shack. We’re refreshed and recharged.

And here we are, embarking on our beach trek from Baga to Anjuna.

We pass through several more beach shacks which are coming to life with tourists enjoying their breakfasts.

As we walk further, the activity buzz diminishes. And there’s just a few senior fisher folk sitting around. 

We then reach the strip of water. It’s a bit wider than we anticipated. We envy the crows flying across effortlessly. 

The water is clear and pristine. After a bit of hesitation, our adventurous spirit raises its head again. So we decide to forge ahead.

We roll our clothes and slippers into a bundle, and wade into the water, bare except for our briefs.

The water is neck deep. We hold our clothes above our heads to keep them from getting wet. We laugh and enjoy the wade. Then, PLONK! Our electronic cigarette lighter slips out of the pocket and plunges into the water from my bundle of clothes.

For a moment, the world paused. The crows stopped flying. The wind stopped blowing. Even the water went still.

We stare at each other in sheer shock. This lighter is a prized possession, and just recently procured by my friend at an unaffordable price. We are proud of the advantage of an electronic lighter while lighting cigarettes even in windy conditions.

Retrieving the lighter from the water would mean getting our heads and clothes wet. And there is also a good chance that the lighter would now be damaged and unusable.

So we stand there all upset and screaming at each other. Madly and vehemently blaming each other. 

Finally, we take one last sad look at our just-deceased friend-in-need who served us relentlessly and unflinchingly in the most demanding conditions – even in the worst winds in parks and beaches and rainy evenings.

A mournful look settles over our faces as we come to terms with the fact that we would never again feel the familiar weight of that lighter in our pockets.

We wade on like zombies drenched in sorrow. With heavy hearts. Our hands held high, but with hearts sunk low.

Now we have the rocky patch to cross. Back in our outfits, we trudge along. And the terrain gradually gets challenging, with sharp rocks and steep inclines. Yet we slog along.

With no GPS or Google maps to support us, we have to use our innate sense of direction. And we seem to be doing pretty fine, though Anjuna is nowhere in sight. Then we see a lone guy ahead of us. He’s walking confidently forward and we’re sure that our salvation lies in following this guy.

The guy takes a cursory look at us and continues his confident walk. And we keep following at a safe distance. Now it shouldn’t be too long before we see Anjuna.

Trudging along for some more time, the man abruptly stops. And turns back. He passes by us, uttering two bleak words – “No way”. 

Shucks! The guy is just a tourist who was taking a chance just like us. And apparently not from an English-speaking country. And he’s just realized that he has taken the wrong path.

We turn back. Now it’s time to resume our angry screaming and blaming.

My friend is still pissed off with me for losing his lighter, and then for choosing to follow a random stranger. So he’s walking much ahead of me, mumbling random expletives and curses.

Down a steep descent, I step awkwardly on some stones, and stumble down the hilly slope. My legs are carrying me dangerously down the incline and my steps are precariously uncontrollable on the pebbles lying around. 

I’m angled perfectly to hit the tourist guy. I’m hoping he’ll lend me a hand to arrest my fall. Just an effortless grab can save me. 

I approach him with flailing limbs making desperate attempts at regaining my balance.

But he moves away quickly to make way for me to continue my rash rush down the slope.

I’m rapidly losing my footing on the treacherous terrain. And the pesky little stones seem to have a personal vendetta against me.

I’m gaining speed and losing control. The wind is rushing past my ears like a horde of humming bees. My arms are flapping like a deranged chicken trying to take flight, and my legs kicking like a frog on a hotplate.

In the distance, I have a spectacular view of the sea down below. I’m very soon going to have to spread my wings and soar down towards the water. And when my fabulous flight culminates in a PLONK like a plummeting lighter, I’m sure to croak.

Just as I’m announcing my take-off, my friend lends a hand to slow me down. And I’m diverted towards a tree which lets me hug it. And my flight gets cancelled.

Getting a grip on things, we squat on the precipice. We marvel at the spectacle of the deep blue sea, dangling our tired and bruised legs. Laughing like idiots at what could have been.

We soon proceed towards Anjuna with renewed vigour and conviction, hoping we’ll not bungle up this time.

We finally are greeted by the beautiful sandy shore of Anjuna. We head to a nearby shack for some chilled local beer and heave a sigh of relief.

Our plan for the next day was clear. We must visit the Cathedral and repent for prioritising the beaches over the religious pilgrimage. And thank God for saving us.

And somewhere in the distance a church bell rings just for us.