It will be a month since I returned from Goa. But the sand seems to be there in my flip flops.
The trip came as a junket offer and I stayed at a resort in South Goa. I was on my own. Yet I had the time of my life. I did as many things as is possible in three and a half days (my feet went really sore). Eating, parasailing, jetskiing, dolphin chasing, a trip to a spice plantation, going for elephant rides, getting extremely oily ayurvedic body massages...
Parasailing was exhilarating. It was the first time I tried it. The scenery from up there was fantastic. Only I had a hard time getting back to land. I have to come to the conclusion that you need strong arms to make it back.
And yes, I went for an underwater sea walk. This was a weird experience at the Baina Beach near Vasco. First of all, the water was not at all clear, secondly, there was no changing room and thirdly the helmet (very like a huge space helmet) which had several 1 kilo weights attached to the rim left two sore spots on my shoulders. Turns out that mine was defective.
I have to confess that I am not a water baby. So as I descended down the ladder into the sea and had the helmet lowered over my head, I panicked. The water was rising and almost threatened to reach my ears. But then thankfully it didn't. The only consolation was the good looking walk leader. I didn't even get the chance to flirt. The resort guy insisted on saying: "A come on hurry. We have to leave." I have never felt more akin to punching somebody.
The one moment I will never forget is when I was sitting on the rocks on Anjuna Beach and swigging a cranberry breezer. The wind whipping my hair with wild abandon, the sunset and the firang band playing live music at Cafe Looda's in the backdrop. It was surreal. As it grew darker, the sky became as starry as it could get. The feel was so bohemian and young. Now I know why people rave about Goa. Plus it has some of the most pretty quaint villas. I want to go back -- either own a shack, or be a bartender.
Or if none of these work, I have come upon another career option. Recently I attended a chocolate appreciation workshop by a French chef who is the head patissier at Harrods. I asked him if he would let me be his assistant. The man kept laughing. But he gave me his number and asked me to give him a call. So now I have to take a call.
In between, my folks have been obsessing about me returning home and working in Calcutta. At one point I was ready to and even asked my boss for a transfer. Now when he said: "I can't imagine you working the Cal office. Also you have to do production work," I thought twice. I guess I am too much in love with my life, work, the profile, the timing, to give it all up. My parents are sulking but I am too chicken to take such a huge step. And I just hate production. So am sticking on in Delhi.
Meanwhile, it is nearing. S's wedding. Everyone around me seems to be getting married. Now even another friend, who has gone to Calcutta for some time, is planning to go in for an arranged marriage. The bug seems to be spreading fast.