It seems obvious on hindsight, but it looked like a very good idea at the time. A break away from work to the salubrious climes of Goa was exactly what I needed. Of course there was the minor matter of me being employed by a company and required to attend office every weekday. So, when I cleverly asked for a well-timed (Thursday and Friday) leave for 2 days from work, judging from my boss’ expression I could just as well have been threatening her life with the stapler I was holding in my hands (which too is not beyond the realms of possibility, but that’s besides the point). Post the perfunctory gasps and sighs to make me feel like a miserable, irresponsible twat, she finally conceded, and made the supreme sacrifice of granting me 2 days leave in the last 2 years. Thus having completely tricked the system, I went home in a rather chirpy mood, and chirped the plan to the wife.

Now, regular readers of this blog (yes, I mean the loyal fan following that I seem to have developed in the region of Africa, who keep leaving me comments asking me to pick up strange packages containing regal jewelry from the airport) that I share a rather unique equation with my spouse. It would not be wrong to say that we complete each other. Without her, I wouldn’t know the things that I dislike, and without me, she would have no clue why she was fed up of her life. For example, something like the mode of travel would be a non-issue with her. But, she instantly knew how much she’s hated air travel all her life the minute I suggested we should fly down to Goa. Of course the knowledge that I was totally against wasting a good 12 hours of my vacation time on a train that seemed to stop at every pan shop on the way had nothing to do with it. I had had it. I decided to put my foot down.

Instead of taking a train that took 12 hours, we thus took the Konkan Express that added another delightful extra hour. I spent the morning clicking images of random strangers trying to look grave and reflective by the compartment door. The train delivered us early in the morning in a place called Thivim, ready to be ripped off by friendly taxi drivers who refused to recognize the independence of our country and kept asking payments in Euros and Dollars. After another hour or so, we reached the hotel that had been arranged for us by my dear friend DJ (more about him some other day). The negotiations on the rates went somewhat like this.

"How much for an economy room for 2?"

"INR 7000 for a day!", shouted back the clerk, obviously irritated at being disturbed by stupid tourists who’d nothing better to do than to check into hotels.

"That’s too much…any chance of a discount?"

"Okay, okay. INR 3000 with a complimentary upgrade to the Presidential Suite and free spa."

Exhausted with the fierce negotiation, I didn’t bother asking which President had the suite been originally meant for. But all said and done, it was a nice enough room, complete with an attached living room, balcony, bathrooms with bath-tubs, etc. I was pretty happy. Having had to spend one full night over me, even though it was on the upper berth, had taken its toll on my wife, and she went straight for her bath. I decided it was time for me to check out the white balance of Goa. Walking into the balcony, I was pleasantly surprised by a nice full view of the swimming pool below, complete with foreigners in all shades of pink trying desperately to turn different shades of darker pink. Moments later, I was surprised once more when I felt a tap on my shoulder while trying to manually focus the camera on a particularly attractive lady who was trying very hard to even out the color scheme on her body. Words not even present in the the Free Online Very Liberal Dictionary were exchanged. I gave her a piece of my mind, and then instantly went and made coffee for the both of us. The following image of her trying to reach out and grab me by my hair can also pass of as a nice little romantic snapshot. Vivitar 285HV from camera right, and fury from subject centre.

Later that evening, I found the conversation veering towards a rather uncomfortable direction. It was only when the suggestion of going and spending time on the beach was floated that I realized why my suggestion of coming to Goa had not been shot down (like the time we’d spent our planned Ladakh trip in Kanyakumari). For yours truly is not very fond of water. Don’t get me wrong, I am pretty okay with drinking water from glasses, et. al. But lounging around the edge of the Arabian Sea was a million light years beyond my comfort zone. The wife obviously knew that.

Thus having failed to convince the wife that a vacation to Goa need not necessarily be turned into a cliché with visits to the beach, et. al, off we went to the sea. A cool beer on a beach chair soothed the nerves somewhat, while the wife romped around mockingly in the water. Occasionally, I took a few snaps of her as well to convince her that she was the reason I’d insisted on bringing along the camera in the first place. And topless foreign tourists? Where? How?

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