Every summer, Goans moved base to Calangute Beach
Four times its current size, in days of no electricity
No beach shacks, no sunbathers, this was the era of hippies
The music and culture, still very Portuguese.
Years later, we run away from the Arabian Sea
For a trace of Goa not many people see
In a 500 year old Goan home, with a local family
For backwaters so pristine and hamlets so sleepy.
On lazy mornings, we wake up to peacock cries
Sitting by the Aldona river, we watch kingfishers fly
After long walks and long talks, on the open fields we lie
Soaked in the rain on long drives, we stop asking why.
We indulge our taste buds in sumptuous Goan curries
Neighborhood eateries where no one’s in a hurry
Wearing shorts, slippers, something dull or merry
At a fine dining resto or roadside shack, never a worry.
My last week in Goa is a solo sojourn; me time
My friend asks, are there any secrets left to find?
I haven’t a single picture yet that truly captures Goa, I whine
Don’t waste your time, he says, Goa is a state of mind.