Towards the end of our wanderings, the soul’s yearning is to record the lyrics of the song that was the joie de vivre of life. Here in this delightful memoir, a number of extraordinary incidents have been recalled in a manner which make them more scintillating in retrospect.
Two years may not be a long time, but in Goa the days are so stretched out that supplementary phaenomena can find room, and, as such, the basket may fill up faster.
What was a soliloquy has now become a dialogue between the writer and the reader.
Baga lies at the far end of the road that goes from the tri-section at Calangute. Till the year 1990, this road a lot of trees lined up on both the sides of the road and very few hotels and restaurants existed which included a milk bar which was a landmark and favourite of tourists. A classy hotel by the name of Baia Da Sol stood where this road came to a dead end. Next to the hotel was the creek which flowed into the sea and junction could be crossed over by wading across to the the hill on the other side. Few shacks existed nearby Baia Da Sol and the beach was well spread and was ideal for lolling around during the day. No water sports or carts, horses, camels, donkeys or elephants were allowed. The only game that was played was beach volleyball. In short, Baga was the place to relax.
Now the road that goes from Calangute to Baga is dotted with shops which basically sell the same stuffs and the new restaurants are loud and gross. The serenity of the entire stretch and originality of the old mansions and villas has been lost forever. Baga beach has been thoroughly screwed and the standard of the tourists coming here has become pathetically plebeian.
If you believe in the existence of soul (there are some who don’t) then what if two persons shared a single soul?