Arrival at the Sea

In the morning, I brush the red dust of New Delhi off my nice blue shoes, board a GoAir flight, and head south to the state of Goa.

Stepping out of the airport, I’m greeted by warm, tropical air — humid, heavy, and unmistakably coastal. I know my chosen beach village is about an hour away, so I start looking for affordable transport. A local man offers a motorcycle taxi. No better option appears, so I climb on.

For the next hour, we slalom between cars, weaving unpredictably through traffic. Sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right — and occasionally straight into oncoming lanes. By the time we arrive safely in Anjuna, I silently decide that I will not risk my life like this again on the way back to the airport.

At the Red Door Hostel in Anjuna village, I barely put my backpack down before the hostel dog greets me with what can only be described as a friendly bite. Welcome to Goa.

Still slightly dazed from the motorbike ride, I head out for the first time — and almost immediately step into the path of a tattooed girl on a scooter. She slams the brakes, pulls over, and proceeds to scold me for a solid two minutes:

“What’s wrong with you? Come here! If you’re crossing the road, cross it properly — don’t stop in the middle! Think what would have happened if I had damaged my scooter!”

Fair point.

And just like that, my week of beachside life by the Indian Ocean begins.

The contrast to Delhi is immediate. Tropical palms instead of dusty streets. Sea breeze instead of desert heat.

Earlier that day, I had flown from the capital — passing by landmarks like the Lotus Temple, completed in 1986 and one of the most visited houses of worship in the world, open to people of all faiths.

Now, standing near the Arabian Sea — though I didn’t even make it to the sandy beach on my first evening — I feel the pace of life slowing down.