Tryst with Anjuna


The southwest monsoon had let loose an abundance of wild greenery. Goa’s snaking roads were lined with quaint old indo Portuguese mansions, the owners seemed to be inflicted with an acute lack of taste – as these works of art were painted with the crassest of crass colors (sorry I was at loss for a better adjective).

Anjuna beach was our destination. Its notoriety preceded it. Our driver sulked at the very mention of the place. Mr. Grumpy then chauffeured a bunch of presumed junkies and gave a taste of the beach’s famous trance party, even before we got there – thanks to the ride, which was riddled more with sickness than with motion.

A “gentle” stride downhill gets one to what at first seems like yet another rocky beach (We were in the rocky part of the 30 km long beach). “But then wait!” a moment of solemn observation occupies my ever-docile mind.

I see this rather prominent dome shaped rock formation almost inviting me into a not so kempt Arabian sea. The rock even titillates me, with a row of its miniature versions. It poses like a deity, while the row of small rocks behave as if they were its humble devotees cursed with the forever, unending errand of converting skeptics.

As I draw close, the angry waves crash on the deity with soul reverberating force, and this happens every few minutes. My unscathed deity continues basking rather nonchalantly under the nonexistent monsoon Sun.

Insensitivity, yup, that is the key!

Insensitivity is greatness.

Insensitivity is godliness.

Insensitivity is permanence…