Goa, Part Something

Okay, given the weeks that have passed since Goa, The Second Trip, I feel it's useless to document, in detail, the day-by-day occurrence of Goa, The First Trip. So before I start writing about GTST (or should it be GST?), I'll share some excerpts from (GTST/GST/I really need to look this up).

Goa, First Trip (easier, no?) - Extracts 

The drunk night. We went out, had dinner somewhere, oh, come to think of it, we didn't have dinner.

Let me start again.

We went out. Found a restaurant that had the following offers:

1. 1 beer, 1  beer free.
2. 1 cocktail, 2 cocktails free.

Or something similar. I don't recall - on account of the fact that, because of that offer, I drank too many beers and sipped  gulped too many cocktails.

Anyway, we, or rather HR, who has the unique and admirable talent of making friends wherever he goes, befriended a Bengali waiter who totally gave us 65-70 ml instead of 60 ml, which just goes to show -  IT'S IMPORTANT TO MAKE FRIENDS, PEOPLE.

It was his last night though, he was leaving for Darjeeling the next day.

Then we drove up and down for the same road for twenty minutes and landed up at the only pub that looked open, and the manager was drunk, and he sat with us and we rolled a joint. There were a few white people at the next table. And HR asked them whether they wanted to share the wondrous beauty, the explosion of stars, the beauty of a wall and soiled carpet, with us.

"Because," as someone once told me, "that is the amazing-ness of a joint."

Anyway, the white people did not want to smoke, which, trust me, is an extremely abnormal experience in Goa.

"Where are you from?" Said HR.

An innocent question, but for some reason he got death glares.


See, see, do you see, the beauty of an ironic world?

Oh right, and then we went back to Silver Star, and drank too much, and HR hustled a waiter at pool and won, and I heard, with patience, another waiter's love story, and I kept getting up at intervals - when I felt energetic - to chase puppies because I love puppies, come on, they're adorable, but HR chased after me, and spent much time advising me about the dangers about taking Puppy on a bus to Bangalore and keeping Puppy in a small, damp, gets-worse-with-time room, which incidentally is where I live.

So I gave Puppy up because true love is selfless that way.

And then we went into the Silver Star room - thankfully the only night we would spend there - and we were completely smashed and then we passed out.

The rest of the trip, which I'll talk about later (on account of how I do not know how to keep things short) is more interesting.

Or not. I don't know.

I'm quite stoned. Haha. 

1 comment:

teryvak said...

Thank you. I have been reading through your blog since a few days while pretending to work. Long time since I felt this inspired. You are a great writer,remind me of Bridget Jones, only much better!