Goa's Molestation

The trip to Goa in my final semster of MBA was going fine until just ten hours before it was about to end. We had missed the DCH site where Amir, Saif and Akshay( in the movie) sit and talk shit about the beauty of Goa. We were going there just for the fuck of it. The road was immensely curvy, and a smooth drizzle was flying into our faces. The stage was set: a slight stupidity was the only requirement. And then out of nowhere I delivered. Not watching the road, on that disgusting Activa, with a tall shirtless HE MAN behind me, I stared at a probably Israeli girl, whose head was shaven. And then a sharp turn came. Before I could see the road again, I had fallen so badly I thought I had broken my leg. The girl showed some disappointment, at what had happened, with a mere shake of head. What are these Israelies doing in Goa, trying to kill people like us. The trip ended with me limping home, sunburnt, hating beaches and bikinis forever. Deepak who was with me there had a stomach upset during the return, so he passed the better part of the return train journey enclosed in the stinking washroom. Krishna( HE MAN) was the only person satisfied with the trip. Everyone else was tired from the trip, and of each other. There is something about these tourist places, an absence of certain sensibility or let's just say a a character. They seem like celebrity, shaped by the public and eventually packed into annonymity. Goa will cease to be a place people would want to go to in time to come. It's full of dark people trying to speak in unhearable english; trying to sell drugs and prostitues. It's full of people from other countries acting as if they are genuinely interested in Yoga and music. The most beautiful thing eventually is the fakery at display. Everything else apart the beaches, though dirty, were good. I would have drowned; I went so deep inside.