I have been to Goa 3 times before. Always with the same people, more or less. This time I am the only people I am going with. There are a lot of feelings that need to be addressed, spoken out loud, if the anticipation of this trip is to be done justice to.
1. I was since forever, grieving the lack of a normal family. What I did as reaction to these feelings is that I kept whatever friends I made so close, they became family. So now, on the better side of childhood, I have a family and a bunch of people who take care of me better than I know to. K is one of them. This solo trip is his wish for me to finally live the dream I was naïve enough to have but not courageous enough to execute. I would always blow up my travel money on a new pair of wireless-earphones, a nice smelling cream I do not need or a skirt FabIndia made me believe I do.
Thank you for setting my priorities straight, dear K, I would waste 2 more years in a shit college for you.
2. I can see a lot of things in perspective, like only a person who has lived a considerable amount of life can. I am a starkly different person from the Prachi of 5 years ago, who left for Goa on her way to college. She had only a book and a bunch of pens for the trip; not even a phone charger. I did not call my parents for 3 days; they did not notice.
When I packed last night, I put in an extra tee-shirt, comfortable slippers, a warm jacket and a rain coat, just in case. I put in 3 books more than I need for a 4 day trip. I have also carried water colors, handmade paper and the yellow shoes that go with me to faraway lands. I, for the first time, also own a neck pillow. I have bought myself 3 big boxes of berry-dark-chocolates for I must have chocolates while on the beach. This equipped I have never been. And on my way out of the front door, I, as a last-minute precaution, put a box of pencil lead in my bag. It felt necessary that I have a box of lead in case I run out.
Slaughterhouse :
I should have written this earlier. I don’t know why I have not done it yet. But if we were to believe a certain Kurt Vonnegut I did not write about it because I never wrote about it; because I will always have not written about it yet; it was just structured that way.
I feel threatened in public spaces.
On the beach, 3 men walked up to me. One offered weed. One insisted on talking to me in English. One was determined to click selfies with me. He would place his head on my shoulder for the relentlessly refused-to selfies. They asked me to take care of myself, the waves pull you in they said. The skin on my back where he touched me burns, of a sense of foreboding, of an almost loss, of clutching heart in fists. On my way back, I did not meet eyes with the auto-walas, the shopkeeper who sold me a ring for my sister, the boy who sold me flowers to take to the temple. I stood close to a family: smiling at them, hoping they would smile back and all the men in the world would step away from me. The family did, but the men did not.
I walked back to the hotel resolutely. I decided that I was fine. I denied any fear. And when I did not tell my parents about it, I denied that it happened.
And Billy Pilgrim continued to say that all these things have happened, they would remain happened, it is structured that way.
Back in 1998, a father’s driver will unzip a Prachi’s dress in their car and she wouldn’t know to say no.
In 2000, a certain best friend’s cousin would molest him. Many times.
A dentist would strip naked in front of a boy. Demand being touched.
A man will pass, squeeze a girl’s breast while she drives.
Again, while he drives and she doesn’t.
Bottoms will be pinched, breasts elbowed today in a local train.
She was 9, he will be 10, they will be 36 and sometimes 58.
I will go to my professor, cry, ask him to undo this, undo it all. I will ask papa to help me feel safe in this world that is also my home.
He won’t.
He can’t.
He will say that all of these things have happened. They will remain happened. That I can’t, we can’t change it. It is structured that way.
Solo trip is almost over, but it is almost also not. There are 4 more hours to be whiled away at the airport, reading, writing, paining, eating, eavesdropping.
I failed to write everyday like I wished to, but I took notes and made the most out of skipping real life, I promise. I climbed up hills and climbed down streams, lost my way in a forest, made a photo of myself on the beach. I rode bike taxis, autos, buses, trains and flights. I went to the old city and bought things I did not need. I talked to the shopkeepers, they liked my embroidered wallet.
I have been at an airport since 5am. It is cold, uncomfortable and empty. It slows down time enough for me to document events. My body assists the airport slow time. It is bruised all over and hurting in places, so I cannot fall asleep. My bum has had itself crashed into rocks by high ways while I sat in a pond at the top of a hill. My pinky toes hate me. One had its skin peeled off on way down a mud trail in a jungle.The other is swollen since it bumped against a wall while expressively telling a story of how I heard a bird whistle like a human. They curse me as they wobble together to get us morning coffee.
Like I do at the end of every trip, I made a lazy list of things I witnessed on the trip that might not have blogposts written about them, but deserve at least a spot on random Airport rants/trip summary lists:
Front gates of houses that match flowers growing on them.
Raincoat clad farmers who work their paddy fields.
Chickoos that grow on trees next to ATMs.
Incomprehensive songs on the cab-drivers play list.
People who lend umbrellas during rainy season.
People who lend tampons.
Little ponds ignored by mankind.
A man who wears a cap with metal teeth.
A hypnotist who cures people of mental disorders, at least the ones that involve past life issues.
The uninhabited talks of airport cleaning staff who assume unwatched behavior, not knowing a human observes them from a corner.
Finishing a good book in a train.
Uncles who buy you chai. Aunties who care if you have eaten lunch.
I am so grateful and full till my nose of all experiences livable. I am thankful for the forests from being home to crickets, for rocks who make way for sunshine, for seas when they have hightides and for sea at low tide, for life guards who do not let you jump down a stream, for the lifeguard who lets you then climb down a smaller stream, for humans who give hugs and people that run hostels, for the man who made banana-Nutella-pancakes for breakfast lunch and dinner every day, for beer, and flowers and the color yellow. I am thankful for friends and family who protect my reckless ways by letting me believe that the world is inherently a good place.