‘So much of life is like this. We are surprised at the moment something happens, but looking back, we realise that everything makes sense.’
—
The first time I told my friend this story, I thought it was nothing more than a casual retelling over a casual video call. His reaction, however, took me by surprise.
This story sounds just like a movie, he told me. You've got to write it down, you’ve got to immortalise it. You should be documenting all of this, Saloni — don't forget all the small yet important details.
So, here we are. Documenting those delightful details.
It was the start of December 2021, and I was toying with an idea I typically toy with every other day: the idea of going back to Goa — this time, for the Christmas and New Year’s Eve period.
But I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted to do. I was, in fact, scared of going back, of returning to a place that I'd so heavily romanticised in my memories, in my stories, in my writing. What if I did go back, and it just wasn’t all that?
My closest friend in Goa, however, wasn’t having any of my nonsense. She convinced me that everything would be great — better than the last time, in fact — and that I had no other option but to make my way ‘home’ for the holidays.
There was one roadblock, though: accommodation prices in Goa were far higher than what I was used to. It made sense, of course. That was the monsoon season, this was the peak season. To enjoy blue skies, the inviting, swimmable sea, and New Year’s Eve festivities was to pay a premium.
While my friend kindly offered to play host, I didn't want to impose on her for the long time I'd (likely) stay.
So, I put the word out: one hotel room for the first few nights that was within my budget, please (an ambitious budget, to be sure). Another dear friend helped me find just the place, a mere 5-minute cycle from my favourite beach in all of Goa. I'd won the nomad lottery.
And, on the 23rd of December, I landed at Dabolim International Airport, all set to stay at the hotel for three nights and then move on to my friend's place.
Sorted. Or so I thought.
On the 25th, a friend invited our gang over to his place for Christmas lunch. An afternoon of tasty Goan fare, chilled beer, good cheer awaited us. I couldn’t wait.
I got ready just like I would any other day. Hair washed and blow-dried. Slip into a new dress, add that cheeky dash of kajal. Switch off the lights, turn off the air conditioning, lock the door, step out into the warm sunshine. Wind lightly caressing my hair, the weather just the way I liked it.
My friend was on her way to pick me up in her car (I turn 30 this year, I still don't know how to drive, let's chastise me about that later).
But as I walked out, someone caught my eye. He looked 'foreign', which, after three years in India, I realise is how I’ve started to describe someone white. I assumed he was German, Swiss, perhaps even English. While rather stern-looking — glasses on, arms crossed, brow furrowed — he was also rather good-looking. Hmm.
We’ll call him B.
I’d also spotted the hotel manager, and took the chance to ask if I could extend my stay by another night (the first of many requests to extend the stay, to the point where my one-week sojourn turned into a one-month one, inevitably). That's fine, she said, stay as long as you want. And I was on my way.
But then, B suddenly broke into perfect Hindi with the manager. Now this really piqued my curiosity. Who was this? Where had he come from? How was his Hindi so good?
He, too, was looking for a room, his current place booting him out that very day. Christmas Day, and no room at his particular inn, it would seem.
Anyway, I eventually had to stop eavesdropping and start leaving. I didn't have time to think much else of this curious stranger, simply because my mind was occupied with other matters. Getting to that Goan fare before it was all gobbled up, for one.
But serendipity had my back. Well, to be more precise (and less romantic), the inaccuracy of Google Maps in Goa had my back. My friend had lost her way trying to find the hotel.
I stood on the road outside the hotel, waiting for her as she navigated the quietly confusing roads of your typical South Goan village.
Meanwhile, B had looked at a room or two, decided to give them a pass, and had made his way out to the road, too. This time, we made eye contact. We smiled at each other.
I don't remember how we started talking — who said what first — but before I knew it, we’d started talking.
I'm an economist, he told me. I told him I was a writer (later, he would joke that if I’d told him I was working in crypto, he would have left the conversation at that and never looked back). I gave him the CliffNotes of my life trajectory so far: the countries I’d lived in, the jobs I’d held.
Him and his brother were on holiday in India, he told me. We talked some more; I wish I knew about what.
All I knew is we kept smiling at each other. There was — and still is — a cheeky twinkle in his eye.
Then, my friend eventually turned up and we parted ways. 'Catch up soon!' I promised B — rather emptily, as no contact numbers were exchanged.
As far as I could tell, this fleeting exchange would be our only one. While this was a small village when you know the locals, such tourists come and go without much fanfare.
And so, I zipped off to lunch and didn't think about our chat for the rest of the day. It was a blissful day, one that was enveloped in the comforting warmth I've come to know as my second home: Goan hospitality.
I came home, tired yet contented, and had a lil Christmas nap.
Later in the evening, I popped to the common area of the hotel to grab a bottle of water. In and out, I told myself. An early night was on the cards.
Me being me, though, I struck up a conversation with the only two people sitting at the restaurant; a couple who holidayed here every year.
And then, B walked in, with his brother. This really is one cute human, I thought to myself. But that early night was calling. I made my way to leave.
But why was he here? He hadn’t chosen to stay at this particular hotel in the end, and this place was considered out of the way for most.
Interrupting my relentless inner monologue, B called out to me. ‘Hey! From what I remember, you had a pretty interesting story?’ I sat down again, we started chatting again. A few hours and multiple beers down, I felt like I’d known both him and his brother for years.
He would later tell me that he had only come back to the hotel that evening to maybe, just maybe, catch me again.
We hadn't exchanged numbers, our exchange itself being too brief. This was truly a Tinder message-less, phone call-less, chance encounter. B said that if this was meant to be, if we were really meant to cross paths again, it would happen that evening.
And, this time, we did exchange numbers.
Slowly, I learnt more about B, about his family, his career. That he was brought up across the world, much like me. That one of his parents was, indeed, from India.
That we had a sixteen-year age difference. That that didn't matter.
That some of my views were completely incongruous with his, while some were eerily identical. That we both loved to travel, to explore, to experience the unknown. I got to know his fascinating younger brother; the two being pretty inseparable and, eventually, the three of us being pretty inseparable.
And we had a stunning week together. We revelled in our shared identity as third culture adults — Indians, but not really; foreigners, but not really. The brothers showed me a way of travelling that I hadn’t really considered before, a way of travelling that valued slow, deep appreciation over jet-setting and landmark-hopping.
We jumped in the sea. We soaked up sunsets. We drank good, good, wine. I took things their way, the slow way. As B would say, we were taking things one fish curry at a time. No advance planning to see here.
And what shocked me most about it all was that I found I wanted to spend every free minute with these two. Our conversations, our shared energy, had completely hooked me. Anyone who knows me fairly well will know this is rare; I deeply cherish my alone time and will carve some out for myself every single day. I’m a people person, sure, but being excessively social just isn’t me. But these lads had captured my soul.
Eventually, said lads did move into the hotel where I was staying and, needless to stay, I didn’t make it to my friend’s place.
And then, a week later, they left. And then that was that — again, or so I thought.
Fast-forward 7 days, and I was hiking through Goa’s Netravali Wildlife Sanctuary. The area is famous for its majestic, refreshing waterfalls — and its notorious lack of phone signal. But it was a Saturday. Who needed a phone then, anyway?
It was a perfect day — the kind of day I keep returning to Goa for — one filled with swims, sun, serenity. And, at around 4PM, we came back into range. My phone started to buzz with a few messages and a missed call.
But one message stood out, loud and clear. I’m boarding a plane back to Goa, it read. See you in 2 hours. It was B.
He was coming back to see me. We spent another week together. I couldn’t, and still can’t, believe it.
Whether we will 'last', whether this person is 'The One' (if such a person really, truly exists for me), is both unknown and unnecessary to know right now.
Here’s what I do know: the more I travel, the more I increase the surface area for these beautiful chance encounters to take place on.
When people ask why it is I love travelling so much, why I love meeting new people so much, this kind of story is exactly what I tell them. Life is full of magical, serendipitous moments like these, and travel just increases the surface area for them to take place on.
And that’s why, for me, real-life serendipity will always win over the social media-orchestrated meet cute. Over dating apps. Over any algorithm-fuelled story out there. Many will call me old-fashioned, rigid, maybe even naive, for feeling this way, and I’m okay with that.
Because I feel like all of this wasn’t accidental. I don't think it was 'destined' or anything remotely cheesy like that, either. But sometimes — just sometimes — I feel like things naturally happen, things naturally fall into place, at just the right time for you and your life.
Just a few months prior, I had been hurt by someone. I had felt low, I had felt used, I had felt like I would never succeed in 'finding someone else'.
But then, B came along and reminded me why things didn't quite work out then.
It's because they were waiting to work out now.
Faith in the process, trust in the journey, belief in the serendipity.
Until next time,
S
Tell me: When was the last time serendipity had your back?
Cover image captured on Sernabatim Beach, South Goa. (Remember that ‘favourite beach in all of Goa’? This is it).