Calangute

In a distant land 600 miles from home,

We wandered through the market squares seeking souvenirs.

Tasting the cool Serradura dessert,

Googling nervously to check if it was laced with alcohol - 

A tradition Portugese used to follow.

The photographer in you came alive again,

Capturing every promising view the place had to offer.

You never grew tired of my endless demands - 

Photo after photo, your phone gallery brimming with moments.

Listening to the songs of Calangute’s waves,

We strolled across the wet sands, 

Barefoot - holding chappals in our hands,

Sharing millions and trillions of stories,

And never once did my ceaseless chatter annoy you.

As the sun sank into the sea,

We turned back, trusting the landmark I’d set in my mind.

But who knew that "I Love Goa" was a recurring sign, dotting every corner?

That’s when I realized - we were hopelessly lost,

Adrift in a place unfamiliar and strange.

You stepped up without hesitation,

Google Maps in hand, guiding - calm and composed.

While I was exhausted from the two hour stride through the sand,

And seamlessly dragging and nagging you back.

Through the abandoned streets we walked,

Haunted by the silence, imagining shadows of Goan dons

And drug mafias lurking with modern machine guns.

Yet, irony weaved its charm,

Getting lost in Goa became my greatest adventure.

From that day onwards, you’ve stood by my side,

Through thick and thin, my guardian angel,

Scolding and consoling me whenever it was necessary,  

Solving life’s riddles with quiet strength,

That only a best friend can do.