Goa where sanskaar and hesitations disappear

Dear Goa,

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I’m writing to thank you for proving that in your salty breeze and golden sunsets, hamaray sanskaar ka ‘roaming’ network genuinely goes weak.

I came with my gang — Tina, who normally wears salwars so vast they deserve a postal code, and Pawan, who speaks English only after three Patiala pegs. Back in Delhi, Tina won’t even wear a sleeveless top without checking if her mom is lurking behind. Pawan orders even garlic bread in Hindi.

Then one night, we see this ad: a woman staring at a knee-length dress on her phone like it’s radioactive. Cut to Goa—she’s wearing the dress like she invented confidence. Moral of the story: Goa mein sab allowed hai.

So we booked tickets to your fantasy land where everyone is allowed everything.

The moment we landed, your breeze slapped us with coconut-salty sweetness, whispering: Beta outsider, yahan sab chalta hai.

Within hours, Tina emerged in a neon bikini top and sarong, jingling in a glittery belt she bought from a shack. Back home, her mother would’ve called the witch doctor for her.

And there was Pawan, offering “local assistance” to firang girls in English, suddenly convinced he’s Goa’s official tour guide.

By night, we were in Tito’s Lane, music blasting from every bar. Tina demanded cocktails matching her bikini. Pawan told Italians: “Bro, Goa is not place… Goa is feeling.”

By sunrise, we were all coated in sand and secrets. But Tina was happy. Because she wore what she wanted. Spoke how she wanted. Danced like nobody was watching —Tito’s Lane not counting.

Leaning against a coconut tree, I realised Goa doesn’t just liberate you from the shackles of tradition, family, and society’s opinions — it frees you from your own hesitations.

But let me also say this: Goa, your apna sanskaar is rock solid. The locals don’t drift along with any foreign current. They’ve got deep roots, strong community ties, and a way of life that’s fiercely their own. It’s our sanskaar ka network that goes weak here — because we’re on roaming. But thank you, Goa, for reminding us that: “In Delhi, we drink Patiala peg for courage. In Goa, courage gulps us.”

Here’s to your sunsets, your waves, and your miraculous power to turn everyone into their boldest, truest self.

PS: If my friends start behaving sanskaari again in their hometown, I’m booking the next flight to you.

Yours,

A guy who came for the sea but stayed for the scandal

Saurabh Malik, Chandigarh