Gateway to bliss

Why should I spend money to go to Goa, only to meet the same people I see for free?quot; is a common refrain heard in jaded Mumbai social circles. It8217;s a good point actually. But as I have discovered, not entirely accurate. I was fortunate enough to spend my New Year8217;s holiday with my dear friends and gracious hosts, Wendell Rodericks, leading fashion designer, ex-Mumbaikar, and now Goa8217;s ambassador of style, and Jerome Marrel, caterer and restaurateur extraordinaire. From the moment I arrived at Wendell8217;s tasteful home in the sleepy village of Colvale, I knew I was in for an entirely new Goan experience. My Mumbai-jangled nerves were soothed by the peaceful rhythms of quot;countryquot; life, as we feasted on an impromptu gourmet dinner. That night, drunk on Chablis and fresh air, I slept the sleep reserved for the extremely innocent, the extremely wicked or the just plain dead read: just-arrived-in-idyllic-locale-from-large-urban-centre. The next day, Wendell and Farrokh Chothia had organised a shoot at JimmyGazdar8217;s sprawling estate behind the Taj8217;s Fort Aguada. Actually, the remnants of the original Portuguese fort are located on Jimmy8217;s property. I tagged along behind Ujwala Raut and Nina Manuel to get a dekko of this architectural quot;epicquot;. Love it or hate it, it8217;s a sight to behold. Best of all, Jimmy is a complete contrast to his flamboyant abode; understated and charming, with a streak of wicked humour.

Another memorable evening with Wendell and Jerome was spent in the company of Neerja Shah and her friend Gita, Lord and Lady Foreman and their guests from London, the renowned political journalist Simon Jenkins, his attractive wife Gail and son Edward. Mumbai society fakes, take note: the Lord and Lady are truly a formidable couple; formidably warm, formidably real and formidably fun. Not since the last days of the Roman Empire has so much champagne and fine food been consumed at so rapid a pace. I think I got a tad unhinged at the end. For instance, after an outstanding meal at Sorpos, theGoan-French inspired restaurant in Panjim, we bumped into Frank Simoes and his family, and if I recall correctly he mentioned that they were entertaining a Zen Buddhist master. In Goa? Please correct me if I was hearing things, Frank. Later on, during a sunset yacht cruise organised by Hans and Alfie, Goa8217;s favourite Dutchmen and their vivacious better-halves Sucheta and Mita, I remember shrieking myself hoarse at the sight of a group of dolphins, arcing gracefully through the Mandovi River. Or was that an alcohol-induced vision? The next evening, at the astonishing 350 year-old Da Silva manor in Margao, in the middle of a sumptuous dinner with Goan luminaries like Mario and Habiba Miranda and Justice Eurico Da Silva, the entire room8217;s occupants broke into lilting Portuguese. Was Goa making me loose my mind?

On my last evening in Colvale, the garden was illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles. New and old friends alike joined Wendell, Jerome and me in a night of unabashed revelry. Spirits soared, myheart sank at my imminent departure and I sighed to myself; if these are Goa-inspired hallucinations, let the trip go on and on.