Beached

It finally so happened that I found myself in Goa. Ah, says the reader - this is a tale of debauchery.

Well, not really. It was due to a conference that I found myself in the vicinity of the white and sandy. Nevertheless, fun was had. To say that spirits were high would not be over-stating, in fact, quite the contrary.

The highlight of the whole thing had to be these two gentlemen making themselves available to give, what was meant to be - an inspirational talk and turned out to be, quite surprisingly, just that. These two were none other than - the man who lives by his ready wit and an eyesight powerful enough to spot a googly across 90 yards - 'HB' and the man who makes sincerity fashionable by being painfully so - 'AK'.

And cricket it was.

Off-late it has to be said that my proclivity to trust complete strangers has gone up quite a few notches. Tailors in dinghy corner shops, who hand over visiting cards saying - this is as good as any receipt, have never before met with a nod of perfect understanding for the modus operandi and a smile to ease things along. One can only hope that the artiste in question delivers the goods a week from now, that is, if the establishment does not get blown away first by an errant sea breeze.

On another slightly jarring note, I recently perused an article on workaholics with a mixture of mild amusement and not-so-mild indignation at the suggestion that they should seek medical help. Hah! As any workaholic worth his back-ache will tell you - Who me - a workaholic?

Also, if one were to list down all the things one should be seeing a therapist for, it would cause an outbreak of festive cheer and many a champagne uncorking in the offices of those remarkable mind-fixers.

And as we all know, champagne can kill. Goa comes to mind.