When we went to Goa last January for our annual vacation, we decided that this time it would be serious beach bumming. The program was simple. Eat, swim, drink, swim, drink, well I guess you pretty well get the picture!
First things first. Buy swimwear.
Option 1 – No swimwear, wear your shorts and t-shirt in the sea. Be a laughing stock.
Option 2 – Adorn (yes, that’s the word) swimwear on our bodies. Be a laughing stock.
Always ready to take on challenges, we took the risk of getting swimwear. Megs and I walked boldly with steely determination on the streets of Baga towards a swim wear shop. We saw one, bold and pink. “Bikini Shop” screamed the hoarding with a picture of a firang girl, who would have looked better with some clothes on, maybe one of the bikinis that the shop was selling! Our resolve melted, our mind was clouded with a million questions… was this shop only for firangs? Should we go in? We could pass of as our neighbours from the south with our complexion…No! Let’s go to a decent shop, and we meekly walked into a garment shop. The shop owner gave us pitiful looks while pointing to the “Bikini Shop”. Left with no choice, we walked in there. Once inside, we tried to look as cool while clearly we were as comfortable as a mouse is in a mouse trap. We tried to ignore the attendant and started to sift through the racks. It was easy picking a suit for Megs, with the attendant giving his “two bits” (pun intended) of his recommendation for “bhabhi” – we discovered he was from UP who thought it was ok for firangs to wear two piece costumes, but not us. Racist, was he? Maybe. But a feminist, definitely. He didn’t have trunks for me. His next shop did.
With the victory of buying a swimming costume for Megs, I strut in confidently into the “men’s” shop. On asking for trunks for me, he removed a piece of cloth barely enough to cover my wallet! I looked at him with a menacing glint in my eye for “down sizing” me. He smiled. “Sir, try to karo, fit hogi”. Highly optimistic, I smirked. Walked into the trial room; wondering if that piece of cloth would even make it up to my knees. Horror, wonder, it not only did it slide smoothly up my legs but it did fit, quite comfortably.
Second challenge. Wear swimwear. Which I did. My twiggy body not withstanding, I walked the beach like a gladiator who had just slain the fiercest lion. I had bigger challenges to face. I can’t swim. I just stood in chest deep water beating my frail arms. Hopefully the water not only hid my body but I hoped that maybe the refraction could possibly add a positive visual effect to enhance my bulk!
And, now when I watch the promos of “Dostana” where John Abraham is wearing the yellow tiny trunks, walking out of the sea, I get a sense of déjà vu. Hopefully my gymming should get me closer to his figure. Goa, here I come this January.
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