Reflecting back on some of the choices I made in my youth, I wonder, what was I thinking?
Here’s an example: After I left Colva Beach, I took a bus north from Margoa but had no idea of its destination except I’d be heading north.
On dusk, I arrived in a village I’m guessing was Cortaim. The residence found an English speaker who informed me the ferry across the Zuan River wouldn’t run again till the next morning. I was stranded in a place with no hotel.
The gathering suggested the Catholic church across the road but the priest turned me away and so I spent the night curled up behind a wall on the rooftop of the police station while the officers drank and guffawed at the other end. Until their noisy foray was over, I wrapped my arms around myself in spite of the heat, trying to melt into the wall.
I can only thank my lucky stars that I was in Goa back then, and not Uttar Pradesh today.
