Madhurima 1

When Madhurima stepped out of Hotel Gabriel, situated near Calangute Beach, early that morning, she had no particular plan in mind — only a vague thought of wandering along the shore.

She didn’t really know much about Goa, nor had her life ever been the kind that allowed her to plan such trips.

This journey was less about sightseeing and more about fulfilling a small, private fantasy.

She wore a black palazzo, a short pink top that barely covered her chest, and over it, a loose aqua-green shirt with all its buttons open — the two flaps tied together in a knot above her waist. A pair of stylish sunglasses shielded her eyes, and a fancy handbag swung from her arm.

Back in North India, her look might have turned heads for being too bold for her age, but here in Goa, it was normal — no one would stop to notice.

She was fifty — yet there wasn’t the slightest trace of fat on her body. Her face, though less radiant than in her youth, still held a quiet charm, one deepened by maturity.

Her complexion was clear, and her dyed hair — thick and black — were neatly tied into a ponytail.

“Excuse me, madam!”

She had barely taken ten steps when someone called out behind her.

She turned. A man in blue jeans and a white shirt was walking toward her.

He looked decent — around forty-five, not exactly fit, but not flabby either; his belly just slightly protruding.

“Would you like a guide, ma’am?” he asked as he came closer, wearing a smile that came too easily — the practiced smile of a man used to making a sale.

“Are there guides your age too?” she asked, mildly surprised.

“Of course, madam,” he replied politely. “One doesn’t give up his profession just because he’s getting older. With age comes experience — we become more professional, more capable.”

“So, you mean better at overcharging tourists?” Madhurima smiled faintly.

He chuckled nervously. “Not at all, madam. Most visitors don’t know where to go, how to eat and enjoy without overspending, or what places hold real historical value. We help with that — and surely, we deserve a small payment for our families’ sake.”

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Alright then — give me one good reason why I should hire you.”

She studied him carefully. He didn’t seem dishonest.

“Because, madam,” he said confidently, “you arrived last night from Bihar, this is your first time in Goa, and you’re traveling alone. You need a trustworthy guide — someone who can show you the real Goa. I can take that responsibility. I’m a registered guide, police-verified, and I’ve never had a single complaint or case against me.

Besides,” he added with a smile that wasn’t fake anymore, “I have a wife to feed, a son whose coaching fees are due, and a daughter whose college fee I’m still trying to pay. If you hire me, you’ll be helping me more than you know.”

Madhurima raised an eyebrow. “And how did you find out about me?”

“From the hotel counter, madam,” he said honestly. “That’s part of our routine. We check new arrivals early in the morning and approach the ones we think might need us.”

“And what’s your charge?”

“Five hundred a day — or anything more you feel is fair. No complaints.”

Madhurima thought for a moment. She hadn’t planned for this — hadn’t even considered it — but having someone local to show her around might actually make sense, if the man was decent.

“I’ll be here for a full week,” she said after a pause. “My train back is next Monday. I can give you the job for all seven days, and I’ll pay you a thousand rupees per day. But I’ll decide tomorrow morning whether I want to continue with you or not. If I’m not satisfied, you’ll take five hundred and we’ll part ways.”

“That’s more than fair, madam,” he said with a genuine smile. “And I’m sure you’ll enjoy my service.”

“May I know your name?”

“Of course, madam. I’m Anselim — Anselim Rodrigues. Born and raised right here in Calangute. My father used to run a small hotel in Arambol, but after his passing, I couldn’t keep it going. He was a great cook — I wasn’t. And hiring a good one wasn’t easy either.”

“I see,” Madhurima said. “Alright then — let’s begin.”

Anselim brightened up. “We’ll start from Querim in the north, then move southward — covering every beach and historical site on the way. We’ll explore the islands too, and you can try some water sports. Along the way, I’ll tell you the stories behind each place, let you taste traditional Goan food, and show you the best local markets and streets.”

Madhurima nodded in agreement.

And with that, they set off — one woman chasing freedom, one man chasing livelihood — their paths converging in the warmth of the Goan sun.

Written by Ashfaq Ahmad