Majorda, a place in the southern part of Goa has a beach that shares its name. In June, when the region is drenched by consistent rain, the beaches are mostly deserted, marking the off-season. For the third time in the past decade, I found myself in Goa during this rainy period. Swati reminded me during our train journey how I had insisted the last time we visited that it would be our final trip to Goa. She amused herself by pointing out my repeated failure to stand by such declarations. We all have moments where we drift from previously firm positions. While this light-hearted banter unfolded, it sparked a question that stayed in my mind. It wasn’t just about returning to a place I wrote off; it was about a recurring pattern in my relationships and work. There were times when I decided never to meet someone again, only to find myself agreeing to it a few days later. It’s as if time softens our resistance, prompting us to justify our change of stance. Articulating these justifications can be challenging, setting up an internal debate where points for and against the change clash.

Walking alone on Majorda beach, I found myself pondering why I was there after declaring I wouldn’t return. The setting was dramatic: relentless waves, a dark sea reflecting the overcast sky, and a misty beach stretching endlessly ahead. On my left, the restless sea; on my right, large swaying casuarina trees. My mind mirrored this turbulence, with thoughts overlapping in an impolite, chaotic argument, much like waves crashing into each other in a frothy blur. Amidst this internal contest, I noticed a small fish lying on the shore. A bright silver fish with metallic yellow fins, about half the length of my index finger. Assuming it was dead, I bent down for a closer look. As I picked it up, it flapped. Startled, I gently enclosed it in my fist. The fish fluttered vigorously, and I instinctively walked closer to the water, releasing it back into the sea where it disappeared almost immediately.

After the fish vanished, I experienced a moment of blankness, then burst into spontaneous laughter. This laughter was different, carrying a sense of resolution. In the midst of this fit, I found myself uttering, “This is probably why I am here, and I will never know the truth of it.” Perhaps truth is not merely a figment of knowledge but an experience, and that lonely morning on Majorda beach, I experienced a moment of truth.

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