liquid summer soul – In the olden days, summer was the season when one would leave Goa. Old Portuguese homes became excessively hot without air conditioning, foreigners returned home, parties stopped and markets closed.

I’ve been living here since the early 2000s, moving further and further away from the hippie haunts of my 20s (they no longer exist), and closer to the Goa of the Goans. Now, decades later, I live in a small, hidden vaddao, or neighborhood, whose name is shared with all of its residents (except me). Elaine, my neighbor, knows the trees on my campus better than I do (her house has been in her family since 1871), I never lock my door, the Poi guy leaves bread on my doorstep for me – whether I pay him or not – every day, and my cat is fed and my garden is watered by Bani (because I gave my old guitar to her son).

Urrak, summer drink.