The world talks a lot about friends becoming family. But not enough about family becoming friends.
I’ve been lucky. Over the years, my family has quietly become my inner circle—my safe space, biggest laugh, and weirdest group chat. Oddly enough, a big part of that transformation happened in Goa.
We’re from Chandigarh, but we’ve taken annual trips to Goa since I was seven. Same four people. Same season. The same sense of escape. It became more than a tradition—it became a way for us to pause and re-meet each other outside the rhythm of daily life.
In January 2024, we took our thirteenth Goa trip, and something about this one felt different. Not because we were now older and drinking together or we could party side-by-side like best friends. But because something happened, that made me stop mid-party and think, “What did we ever do to deserve this?”
It started like it always does—a week in South Goa, soaking up the sun and trying every variation of chilli prawn. On day two, while bar-hopping in Benaulim, my brother discovered that his friend (who also happened to be a potential investor) was in Goa with his team. They were partying in North Goa and had invited us to join.
To be honest, I had no interest in going. North Goa felt far, chaotic, and full of strangers I had no desire to make small talk with. My brother wasn’t too keen either, but he saw it as a good opportunity to connect, and he didn’t want to go alone.
That’s when our parents stepped in. “Go with him,” they said. “Do something nice for your brother.” And like the guilt-tripped elder sibling I am, I caved.
Now, in a normal family, that might’ve meant the two of us taking a cab and figuring it out. But nothing about our family is normal. My parents—angels wrapped in human skin—drove us two full hours to Hammerzz in North Goa. And instead of heading back, they booked a hotel, stayed the night, and picked us up at 7 AM the next morning—just in time for breakfast in South Goa.
I still can’t believe they did that. They never complained. Not once. Not about the distance, the disruption, or the fact that they gave up one night of their vacation—just so their son could have a 0.001% chance of building rapport with someone who might someday help his career.
And here’s the kicker: nothing came of it.
Over 15 months, and that “opportunity” never materialised.
Well—not entirely. We did party at a VIP table with free-flowing drinks and met some fun people. But the big “strategic networking” plan? A complete bust.
Still, that night stuck with me.
Not because of the music or the drinks.
Because of my parents.
Because they showed up.
Because they made it easy for us to show up, too.
I don’t know what we did to deserve them. I never will. But I know this: Goa will always be more than a destination for us. It’s where we became friends with our parents.
So yeah—we’re the weird kids who still go to Goa with our mom and dad. But maybe that’s why we’re also the lucky ones.
