Around a month ago, I took a train by myself to Goa in search of some me time. There was too much happening, I was too overwhelmed, and somehow the presence of a child in your life makes you act stoic even when you are not feeling so, and it was taking a toll on me. So off I went to Maia House in Saligao. The house belongs to Heta Pandit, a lady who has done exemplary work in the area of conservation, and whose other house (another heritage home, Dhun Heta in Panchgani) I had visited a few years ago. You can read more about her homes and contact details here.
What can I say about the house? Here it is:
It’s a 19th century heritage home completely restored with modern amenities, a 15 minute drive from the beaches of Calangute and Candolim. The house is largely old world, with modern touches added for convenience. The best part is a private sit-out among two rare trees and a freshwater well. I spent a large part of my time here with Maia.
It’s hard to say if the house was named after the cat or the other way, but going by the looks of it, Maia owns the place. She was the one who actually taught me the real meaning of me time. I don’t know much about design or architecture, but I know when a house talks to me, gives me a hug, tells me it’s going to be okay. I know when I look at windows that are neither open nor closed and when they tell me all I have to do is reach out and I can have them either open or closed. And what can I say about a house that has a tombstone for it’s first cat, Maia’s predecessor, Catalyst.
I’m not sure if this is the kind of travelogue you wanted to read, but sometimes, places are more than things ticked off a list. I have been to Goa many times and I know there are many Goas, but this was the first time I went to Goa and never once felt like hitting the beach. Instead I sat home and wrote a letter to my future self.