Goa 2019: Between Waves, Work and Family
A journey with Kabeer and Shruti
Story by Lenin Raghuvanshi
Some journeys remain with us not because everything went perfectly, but because they capture a particular moment in our lives.
My Goa journey in 2019 was my first trip to Goa with my son, Kabeer Karunik, and my life partner, Shruti Nagvanshi. Looking at these photographs today, I remember the sea, the monsoon sky, the boat rides, the green landscape and, above all, the feeling of being together as a family.
Goa had already entered my life once before. Shruti and I had travelled there earlier with some family members, but that journey did not become the peaceful family memory I had hoped for. There were tensions and circumstances that made it difficult to simply enjoy the place.
Then came 2019.
Kabeer was with us this time, and that changed the meaning of the journey.
A Goa under grey skies
The photographs from that trip are not the postcard version of Goa.
There is no bright summer sun. The sky is heavy with monsoon clouds. The sea is grey and restless, and the green landscape seems to disappear into the mist.
Yet I find these photographs beautiful.
Perhaps because they remind me that beauty does not always come with perfect weather.
On the boat, Kabeer and Shruti are together beside me. Behind us is the wide water, the green coastline and a bridge disappearing into the distance. There is something very ordinary about these photographs—and that is precisely what makes them precious.
For a person whose life has often been occupied by meetings, human rights work, travelling, crises and responsibilities, such ordinary family moments are rare.
Travelling with Kabeer
Kabeer has always had his own way of looking at the world.
Travelling with him allowed me to see Goa differently. I was not only looking at monuments, landscapes or the sea; I was watching my son experience them.
There is a particular photograph of Kabeer standing alone beside the water. He looks young, confident and thoughtful. The sea stretches behind him, while the monsoon clouds occupy almost the entire sky.
Whenever I see that photograph, I think about how quickly children grow.
A photograph freezes one afternoon, but life continues moving.
The boy in that picture would go on to travel, explore and build his own relationship with different places. Goa became one of those places that he would return to many times.
Goa beyond tourism
What I remember most about Goa is not simply the tourist image of beaches and nightlife.
It is the landscape where history, water, architecture, communities and everyday life exist together.
From the boat we could see old structures surrounded by dense greenery. The monsoon had transformed everything. The red earth, coconut trees, old walls and traditional houses seemed to belong to another rhythm of time.
One of the photographs shows an old, imposing structure standing above the water, surrounded by vegetation and traditional architecture. It reminded me that Goa carries layers of history that are easily missed when we visit only as tourists.
The sea was our moving window into that history.
A little music, a little laughter
Another set of photographs captures a cultural performance on the boat.
People are sitting around the small stage, watching the performers. Under the blue netted roof, the performers move across the floor while everyone watches.
It was simple entertainment, but these moments are often what remain after a journey.
Travel does not have to be made entirely of famous monuments.
Sometimes it is a song.
Sometimes it is laughter.
Sometimes it is watching a performer dance while your family sits beside you.
Sometimes it is simply knowing that, for a few hours, nobody is asking you to solve a problem.
The room between journeys
There is also a photograph from our room—a television, a sofa, bags, shoes and the ordinary disorder that comes with travelling.
I like this photograph because it is so unremarkable.
Travel albums often contain only beautiful landscapes. But a room tells another story.
It says: we were there. We arrived, we rested, we changed clothes, we watched television, we left our bags, and then we went out again.
These small details are the real texture of a journey.
Goa and the weight of work
The 2019 trip was not completely free from the pressures of my professional life.
At that time, PVCHR and my human rights work were deeply woven into my everyday existence. Even while travelling, responsibilities did not disappear.
There were some problems around the PVCHR office during that period, and they created tension during the trip.
That is also why these photographs mean something different to me today.
They remind me that life is never neatly divided into work and family, struggle and happiness. They overlap.
Sometimes we carry our worries to the sea.
And sometimes the sea gives us enough space to breathe.
Looking back from 2026
Since that first trip in 2019, Goa has become a familiar place in our family story.
Kabeer and I have travelled to Goa many times and explored different parts of it. Shruti and I also returned later. Our last visit together was in 2023, and that journey felt very different.
It was wonderful and relaxing.
We explored Goa on a scooty, moving around at our own pace. There was no need to turn every moment into an itinerary. We could stop, look around, eat, ride again and simply enjoy being together.
Perhaps that is what time does to a place.
The first time, we are visitors.
After returning several times, a place begins to feel familiar.
And sometimes, a place becomes part of our personal history.
And now, another journey is waiting
Life keeps moving, and so do the journeys.
When I look back at Goa 2019, I feel grateful for those moments with Kabeer and Shruti. I also remember the later journey with Shruti in 2023—the relaxed rides on the scooty, the freedom to explore and the simple happiness of travelling together.
But perhaps the most beautiful part of travelling is knowing that the story is not over.
A wonderful new trip with Shruti is waiting for us very soon.
I do not know yet what photographs we will bring back.
Perhaps there will be sunshine.
Perhaps there will be rain.
Perhaps we will discover a new road, sit quietly by the sea, ride a scooty without a fixed destination, or simply find a beautiful corner where we can pause together.
Whatever comes, I hope we carry less luggage from the past and more openness for the present.
Because after all these years, I have learned that the best journeys are not always about the destination.
They are about who is walking—or riding—beside you.
And I am looking forward to the next Goa chapter with Shruti.
— Lenin Raghuvanshi
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