Goan Diaries: Strange Encounters

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When Solace Took a Turn Toward the Bizarre

A few months back, I packed my existential crisis into a suitcase and headed to Goa, chasing the kind of peace only salty breezes and overpriced cocktails can offer. Life had been rough—emotionally draining, like trying to argue with a toddler or explain taxes to someone who's already asleep. The ocean, my age-old therapist, was calling, so we booked a stay at a private beach resort that promised "soothing vibes" and "recent renovations" (read: they’d painted over the cracks).

The resort was charmingly remote, far enough from the city to make you forget about honking horns but close enough to remind you that mosquitoes also deserve a vacation. It had this old-world charm with a hint of “we tried.” Mornings began with the waves' applause and a spa session so relaxing I almost forgave the masseuse for asking if I’d ever considered yoga.

The real highlight was the breakfast buffet. Picture this: plates piled high, juices of every questionable colour, and me, confidently ordering a Chilli cheese omelette, a toast, and pancakes like royalty. I took my feast to the lawn, where I sat, thoroughly enjoying my "me time," until she appeared.

There she was—a vision in a light floral dress, Fossil watch glinting, gold bracelets jingling like wind chimes, and a Gucci bag casually announcing, “I’m richer than you, but I don’t need you to know.”

She smiled warmly, and I smiled back, wondering where I’d seen her before. Was she a celebrity? An influencer? The long-lost friend I never had? My brain was playing trivia. Spoiler alert: I hadn’t.

The next morning, during my garden stroll, there she was again. This time, she walked right up to me and introduced herself as “Stella.”

The chat was a monologue masterclass in storytelling similar to a TED- Talk. Stella weaved tales about her son’s love for overpriced cappuccinos, destiny, and how we’re all connected by some cosmic Wi-Fi…

Within five minutes, Stella had managed to tell me more about her life than most people would in five years. An Ex-air hostess, a fashion mogul and, a proud mom of an influencer. Cue my inner skeptic raising an eyebrow so high it nearly left my face. And yet, I couldn’t stop listening. She made even the mundane—like her son's favourite coffee—sound like a subplot from a Hallmark movie.

And then, the pièce de résistance:

“I am a Soul Reader, you know. A God’s messenger!”

Cue my inner dialogue: Soul reader? Sure, Stella! That’s what stalkers say too…

But then she started dropping hints about my life— the highs, the lows, and my personal losses—like she’d been secretly binge-watching the Netflix series of my existence.

Was I intrigued??

Absolutely!

Was I slightly terrified??

Also Yes!!!—Not Slightly but, with an echo reverberating dramatically in the background.

Enter my husband, looking for me with the expression of a man half-convinced his wife had wandered into a cult initiation. Stella greeted him with a smile that could have powered the resort for a week.

“You are lucky to have a spouse like her. She is precious. A gift from God,” she declared, her words dripping with poetic gravitas.

My husband blinked. Twice…Unsure whether to thank her or run or check if she was part of a resort sales pitch.

I half-expected her to pull out a crystal ball or ask us to invest in her latest spiritual startup. The corners of my husband’s mouth twitched in that polite-but-very-confused way.

Before I could fully process the divine claim, our son wandered over, unwittingly throwing himself into Stella’s orbit.

She pivoted like a pro, showering him with life advice as though she were handing out party favours. She talked about dreams, goals and precious life insights for him.

Later that day, as we visited the Basilica of Bom Jesus, my thoughts kept drifting back to Stella. Who was she? A mystic? A really convincing scammer? Or just someone with too much free time?

By the time we returned to the resort, she’d vanished—no trace, no phone number, just a basket of mangoes from her farm with a cryptic note, “When I think of someone, we meet again. ” as she had promised the previous day. Cue my inner thoughts, “Sure, Stella! That’s what Mystics say, too.”

As we checked out that night, I couldn’t shake her parting words: “Sometimes you don’t get what you want, but trust me, God has better plans for you. You’re protected by angels.”

My husband joked about starting a Stella fan club.

But, I knew somewhere deep down, this was one of those moments that would linger in my mind, like a catchy song or a bad haircut.

Was she real?

An angel in Gucci?

Or just a stranger with a flair for theatrics?

I may never know…

But one thing's for sure: that breakfast buffet—Stella—and her words left a lasting impression.

A few weeks later, as I flipped through old receipts and business cards, I almost missed it—a faded visiting card wedged between two cluttered edges.

It was the one Stella’s son had forcefully handed to me during her bizarre TED Talk monologue. My heart skipped a beat. That small piece of paper, which I had long forgotten, now held the key to an overwhelming wave of curiosity I couldn’t ignore. That Sherlock Holmes spark—Something about it felt...unfinished. So, like any sane person would do when presented with a potentially life-changing mystery, I Googled his name.

I don’t know what I expected—perhaps an obscure LinkedIn profile or a forgotten Facebook page. What I didn’t expect was a professional website, slick and polished, with a bio that could’ve come straight out of a tech magazine.

Aiden Mitchell, CEO of Mitchell Enterprises, a family-owned conglomerate with investments in hospitality, tech, and “mystical wellness.” Mystical wellness? Now that sounded familiar. The website was impressive, complete with an array of photos, press releases, and a portfolio that screamed success.

But what truly knocked the wind out of me were the newspaper articles.

Mitchell Enterprises Launches New Wellness Retreat!

The Mitchell Family: Pioneers in Spiritual Healing and Innovation.

And there, in the glossy pages of these publications, were images of Stella. Not a mystic in a floral dress, but a woman standing next to her son in a high-end business suit, both of them flashing radiant smiles. And there was her husband, too, looking every bit the part of a successful entrepreneur.

A shock of realisation surged through every fibre of my being. In that fleeting moment, I was struck by the profound truth that I had encountered something far grander than I could have ever imagined. In her unassuming simplicity and serene groundedness, I had mistakenly believed she was merely playing a part.

The reality was far beyond my comprehension—she was a force, a presence of such unparalleled stature that my limited perspective had failed to grasp its full depth.

In my awe, I had underestimated her, blinded by her down-to-earth demeanour. As the realisation sank in, I had the sudden urge to speak with her, but then her words echoed in my mind: “I don’t carry a phone. I just reach out to people when it’s time…”

So, I did what any rational person would do: I checked the back of the card for any hidden messages or phone numbers scribbled in invisible ink.

Spoiler alert: there wasn’t one.

I considered sending a pigeon with a note, but then I realized, I don't even know where to get a pigeon.

I shook my head and closed my laptop, trying to ignore the gnawing curiosity bubbling up inside me. If Stella really was some sort of cosmic Wi-Fi operator, I had to admit—my internet connection just got a whole lot faster. At least, that’s what I was telling myself as I scrolled through Instagram, hunting for a perfectly curated picture of a sunrise to post with the hashtag #StellaVibes.

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