It was my birthday, and this year, it felt different. Exactly one year ago, on my birthday, I was in a hospital bed, dealing with complications from Lupus Nephritis and Mixed Connective Tissue Disease. Last year was, without exaggeration, the worst year of my life health-wise. Lupus Nephritis is often called a silent killer for a reason. One day your body feels slightly off, and the next, your immune system has declared war on organs you did not even realise were vulnerable. Last year, as I lay in a hospital bed, in pain, while my own immune system slowly damaged my kidneys, I wondered: when would this end? Fast forward a year, and I found myself in Goa, far away from Delhi’s worsening pollution and relentless chaos, staying at my sister’s place. Travel now comes with negotiations.
Rejuvenating stay at the family farm. PC – Precious Rongmei/TOI
Fatigue is no longer “being tired”; it is bone-deep exhaustion that arrives without warning. Anaemia makes even simple outings draining. Then there is photosensitivity — one of the cruelest ironies for someone who has spent years chasing sunlight, landscapes, forests, and open skies for work and joy. Suddenly, the same sun I once loved on my face became something doctors repeatedly warned me against. With every “stay indoors dear” advice, the travel writer in me cried a little on the inside. Anyway, so there I was in Goa, land of sea, sand, blazing sunshine, carrying industrial quantities of sunscreen, full-sleeved clothing, giant hats, medications, and the constant voice of my rheumatologist in my head.
Plotting of a plan – Operation Zuari is a Go!
Snapshots from the Zuari crocodile and birding tour. PC – Precious Rongmei/TOI
I belong to a wonderfully eclectic tribe of birders. And when I say eclectic, I mean writers, bankers, retired armed forces officers, public policy professionals, school principals, photographers — people with absolutely nothing in common except an almost unreasonable love for birds and wild spaces.
Crocodile – a resident of the Zuari mangroves. PC: Ranjeet Rane
Friends from Maharashtra and Goa knew I was visiting, and every conversation inevitably began with, “How are you feeling physically?” My Pune friend, Ranjeet Rane, kept cancelling plans because of work. My Goa friend, Rakesh Dhareshwar, and I kept rescheduling because of life, work, fatigue, and at one point because I slept wrong and nearly wrecked my back right before my birthday.Then one day, Rakesh called and instructed me to carry extra sunscreen, full-coverage clothes, and a proper sun hat because he was booking a crocodile safari on the Zuari River–the famous Crocodile Station Kamat Kingfisher.
In the company of fine birders. PC – Precious Rongmei
On the morning of the trip, Rakesh picked me up, and the entire drive was spent complaining about how our Pune friend had abandoned us. As it turned out, the two of them had secretly been coordinating “Operation Zuari” all along. While Rakesh distracted me with dramatic commentary about betrayal and friendship, he was simultaneously texting Ranjeet updates on our location. And then, while waiting for the boat, there he was, Ranjeet himself, appearing out of nowhere like some migratory bird with excellent comic timing.
Birders in action. PC – Precious Rongmei/TOI
The surprise genuinely caught me off guard. But more than that, it hit me emotionally in a way I did not expect. The entire plan had quietly been designed around my limitations without making me feel limited. A relaxed boat safari instead of exhausting treks. Fresh air without harsh sun exposure. Birding without physical strain. Friendship, but adjusted gently around illness without constantly announcing itself. And I thought that was just beautiful.
Travelling differently, not less
Illness changes the way you travel. Sometimes brutally.There were things I could no longer do. The long walks. The impulsive outings. The bar-hopping plans Ranjeet and Rakesh very strategically did not invite me to because they knew it would involve too much walking and exhaustion. A temple run with Rakesh had to be dropped because my back and fatigue simply would not cooperate.But somewhere on this Goa trip, I realised travel had not disappeared from my life. It had simply changed shape.
Serene side of Goa, with family. Photo credit – Precious Rongmei
Instead of rushing through itineraries, I found myself, along with my sister and brother-in-law, exploring quiet local cafés that had food my body could tolerate. Instead of aggressive sightseeing, there was slow birding with friends, long conversations, and afternoons spent listening to cicadas, and complaining endlessly about the humidity (what’s the fun without a little complaint every now and then).Ranjeet also insisted I spend time at Olaulim Backyards, a peaceful nature stay that felt perfectly designed for people who needed the world to slow down a little. Birding from the balcony became a legitimate activity. More than 150 species of birds have been recorded around the property, but the real celebrity there is Mantra, Goa’s famously mischievous donkey.
Snapshots from Olaulim Backyards, featuring Mantra the Donkey. PC – Precious Rongmei
Now, multiple people warned me about Mantra.Did I listen? Absolutely not.Mantra, despite being 17 years old and objectively adorable, possesses the chaotic energy of an animal fully aware of his local celebrity status. He has perfected the art of sneaking up on unsuspecting guests. And while I will spare everyone the less dignified details, let us just say ignoring donkey-related warnings resulted in me getting unexpectedly nudged in the derriere. A special shoutout to Savio and Pirrko at Olaulim Backyards. The mangoes definitely healed a lot of things in me, and the sweet company over breakfasts and evening swim was just what my weary body needed.
Snapshots from Olaulim Backyards. PC – Precious Rongmei
Back to the whimsy…Scarlet, the pony, is far more respectable, although apparently vulnerable to bribery involving mangoes and Mantra’s criminal influence.This Goa trip was not about “overcoming” illness. Chronic autoimmune diseases do not work like inspirational sports films. There are still medications, blood tests, restrictions, exhaustion, pain flare-ups, and the quiet fear of relapse.But one year after being hospitalised, I travelled.Carefully. Slowly. Differently.And perhaps that mattered more.Because somewhere between the crocodiles of the Zuari, the bird calls from a balcony in Olaulim, and a donkey bite I entirely deserved, I realised something important: illness may force you to travel differently, but the joy of travel itself can survive, especially when you have people who quietly help carry parts of the journey with you.
