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I’ve just returned from a quick Goan holiday of the best kind: I was involved in absolutely none of the planning, even though everything was exactly as I would’ve wished it to be. Some travellers possess superpowers. They see three tiny images, read two lines of text and fill in the gaps admirably, proceeding to book their homestays without fretting or vetting. When they arrive, they find the space is even better than they had imagined. Befriend these travellers. Marry or adopt them, if you must. They will protect from your own homing instincts, guided by the principle of self-sabotage.

There’s a langur in my holiday

So much depends on that first look. I usually gravitate towards the bed, indicating what I most value in a holiday (and regular life). By that parameter, my Airbnb in Paris, booked by my companion on a pre-pandemic trip, is a tough act to follow. A pristine island in a room lined with books, it was straight out of a reader’s, or author’s, dream. It didn’t matter that most of the books were in French, which I barely understand. I got my cheap thrills caressing the spines of Proust and Sartre in their faded jackets, wearing that musty old-book smell like cologne. The absentee hosts, both professors, must possess great faith in the ethics of travelling readers. And long may that faith be rewarded.

In stark contrast to the joys of my flat in the 9th arrondissement was my cottage in Kausani, Uttarakhand. After a long and rocky journey from Nainital, headlined by a poor car-sick Rottweiler, my companions and I finally arrived, eager for a shower and instant transcendence. It didn’t help that the area was dominated by langurs, for whom our Rottie harboured a primal hatred. The house itself was without power, comfort or taste—a lethal triple combo for weary travellers. To add insult to injury, the panoramic views of Panchachuli, Nanda Devi and Trishul we had travelled for stayed hidden for the duration of the trip.

Uran, the dreary port town that’s just a short distance from Navi Mumbai, doesn’t really spark the imagination. Until you visit Fernandeswadi, a beautiful homestay run by a couple that’s firmly rooted in their local community and ecology. A Charles Correa house with a red-tiled roof, its extensive outdoor veranda looked out onto a clump of coconut trees, beyond which stretched the Arabian Sea. And the meals were feasts drawn from local culinary traditions. All in all, it was the dream home, never mind its proximity to an industrial zone. This is how post-modern fairy-tales go.

Sometimes, it’s the element of surprise that makes a visit memorable. Chapter Two, the Goa homestay I’ve just returned from, is a case in point. The hosts have taken a 110-hundred-year-old Portuguese villa in Calangute and filled it with the most charming art and design details. But what really takes your breath away is the food. One of the two hosts is a gifted chef, who specialises in Bhopali and Awadhi cuisines. And so, I’ve retuned from the coastal state with memories of yakhni pulao and nihari; chanaa chaat and galauti kebabs; aloo ke gutke and Bhopali poha, complete with crisp brown jalebis. Now Bhopal needs to live up to my Goa experience in terms of culinary authenticity.

It’s the little things that ultimately define a homestay. There are hosts who leave a jar of biscuits or comic books lying around for guests, which are lifesavers on rainy afternoons. Beyond the features listed on a website lies the soul of a home, that a traveller temporarily accesses. This soul can be a kindred one, or a bit like a poltergeist. You need to be nothing short of a medium when you’re booking your stay.

When the hosts are absent, one is tempted to weave stories around them. Every antique vase or tacky mug is a clue in the mystery that is the owner’s personality. A soap dish is a slippery informant, and flowers drying on a side table tickle the nose of the in-house detective. It’s natural to label people based on their reading and music choices, from Soppy Sentimentalist to Radical Rebel. Imagine the awkwardness of eventually meeting these strangers and finding they’re nothing like you imagined. Best to meet in the juicy stories told by unguarded homes.

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