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by-lanes of Goa really well. So I asked him the obvious question, ‘How do you know Goa so well?’
    He clarified, ‘I used to live here. I was born and brought up here.’
    I nodded my helmet head. He insisted I wear a half helmet even if I was pillion.
    Cruising along the streets of Goa for about an hour, he had shown me all the tourist spots that I had not seen. Goa looked glamorous by moonlight. It reverted to the quaint town it used to be with small bars, music and merriment spilling on to the streets. The world seemed to stop while people stepped out of their mundane lives and enjoyed themselves. The energy in this city was infectious. Unlike Bombay or Delhi, or any other city in India, the people of Goa were warm and friendly and partied every day of the year. So whenever you were there you would feel like partying as well.
    We slowly took a turn about an hour into the drive and he pointed to a small red and white bungalow with porch lights and a lovely manicured green lawn in front. He had stopped and we were looking in from across the street into the house. He took off his helmet and said, ‘That’s my house.’
    ‘You’re serious?’ I asked incredulously. He nodded and smiled. I felt all tingly.
    Here was a stranger who was sharing a little bit of his private life with me, as if he wanted me to be a part of it. And then he said, ‘We can leave the helmets now. We’re going for dinner to a place close by.’
10.15
    We were sitting at an Italian bistro, a five-minute drive from his house and looking at our menus when one of the waiters came over with a bottle of wine and poured it in the glasses. I looked confused and was going to say, we didn’t order yet, but Arjun smiled at me and said, ‘I’ve already ordered for the night. I didn’t want to waste a minute with you.’
    I felt that tingly sensation again. I put down my menu and gave it back to the waiter.
    ‘Why didn’t you take me to a Goan eating joint?’ I asked.
    ‘Well, we had so much calamari and sausages and fish as snacks in the afternoon that I felt a change would do you good,’ he said. He seemed very sure of himself. It was as if he had taken the reigns of the date and he would woo me in style. ‘So, tell me more about your job. Do you need a degree for it?’
    I picked up my glass of wine and clinked it with his, ‘Cheers!’ I said and continued, ‘Yes. I learnt all these languages but my degree was from a university in the USA that specializes in how to translate languages.’
    ‘Oh, you’ve studied in the USA?’
    ‘Yes, for a short bit and then I did the rest online … because I went back to staying with my parents who were missing me too much.’
    ‘Only child?’ he asked, sipping his wine while the waiter came with a basket of hot, soft, garlic bread.
    ‘Yes,’ I said, stuffing my face with a garlic bread. He, however, took it from the basket with tongs and then ate it with a fork and knife. I thought for a man to have such table manners was quite extraordinary. I wondered, however, what he would have done if the bread was crisp. But I found out soon enough when a large, thin crusted, crisp, cheesy pizza with Goan sausages came in front of us. This too, he had with a fork and knife while I dug into it with my hands, folding the pizza and putting it in my eager mouth.
    He continued with the questions, ‘So, do you meet a lot of interesting people?’
    ‘Yes, sometimes. I’ve met the Princess of Monaco, the German Chancellor and the Russian President. But most of the times I’m editing journals, books and other such boring stuff.’
    ‘No, no. It’s not boring!’ he said.
    ‘Actually, it’s a misconception that translation simply implies a word by word interpretation of the text. It involves moving the soul of a text into a different body. And not just anybody can do it. It requires a lot of patience and soft skills like being a people person or staying curious about current affairs and which delegates do