The King is Dying

IPL is on, minus Ms Bedi's blouses. M F Husain has been sequestered in Qatar. Qasab's trial begins in Pakistan.

The Women's Reservation Bill has been put through. But the biggest news that nobody is talking about is something I picked up in a mag about King's beer being put out of business.

Now anyone who's worth his Anjuna tan, will know that the moment you get into Goa, whether you jet in or jet ski in, bus it or bike it, drive down or drop by, the very first thing you do before you look for a hotel, even before you brush your teeth or head off to tuck into some succulent grilled prawns is to stop by at the nearest hooch store and pick up a stubby of chilled King's.

Somehow the crisp cold, slightly bitter taste of King's sets the division from the rest of the world, and the sunny beaches of Goa. By the end of that first stubby, the travails of normal life beyond that charmed circle of golden beaches, have somehow smoothed themselves out.

The beaches look a little more inviting, the shacks seem a little friendlier, the succulent prawns taste a little more succulent. And with each refreshing sip, you know that the Goan magic has cast its spell on you again.

Nowhere else in the world can you get a King's. Perhaps there lies the charm of this beer! Somehow, fighting to get yourself a King's at Tavern simply doesn't hold half the charm of lazily waving your hand in the air to get served a stubby in the folds of a large comfortable cane chair at Martin's.
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They say the big boys of beer like Kingfisher, Carlsberg and Foster's are drowning out the little fella from Impala Distilleries. Now, I know it's only some old guys like me who've spent weeks in Goa, before it became fashionable to tote blackberries to the beach, who'll miss King's.
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The newer, brasher brigade are all probably just going to order Sex on the Beach and down them faster than they're served, before they hook off to the newest hippest hot spot in town.

When will they ever learn that Goa is all about sinking in the lack of a deadline? That the slow osmosis of stress and surf happens best when you lie as motionless as a starfish on a sunbed? That the real charm of a holiday in Baga isn't the Butter Bar but Britto's.

Long Live the King.