As we trudged through the swampy, marshy stretch surrounded by mangroves, I felt like I had been touring my own subconscious. Pic for Representation

This morning I woke up before the sun; something I only do under compulsion, like when I've got a flight to board. Even more incredible was the fact that I opened my eyes almost involuntarily, without the interruptive shock-to-the-system alarm soundtrack - Janis Joplin's Piece of My Heart. I got out of bed, made myself a cup of coffee by scooping out the humidified dregs from the bottom of the packet, then I sat in front of my laptop so I could finish off a pending catalogue essay for an upcoming exhibition. By 7.30 am, I was all set to take off with two artists who are among the eight of us staying at Pinto House, just off the Corjeum bridge. We'd decided last night that we would make the trip to the Dr Salim Ali bird sanctuary in Chorao, something I'd always wanted to cross off my when-in-Goa list. We were all, in fact, surprised that we'd woken up early at all, since we'd only gone to bed at 1.30 am the night before. We'd spent the evening drinking beer and feni, while introducing each other to specifically terrible music. It began with my wanting them (particularly the Ukrainian artist, Serhei, the Turkish girl, Asli, and the Chinese girl, my bed-mate, Lo Yan) to know of the existence of Taher Shah's narcissistic treat, Eye to Eye, which, if at all you haven't been subjected to thus far, you must YouTube right away. It's so horrific, it's amazing.