Forget the mountains. Go to the beach!

I found Susegad between birdsong and jars of Recheado at Brij Paraiso, Goa

08 Nov 2025

My earliest memories of visiting Goa as a child include running out of the water, screaming, because I felt something brush against my leg. A short-lived fear of the sea was born. Susegad remained elusive.

So you’d understand why I’d be reluctant to admit my first hour back in the coastal state, after a decade, was not spent making amends — it was spent sleeping. One moment, I was sending my rain-soaked friends back in Mumbai pictures of the sunny Goan airport. An hour-long car ride (roughly equivalent to one very long nap) to Saligao later, I awoke to the sight of Brij Paraiso’s sun-speckled entrance. The boutique property’s arched gateway, painted white with delicate florals, dazzles in the daylight. There’s an immediate lull in the air: no traffic, no crowds, no BMC contractors drilling away to glory. Only gentle birdsong remains.

The 25-year-old Portuguese villa, complete with sprawling courtyards and laterite stone walls, has been collaboratively restored by Aditya Gupta and Brij Hotels. Encompassing only nine rooms, it positions itself as the ideal escape: a stone’s throw away from the beach and the buzz, and yet tucked away from the chaos in a quiet corner of Saligao. For those easily overstimulated by crowds, Brij Paraiso offers a picturesque middle ground. And I, armed with both a book and an itinerary, planned to make full use of it.

A yay-cation ensues!

The Goans and I — apart from a shared love for afternoon siestas — are also partial to tongue-numbing spice in our food. Luckily, both the menu and the four-poster bed in my room were aligned in my favour. Upon Chef Shivam Verma, the Senior Chef de Partie’s earnest suggestions, my lunch upon arrival featured fiery Prawns Balchao, paired with buttery Poee, a traditional multigrain Goan bread with a hollow centre. He suggested washing the spice down with traditional Goan red rice and creamy fish curry. I nervously countered this generous feast with one question — wouldn’t it be too much for just one person? He insisted it would be just enough. But I’m willing to forgive this overestimation of my appetite, because I still daydream about this rare moment of (over)indulgence quite fondly.

Photographs courtesy Brij Paraiso, Saligao, Goa

Eager to walk off the delicious drowsiness that always follows a fulfilling meal, I set off on foot to explore the property. Each of the nine rooms within has been named after a Goan village. Great care (and extensive spatial planning) has been taken to ensure each window opens to the lush outdoors. Case in point, my balcony perches above the outdoor pool, giving me a bird’s eye view of the green premises. To my left lie the terracotta-tiled roofs, covering the low-slung common areas. The best way to understand the layout (easily navigable for the directionally challenged) is to equate it to a tree: the dining, kitchen and entrance lie along one singular axis, while the rooms branch out towards three serene corners. My room, if you’re curious, rests in the leftmost corner, accessible by a metal staircase dripping with curtain creepers. In the sunlight, even Led Zeppelin would concede it as a strong contender for the muse behind “Stairway to Heaven”.

Sun, sugar and spice

To accommodate Saligao’s sloping terrain, the property sprawls across multiple levels. The entrance sits in the middle, leading the way to a cosy lounge with couches and armchairs for food-coma afflicted patients such as myself. A mezzanine perches above the lounge, featuring two dining tables perfect for couples who prefer privacy — or for solo travellers with only a book as a plus one. As someone who fits in the latter category, the sight of two tall bookshelves here against the wall gives me great solace.

At this point in the tour, the sunny weather gives way to a gentle smattering of rain. Chef Shivam lets me know that there’s a change in location for our pre-scheduled spice making session. “We’ll have to relocate to the kitchen today due to the rain,” he explains. “Usually we do it in the outdoor dining area.” The kitchen lies only a stone’s throw away from the mezzanine, both spaces connected by an open hallway overlooking the designated outdoor dining area. Here, raindrops crackle over the tiling, shaped in the form of concentric circles of varying sizes. The laterite walls deepen in hue.

In the kitchen, the petrichor outdoors gives way to the scent of crackling pepper with an afternote of coconut vinegar. All measurements are eyeballed, and yet the product is a perfect, fiery red jar of Recheado, which I’m told is a staple masala in Goan households. The masala makes an unexpected cameo in my book/plus one — Bombay Balchao by Jane Borges (2019) — and it feels like a full circle moment.

The rain besieges the other days to follow. And yet, I don’t run out of things to do. Between another session of pizza making, diving deeper into my book, and relishing every single meal to follow, I truly, completely revel in doing nothing. After three days of attempting the Susegad-ian way of life, I set off for the airport with a jar of Recheado in my luggage, eyes wide awake to soak in my last few moments of whizzing through Saligao with a full heart (and an even fuller stomach).

PSA: The airport security does not let you carry Recheado in your carry on. But if your jar contains just the right amount of coconut vinegar, you can gaslight security into letting you go through with it. Thank you, Chef Shivam!