It was a scorching day in the summer of 2009, the last day of my annual holiday in Goa. I lay on the deck chair, sipping the first King’s for the day and right on cue I had the exact same thought as on the last day of every Goa trip: “Man, what I’d give to live here”. Serendipitously, one year later, my husband Vivek and I were driving down to Goa, our lives packed into 13 little cartons stacked into the back of our black car.

Dreamy as it was for us, moving to Goa was not taken well by family and friends. Reactions ranged from surprise and shock to downright hysteria. “Who moves to Goa to work?!” they said. “You’re killing your career.” But none of it really mattered. Vivek had stumbled upon a work opportunity that seemed too good to be true. Having only ever lived in Bengaluru all our lives, we weren’t sure how it would pan out. But there was only one way to know.

Was it easy? No. Was it all sunshine and sand? Of course not. Was it scary? Hell, yes! But it was necessary. Bengaluru was burgeoning into a monstrosity and the rat race left us with little time to sit back and enjoy the life we were working so hard to build. Time and again the irony struck us, and a restlessness to hit pause had been bubbling under.

And we weren’t alone.

After working in Mumbai for eight years, Snigdha Manchanda knew it would be a lot easier and more affordable to start her line of fine, hand-blended teas from Goa. “I did not want to spend time commuting to work anymore,” she says. Two years on, Tea Trunk is up and running, and Snigdha has found herself a home in Porvorim just outside Chorao Bird Sanctuary, not far from Panjim. “I look back at my Instagram feed and it was once full of restaurants, food and parties. Now it has birds and home-cooked meals and fruits that grow in my backyard.”

My Instagram feed was once full of restaurants, food and parties. Now it has birds and home-cooked meals and fruits that grow in my backyard

Like us, a range of professionals from across India are escaping big city shackles only to discover that setting up a life in Goa isn’t tough and finding livelihood isn’t much of a bother.

For Pooja Mitra, Goa offered a happy mean between work and life. As programme manager at World Wildlife Fund for Nature, Pooja works to mitigate the impact of tourism on Goa’s marine ecosystem. “I wanted to live in a greener place, where I could breathe easy, see many trees, birds and of course, the sea. Goa gave me all that and a much better quality of life,” she says. For the record, Pooja and her three dogs live in a gorgeous North Goa village not far from the beach.

While some have moved to Goa to chase their careers, others have moved to escape the hamster-wheel. Princy Mehta quit a global communication consultancy and moved from Mumbai with husband Amrit Vatsa, who gave up the necktie as a business consultant with PricewaterhouseCoopers. “When you’re absorbed in a job for 12 hours a day, you don’t have time to pursue your hobbies,” Princy says. In the two years that they have lived in Panjim, she has become a successful dance and fitness instructor and conducts classes at a high-end fitness studio, while Amrit has carved a niche as a wedding photographer and documentary filmmaker.

And then there are those who came to Goa for one thing only: peace. “I moved to study yoga,” says author Deepti Kapoor (A Bad Character; Penguin India), who arrived with husband Matt, a six-month stay in mind. “But I got more involved than I expected. Goa was a great place to live in, so the plans to leave kind of evaporated. Plus, going back to the pollution and stress of a city life just didn’t make sense anymore.”

But the shift can be unsettling at first. Public transport is sparse, labour is unreliable, and though you’ll find nightclubs throbbing till dawn, basics like medicines are still sometimes hard to find at night. Those who plan to work remotely may note that Internet is a crawl, Deepti warns. And then there are the small irritants. “For example, only two restaurants will deliver food at home unlike, say, 200 in Mumbai. And power cuts are still very frequent in some parts. If you are averse to change, this may not be for you,” says Snigdha.

The tide though is turning. The Panjim of today is a lot more urbanised than it was in 2010, when it was hard to find a chemist or petrol bunk open after 9pm. Private healthcare providers like Wockhardt, Manipal Hospitals and Apollo Hospitals are expanding across the state. And though education is basic, the state has a fair few established institutions affiliated to national boards. For those who want alternative schooling for their kids Nisha’s Play School, Sunshine School and Waldorf-inspired Keshar Academy of Learning, adopt a creative approach to education.

“In Goa, you get to raise your child the way you want to, without the pressure to turn them into achievers, fill their time with play dates and classes of all kinds,” says Bina Punjani. After having lived and worked in Mumbai, Delhi and the UK, Bina and her husband Pralay Bakshi decided to start their family in the sunshine state. The access to open spaces, play areas and the beach is a luxury they are grateful for. “We’re extremely lucky to have had a child here.”

For us, teething issues aside, life in Panjim has been like therapy after Bengaluru. We live a zippy drive from Vivek’s workplace, the beach is a short walk away and all basic essentials are within a 5-kilometre radius. We have a fresh green town, safe neighbourhoods and uncluttered spaces. The Goa of everyday has given me moments of immense liberation—in feeling secure enough for a run after sundown, wearing whatever I please, walking everywhere to get around. I enjoy the peace, quiet and the stillness. But most of all, I enjoy the lack of choice. Our lives have scaled down tremendously. With less avenues for consumption, no malls and multiplexes to choose from, no large social circles, we have it stripped down to the bare minimum. While Vivek chased his dream job, I quit mine to focus on writing, a choice that has changed the direction of my career.

If Bengaluru forced me to rush with the crowd, Panjim taught me to be still. It gave me opportunities to meet simple people living amazing lives–artists, writers, chefs, professional divers, organic farmers and a whole range of people I was not likely to bump into in Bengaluru. But most of all, it kindled inside me an appreciation for a simple, less-is-more life. Looking back, these six years in Goa have been nothing short of life-altering.

This is first of the two-part series on relocating to Goa. Read part 2 for a perspective on costs, career and other realities.

(With inputs from Smitha Menon)