A little fact about myself: As a journalist and a mother of six-year-old twins, I plan everything to the T and rarely leave much to chance. But serendipity is a curious thing—it arrives announced, just like an old friend, perhaps. 

When I got the chance (I almost manifested it) to attend the ninth edition of the Serendipity Arts Festival (SAF) in Panjim, Goa, in December 2024, I did not think twice before saying yes. I was looking forward to it, but expecting the usual art in white-washed galleries and performances in confined auditoriums. It has been more than a month that I have come back from Goa, yet I vividly remember (almost like a visual memory) the moment I reached one of the 22 venues of SAF. I walked up the stairs of the old GMC Building (one of the venues) and almost instinctively started noting down pointers as I walked in and out of the rooms, each hosting a different kind of exhibition. Two rounds of diligent (read bookish) journalism and many steps later, my back started giving up. That was my cue to take a break. As I stood in the balcony overlooking the porch below, I realised I was looking for art at the wrong  place all this while. It was right there—in the curious visitors who were asked to draw on the walls, the kid who was  allowed to touch “artwork” that would usually be out of reach in a gallery, or even the eight college students who shared two plates of dumplings and unlimited stories.

This year’s festival not only celebrated artistic expression but also emphasised sustainability, accessibility, and community engagement, reinforcing the notion that art is not merely an event but a way of life—probably why the festival does not have a central theme. Rather, the integration of art into daily life was a recurring concept. Public art interventions, performances in everyday spaces, and interactive workshops encouraged visitors to experience art beyond traditional venues. For instance, The Night Market of Stories, curated by Preethi Athreya, transformed the Panjim Market into a space of storytelling and performance, illustrating how art permeates everyday experiences. It celebrated the freedom of women and queer artists to be unproductive and unapologetic. The festival’s diverse programmes underscored the idea that art is not confined to galleries or theatres, but is an integral part of human experience—whether it was through a pop-up installation that invited people to interact with everyday objects in unconventional ways, or an open set-up that allowed you to tell  your story to a stranger without being judged. 

Over 1,800 artists from around the globe collaborated this time to present more than 200 projects, encompassing an array of disciplines, including visual arts, music, dance, theatre, culinary arts, and crafts. 

“Executing a large-scale festival in a culturally rich city like Panjim require careful coordination to honour the local ethos while managing extensive operations,” admits Smriti Rajgarhia, director, SAF. By design itself, Serendipity isn’t just an art festival, it is almost an intervention in public space. Here, the line between art and life gets blurred, time and again. “Seeing artists from diverse disciplines come together to create something extraordinary, and watching audiences engage deeply with these experiences, reaffirms the importance of what we do,” Rajgharia tells Bazaar India. “Through these interactions, we’ve witnessed how ephemeral cultural interventions—whether it’s turning heritage buildings into temporary galleries, activating public spaces with performances, or creating artistic installations along the waterfront—can shift people’s perception about the usage of urban spaces. What’s particularly fulfilling is how these temporary transformations have begun to influence more permanent changes.”

Balancing diverse artistic narratives while staying inclusive and culturally sensitive is a key challenge, believes Rajgharia. “Through collaborations and creative partnerships, we ensured that the programming was both cohesive and reflective of the multiplicity of voices within the arts ecosystem.

Strengthening ties with local communities and institutions proved vital, making them equal partners in the journey.” No wonder, Goan heritage found a prime spot at the festival. “On the local front, initiatives like Goa Familia, curated by Lina Vincent and Akshay Mahajan, explored personal and collective Goan histories, fostering pride in the region’s identity. Musical projects such as Sempre Fado, curated by Zubin Balaporia, blended traditional Goan sounds with Portuguese Fado, reflecting Goa’s multicultural heritage,” Rajgharia adds. “Public screenings and workshops such as the Azulejo Workshop highlighted local narratives and traditional crafts, while culinary initiatives like Redefining Goan Food for the Next Generation focused on sustainability and preserving Goan traditions.” She adds that the festival created a vibrant dialogue between local traditions and international influences. “A standout performance, The Bells by Australian plein air theatre group 5ANGRYMen,  exemplified the festival’s global outreach, blending acrobatics, public installation, and music, supported by the Centre for Australia-India Relations and the Australian Cultural Fund. Additionally, the Serendipity Exchange for the Arts (SEA) symposium hosted delegations from around the world, highlighting the festival’s role as a global platform for discourse and collaboration in the arts.” 

Rajgharia explains how Panjim’s languid charm adds character to the festival. “One of my personal  passions has been exploring the concept of creative placemaking—understanding how culture can transform urban spaces and how cities, in turn, shape cultural experiences. Over the past nine years, Panjim has been an extraordinary laboratory for this exploration. The city’s unique character has allowed us to experiment with the urban fabric in ways that would be impossible elsewhere.”

But it was not just the big names—one of the festival’s delights was the people it brought together. As a journalist, I’m often looking for characters who add texture to a narrative. As I waited (with the irresistible pork bao in my hand) for Salim-Sulaiman’s performance at Nagalli Hills Ground, a septuagenarian man walked up to me. A ceramicist by profession, his eyes sparkled like a curious young teenager as he spoke to me about his love for clay. Or even the man who has quit his white-collar job in Bengaluru and now runs a coffee shop in Goa. “It’s not an easy choice,” he admitted, handing me over a coconut-flavour coffee from the other side of the counter. “But sometimes, life pushes you toward the thing you were meant to do.” 

As I reached my hotel at the end of a long day, I almost involuntarily started making an itinerary for the next day in my head—I am almost conditioned to plan, to optimise, to seek efficiency even in my leisure. But I stopped and realised the futility of structuring my experience. So the next day, I went against my instinct and just allowed myself to simply be—to wander into exhibits, to pause for impromptu performances, to strike up conversations with strangers (and a chance meeting with a dear former colleague). But the highlight of that day, for me, was undoubtedly the River Raag—a musical conversation between two contrasting instruments, curated by classical musician Bickram Ghosh. As I took my (window?) seat, the musicians—Padma Shankar on the violin and mridangam player BC Manjunath—did a sound check while the sun seemed to be aligning its position and timing for the perfect backdrop. The result? I was transported to a surreal world for an hour. 

I had arrived at Serendipity by chance, but I left with a renewed appreciation—for the unexpected, for stories that unfold in their own time, and for the art of discovery itself. The true magic of serendipity? It finds you when you least expect it. Perhaps the biggest takeaway for me was unpredictability—whether it was at the festival or life in general. 

At Serendipity, you don’t just go to see art, you walk through it, live inside it. The festival reminded me that art doesn’t begin and end within curated spaces. It exists in movement, in music, in food. As I left Goa, it dawned  on me that art is not something we visit or see, it is something we inhabit. Unlike conventional art fairs, Serendipity spills into the streets, the riverbanks, and heritage buildings—transforming Panjim into a canvas. It is immersive and delightfully unstructured—exactly the kind of ‘serendipity’, I didn’t know I was looking for. 

All images: Courtesy the brand

Lead image: A perfromance at the Serendipity Arts Festival 2024

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