Deep in South Goa’s Canacona district lies a pristine beach shrouded in casuarina trees, where Olive Ridley turtles go to hatch every spring and only the most adventurous tourists venture through the year. On a late January afternoon in 2022, Mavrick Cardoz asked Annalea Barreto, his girlfriend of eight years, to accompany him to the beach and help him find a beloved watch he said he’d lost. “We were walking on the beach, him a few steps behind me.
At one point, I turned around and there he was, on his knees. He was choking, he couldn’t get the words out. He’s always been the more emotional one of the two of us,” Barreto remembers with a laugh.
But it wasn’t like she was expecting this proposal either. “I had brainwashed her into believing that I was not ready,” grins Cardoz. “Then I’d organised this huge family event for Christmas and New Year’s, arranging for her family and mine to fly in from different parts of the world,” Cardoz continues.
“But I knew that if I made a public declaration, she’d die of embarrassment. So I proposed in the privacy of this deserted beach , while my brother lurked behind the trees flying a drone to capture the whole thing.” They had met, also around Christmas, back in 2013—in a universe where online dating was yet to become a thing—as a result of the expansive networks of Goan families and the urgent need to use a washroom at 2 am.
“After a few social meetings and a date , she kissed me without saying a word,” teases Cardoz. “I would have never done that if it weren’t for the fact that we were both getting out of existing relationships . Plus, he was tall, dark and handsome, and he could play the guitar—exactly my type,” Barreto shoots back.
In the decade since, the pair have nurtured a long-distance relationship — with Barreto stationed in Mumbai and flying around the world as part of the Swiss Air crew, and Cardoz rooted in Goa as he builds out his AirBnB in Galgibaga. “It’s always been like this with us,” says Cardoz, “we meet maybe 50-60 days in a year. Otherwise, it’s been endless video calls and constant texting.
We’ve even synced our TV watching times.” It comes naturally to them, adds Barreto. The youngest of three siblings on either side, Barreto and Cardoz agree they have had the privilege to do things their own way—they took their time with making things official and, when they did, they had the liberty to tailor a wedding entirely to their own desires .
And, like so much in their relationship, they both knew instinctively that they wanted to keep their wedding intimate and hyper-local. “Goan weddings tend to be large, impersonal events with the whole world invited. You might not even meet many of the guests.
My father alone has 35 first cousins, so you can imagine,” Barreto laughs. “I also didn’t want our parents to pay for the wedding,” adds Cardoz. Because of who they are as individuals, they decided to go the DIY route.
Barreto has an eye for detail and enthusiasm for designing weddings—something she professionally tried for a bit when she was grounded during Covid. Cardoz marshalled his ample local network and encyclopaedic knowledge of Goa. Together, they designed a week-long affair in January 2024, that expertly toed the line between the traditional and the unconventional, honoured their Goan roots and supported local businesses, and left their 150 guests with memories of a lifetime.
“From the beginning, we knew we were both going to be very involved in this production,” says Barreto. Their starting point? The wedding venue. “I grew up in Panjim, but I’ve lately moved to this quiet, beautiful village called Salvador du Mondo in south Goa,” says Cardoz.
“The local church, Penha de Franca, is one of the oldest in India and so well-maintained—the doors, the stained-glass windows, the laterite-rock bar at the adjoining outdoor space, the fact that it was located right next to the river...
Anna fell in love with it at first sight too.” Instead of the saturated pigments that accentuate most Goan wedding decor, they chose to paint theirs in hues of green , brown and white—earthy colours and materials that mirrored the topography of the land. Instead of hiring a wedding planner, they shortlisted and reached out to vendors for everything from the catering, which came from Jimsons (world-famous in south Goa for their sorpotel, rissois, roast and crab cakes), to the photographers at Flashbakc Studios, who Cardoz knew from college.
Barreto played stylist for the couple, opting for a backless ivory gown by Panjim-based designer Suman B. She added Massimo Dutti glares to complete Cardoz’s look: a chequered three-piece suit inspired by Cillian Murphy’s character in the Netflix series Peaky Blinders , which he got made from Needle and Quest (Bellissimo boutique) on Colaba Causeway in Mumbai because “they have some of the best Italian fabric I’ve seen”. For their individual bachelor parties, they flipped their situational circumstances—Barreto shacked up in a villa in north Goa with her friends and sisters; Cardoz took a trip with his boys to Rajasthan , underwhelmed at a music festival, thrilled at the sight of tigers at Ranthambore.
But as proceedings go, theirs wasn’t as much a complete break from convention as adding little twists that made things more personal, more them. Instead of the roce—the equivalent of the north Indian haldi ceremony , where guests break eggs and throw flour at the bride and groom—Cardoz orchestrated a “blessings” ceremony with “civil” dabs of coconut water. For the icebreaker—a get-together where families of the bride and groom meet for the first time—they treated their guests to a long lunch of music , libations and good food whipped up by the “aunties” of Benaulim’s Goan Kitchen, under a pergola on a quiet stretch of Velsao beach adjoining the Azul Villa.
On the day of the wedding, the groom traditionally gets his ‘first look’ of the bride right before the nuptials; but Cardoz landed up at Barreto’s beloved family home in Panjim’s Altinho neighbourhood that morning. “He cried as he stood on the doorstep when I came out; as all of our family was peeking out of the windows above.” She laughs as she recalls that Cardoz cried again as she stepped into the church that was their wedding venue, to the immense amusement of Barreto’s father.
Earlier, they had younger cousins hold up placards, inspired by the Instagram channel @dudewithsign, with quirky “anti-wedding” quotes scrawled on them for conversation starters. Later, the love songs of Konkani musician and Goan superstar Lorna Cordeiro spiked the air as guests partook of snacks and tea before the reception party—at which Cardoz avenged his tears by serenading an emotional Barreto with a song by Irish poprock band The Script. In all of this drama , there was one thing that remained untouched: their vows.
“The only thing we changed here was that we learned the original lines by heart, so we could look at each other’s faces while saying them, rather than read them off a piece of paper,” says Barreto. “I think those lines are written really well; there’s a lot of meaning in them,” says Cardoz. “They were perfect for us.
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