Who will tell these youngsters mesmerized by gargantuan bridges, garish malls and gated communities; that this Goa does not represent our collective identity?
It’s the third week of December and there is chill and cheer in the air. A blanket of fog hovers over the dusky palm groves and the calm empty fields, and there is a veil of mist in the air. The tiny, shiny droplets on the ground appear like goose-bumps seeing the shades of pink on the blushing morning skies. After braving a frosty night the leaves drip dew drops, and the pond herons and cattle egrets meditate in total stillness until the sun god appears.
In Goa, during the winter mornings there is no greater pleasure than that ‘extended stay in bed’ under wraps of a warm quilt, with drapery pulled over the window seals to forbid the sunrays from sneaking in and disrupting our ‘dreams of dawn’.
Amche Goem radiates its own glow in December; with houses, chapels and churches wearing a new look, strings of light shining through the darkness and a surreal calmness filling the streets. With a foggy halo around, the dimly lit street bulbs look like saints guarding our path in darkness. The light winter-wear emerges from the closets in most homes, and moisturizers line up on the dressing tables. While the men-folk get busy with painting and purchases, the women invest in the gastronomic adventures. Our cuisine too changes like the syllabus of a new semester, and the faithful get busy preparing to receive the ‘Son of god’ as seen from the cribs, Christmas trees and stars taking shape, and the pervasive aromas of the Christmas sweets.
Besides merry making, this is also the season of matrimony. The effervescent boys and the shy girls and their families are busy preparing for the big day; listing out the errands and assigning responsibilities to their confidantes. The wedding venues and caterers have been booked months in advance, and detailing of buffet spread, approximating alcohol volume, checking on thematic decorations, table centerpieces, wedding cards are tasks that need expert orchestration. The bridesmaids and groomsmen are an indispensable army of matrimonial bonhomie, and often new couples arise from these brief third-party nuptial acquaintances. Of course the band in attendance is critical acoustic paraphernalia of this celebration. It would only be in the fitness of things to remind these youngsters that happy marriages rest on the foundations of faith and fidelity.
I’ve been invited to witness the nuptials and partake in the celebrations of many of my colleagues and students and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed these privileged invitations; sometimes shaking a leg on the dance floor, raising a toast and enjoying the lavish buffet.
Following the solemnity of church nuptials, the wedding receptions of Goan Roman Catholics are thoroughly celebratory, and one feels compelled to partake unhesitatingly in this merriment of wedlock. The winter nights create that anecdotal fairytale ambience and the mutually embraced couple feels like being in the lineage of the royals.
Those unfamiliar with our historical Portuguese affinity surely feel the European connect in Goa, and the natives often drift into the bygone days of Salazar regime. However, we must preserve our language, landscape and the culture, no matter what the bait and temptations, and how severe the coaxing and coercion. In my reasoning the rampant sale of ‘Portuguese houses’ to those elite retirees who seek to etch their names posthumously on gravestones in our land, shall be grave injustice to those who breathed their last in the salty breeze of our sea, toiled and shed their sweat here, not abandoning the state in turbulent times and prayed for the well being of this Pearl of Orient or Dakshin Kashi; whatever you choose to call it.
Goa’s sandy shores and the clusters of star hotels that thrive thereupon like stranded starfish after a neap tide, invite the rich and the famous for star-studded destination-weddings and electronic dance music events. Next is barricading the sea shore, extravagant display of affluence in food, drinks, decoration and attires. What follows is the estrangement of our coastal communities and build-up of resentment.
Perhaps in the last one decade these stentorian luminous events have demolished more cochleas in the ears of the hapless coastal residents in Goa, than the illegal constructions in CRZ areas ordered to be razed down. The obstinate violators of our fragile coastline persist in their chicanery, dodging the rule of law; and our coasts continue to bear the assault of raw sewage, irresponsible tourists, and encroachments by real estate and capitalist investment. Our ramponkar whose heart beats with the rhythm of the tides is a mute spectator to arrogance of these ‘not guilty until proven’ elements.
As the year ends with this month, we will receive crowds of tourists flocking to our coastline. The last day of this month in our state becomes very special with tourists insisting on seeing the setting sun on Goan beaches, and the sunrise to follow the next day sheds light on broken liquor bottles and inebriated celebrants strewn on the shoreline and heaps of trash popping up like acne on the face of a young beautiful maiden.
A Niz Goemkar dreams a lot; and that is his rightful entitlement if not anything else! And the ‘dream merchants’ here well know how to sell fantasy to Goans, keeping all our ‘Alices in the wonderland’ disconnected from realism. Even after 62 years of liberation, our ‘colonial hangover’ and ‘Voltaire chair siesta’ continues, with most of us seeking solace in our own ‘cocoons of comfort’, refusing to look beyond our balcãos; while new forces are at work wiping off our ‘Goenchi asmitay’ in the guise of mainstreaming Goa into Bharat.
Who will tell these youngsters mesmerized by gargantuan bridges, garish malls and gated communities; that this Goa does not represent our collective identity? Alas! Somebody must caution them urgently on the pompous claims of progress. Sadly, the swindlers in the parable ‘Emperor’s new clothes’ are at work in Goa, while we the Goemkars, continue with our naked celebrations in calamitous times. May our frozen conscience thaw after this winter!
