(17 Feb ’13)
Friend and fellow writer Fatima
(known as Fats though she weighs less than 40 kgs) requested me to look after
two young women who were coming to my neighbourhood from Vasco. The
sister-in-law of one of these women was the friend of Fats’ daughter’s
colleague, which meant they were ‘known’ (vollkheecheen)
and therefore welcome to share lunch and use the loo in my home. Fats
hadn’t met them, nor knew what they looked like, but as everywhere in India,
‘known’ people are to be treated like family, ‘specially in small places.
That’s how Ramaa and Shradhha, talented designers of The Jade Collection came
into my life. Juggling home, toddlers, challans, tailors, artwork,
cloth-merchants, packers, delivery trucks and posh boutiques is what they do
for a living. What’s more, the store they were (are) supplying to was near my
home and the manager of that store happened to be the daughter of another
writer and friend George Menezes. More ‘known’. This Indian trait of accepting
the ‘knowns’ into one’s private world has enriched my life.
From Ramaa and Shraddha I discovered
well-hidden aspects of Goan women. Women of means. Who wish away their wardrobe-contents
at a whim and order The Jade duo to conjure up more contemporary stuff.
Shopping-challenged me was impressed.
The other big customers were those with family weddings coming up. Now
designer outfits look really nice on racks and shelves in shops, but I wondered
how big the wardrobes of those women of means might be to accommodate several
such. My mind goes dizzy thinking of large plastic bags and naphthalene balls
keeping away crisp brown ‘roaches and other less disgusting but more destructive
crawlies. Those without domestic armies to lord over are happier with
light-on-the-wallet and easily discarded, non-dry-cleanable, eco-friendly raste ka maal. Good thing everyone isn’t
like me, otherwise creative, hard-working people like Ramaa and Shradhha would
waste their talent like the desert flower that blooms unseen…
My life is restricted to within two
kilometres of where I stay and other than the internet and television, I have
no contact with the outside world unless someone takes me out. Poor public
transport keeps me wheels-deprived. So when another friend B and her husband
took me and my man to a hotel near Morjim, I was excited. B and her husband
belong to a community I have high regards for: they are BBRs.
Book-Buying-Readers.
I’d never been on this route before.
I didn’t see too many signs in Russian, but the ambience reminded me of the
Calangute belt in the ‘70s. We crossed a well-laid out ‘housing colony’, with
fairly well-maintained homes and roads laid out at right angles to each other.
Ah, the charm of uniformity. (In America, there are no surprises. Every corner
has a number, every street a name. In Goa, our landmarks are so-n-so’s house,
the place where once a jackfruit tree stood, or more recently bank ATMs,
restaurants and lifestyle stores.) Other than that single ‘colony’, the rest of
the landscape was as charming as I remember in my childhood memories.
The
hotel we went to was posh, new, beautiful, expensive (afterwards I was told
compared to places in parts of Goa it was actually reasonable). It didn’t feel
like India. The staff were well-trained and confident without being servile,
the view fantastic (so typically Goan!!). The menu was international and
authentic (this bit I depended on someone else’s judgement, but after months of
watching Fox Traveller and other cookery shows, I think that someone’s
correct). The guests present were
polite, considerate, well-behaved (they’re getting increasingly difficult to
find in Goa). The music, live on Sundays, was so good and played by a girl so
young and pretty that I investigated to make sure no cd was secretly being
played behind the curtains.
Hotels
are cropping up in this north Goan neighbourhood. Obviously, Big Money believes
that tourism is likely to grow. I thought it was on the wane. I seem to be
wrong.
Every
time I get a house guest, I see a new aspect of Goa. On my part, I take my
guests away from the ‘routine’. I show them the Liveraria Central or Krishnadas
Shama Grantha Sangrahalaya (sounds better than the Goa State Library) and, dead
though it seems, the museum next door. On their part, my guests take me to
places away from the beaten track… this column will feature them from time to
time.
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