Soliloquy

From whatever snatches I overhear, Maithili overpowers Konkani by some distance, and I have to remind myself that I am still on the west coast of India, still in Goa, that tranquil state that is home to perhaps the most diverse vegetation, aquatic life and beaches in this country. Panjim is a town to which Pico Iyer’s words about Thimphu in 1986 apply charitably – all of it can be explored in the course of an afternoon, a siesta at Goldspot and a cup of tea at Cafe Bhonsle included.

The government buildings that stand tall off the fully functioning and vibrant Rua 31 de Janeiro are as far from Brazil as they can hope to be, with the sadness of a shared language no longer holding any ground. From time to time, the Mandovi squeals in delight as lorries overpower the three high-rise bridges spanning across it and seem determined to get their loads – and their owners – safely across. The canal through which it gets diverted into Altinho and Fontainhas seems coy, almost subdued.

Madgaon is the exact opposite of Panjim. This Athens of old Goa – the commercial capital of the state – is bustling with activity and reminds me to brush up on my Bhojpuri on more than one occasion. I am only reassured by the presence of a gigantic mural on the top of a telecommunication provider’s building depicting a teenager dreaming of Gaurs – and possibly of Rowlin Borges and Brandon Fernandes – while pretending to study.

In Colva, I am accosted by a bedraggled Mongoloid face who, in the King’s English, tells me that he hails from Kathmandu and has lost all his belongings trusting a broker who had promised him a job as a waiter here. Could I help him buy breakfast?

Almost as if repelled by the story of mistrust he shares, I recoil with an appendage borne from my suspicion of anyone who speaks English (and looks dishevelled) and politely make my way. Not to be taken aback, he smiles benignly at me like only a Buddha could, and fares me well. His smile haunts me all the way on the bus back to Fatorda. When I importune myself with the vales (and pristine shores) of Palolem later that evening, all I can think of is Kathmandu.

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