Sivaji-The Boss!

Do all boss's become insane after taking over their chair? Or am i just cribbing?

Heading into nothingness

I was wondering what would a Kojagiri purnima, circa 2030 be like. I would be 50-years-old; maybe I’d have a couple of kids. I would either miss the date or then try hard to think of how my mother lit the lamp and worshiped the moon. I would again try hard to remember the delicious milk and cinnamon concoction that my mother would prepare and we would drink it at midnight soon after praying to the beautifully rounded moon. I’d try and explain to my children the puja and the entire ritual. But god forbid they ask me why I perform the puja, I’d have no answer for their inquisitiveness. My mother doesn’t really know and neither do I, nor will my children ever know why.

Which, is why I feel that we all are heading into a future of nothingness, struck by a partial amnesia of the past. I like the whole thing about rituals (not to a fanatic extreme) but it gives me a sense of belonging to the community- so be it keeping Ganapati at home for 10 days or observing a few rozas or decorating a Christmas tree on December 25, I do it with utmost desire of wanting to be a part of this world.

I don’t know if many years down the line, we will be equipped to pass on to our children the traditions of the past. It almost makes me sad to think that there might be a certain junction in time, where there will be none that will know of what Kojagiri purnima or Vata purnima or Mahashivratri or any of these festivals are. I wouldn’t want the generations after mine of be blank about their past, but its something I feel might just be inevitable. We all are rushing into a world of science and technology in which, such “baseless” traditions will not have a place. I am all for science and development, and yes also don’t believe in superstition. But I know my kids would eventually ask me why I indulge in such superstitions.

So although I am dwelling too much into a future that may arrive a few generations after mine, and I am not too sure if it would arrive either, but I already feel a void of knowing too little of the traditions that include me into a commune that feels like home. I am just dreading circa 2030. I hope it never arrives or maybe we can just skip it somehow or am i just being paranoid?

Goa Once More

It was my fourth trip to Goa in the past one and half years. This time- the longest and a little different.

Elections……..
I was covering the seemingly insignificant Goa elections. That’s expected when the votebase in even the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation election is larger than entire Goa’s assembly election. Nevertheless, I camped there for a week, through the poll and the results.

Unlike my usual vacations to the ‘happening’ North Goa and the serene South Goa, I spent most of my time is Pan-jim (that’s how Goans pronounce it) - the capital city/town. It’s got to be the sleepiest town that I’ve ever been to, and believe you me when I say that. The shops are shut down at sharp 1pm till 4pm, barring hotels and a few chemists. Goans love to enjoy their afternoon siesta and no rain, thundershower or any emergency can stop them from doing so. That’s not it. The BJP office was deserted, so was Congress’s and other smaller parties would start shop only by late evening. After having seen Bombay politicians work at the oddest of hours, Goa seemed like an exception to the rule of politics.

But even as everything about Goa elections seemed lame, it was the simplicity of the entire scenario that I am still cherishing. Again, unlike Bombay (I am going to stick to referring to Mumbai as Bombay), there are no complexities in Goan politics. There are the bad people and then there are a good people. Barely a few important movers and shakers in Goan politics – Pratapsinh Rane, Manohar Parrikar, Digambar Kamat, Babush Monsserate, Churchill Alemao and the Dhavalikars.

While Churchill and Babush are the known goons, Parrikar is the IITian known to be all for Goa’s all-round development. Churchill even enquired with me if it was possible to get duplicate Electronic Voting Machines, punch in all votes for oneself and then quietly replace them in the polling booth in the thick of the night!!!! I could have used more exclamation marks, but for the want of a better alternatives to describe my astonishment.
Babush, after his victory embarked on Goans’ afternoon siesta with loud Goan music blowing out of loudspeakers that could wake a million corpses.
A few days later, the new Chief Minister was crowned with the Congress government taking over. Since, Rane even though being the CM of the state refused to campaign in any other constituency but his own, he was promptly replaced with Digambar Kamat- the once BJP rebel.

Throughout, there were no clashes in Goa, no political banners, no bogus votes, the voting percentage was 70%, more than what Mumbai can ever achieve and everyone was chilled out. Even if one tried hard, it was impossible to feel the election in Goa. And that’s exactly what I loved about the place.


Panjim….. Pic source: ww.cousinsmigrateurs.com

While in Panjim, I moved around on the bike with a local. Every lane is a one way. The lanes so small that if three vehicles tried to pass together, they would either not be able to move, or be soon admitted to a servicing garage. So the one ways make perfect sense. The Mandovi river borders Panjim on one side- its depth is immeasurable and it almost seems like an ocean creek. The evenings besides the river are magnificent. A walk past the glimmering floating restaurant and Caravela, the only live casino in the country, gives it a Venetian feel.

The small quaint double storey houses are straight out of the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale. Yellow, blue, red, orange, pink, purple are the colours that most of these short buildings are painted of, resembling a toy house and bearing severe Portugese influence. Cascading through the one-ways alongside these colourful dwellings was a treat to the eyes. It was as if Panjim had taken offence to all my cribbing about not being able to spend time on the beaches that it made me see and experience the best that it had to offer.

One evening I just sat alone next to Mandovi on the road to Old Goa and watched the river breathe life into the city. The next evening was spent with the D’Souzas. The two brothers are possibly the best cooks in Goa, but without a proper restaurant. The duo operates from their small house. Most of Old Goa’s lower and the middle class walk up to their house to savour some of the best Goan delights. I slurped mouthfuls of fish curry and rice. It’s a no-frills atmosphere- Plates of food, bottles of alcohol and plain plastic chairs in the 10X10 veranda, where five people sit and relish their meal. I slept that night, trying to conjure up all the images of Panjim.

The next day I had to leave for North Goa- to the beaches with a bunch of friends. So I spent two days with them, and I even enjoyed the two days. But now that I am back and want to recollect memories of the beaches, it’s somehow only Panjim that I can think of. I’m still trying to figure out what is it that attracts me to a city of crowds and concrete and not that of beaches and the monsoon greenery.