I am always amused by the non Mumbaikar’s fascination for Goa. Take a Dilli-wala or an NRI from London or Hong Kong to the palm fringed state and the first thing they want to do is get a piece of its action-buy a plot of land, build a Spanish hacienda and eat squid paella. They are just not prepared for the Goan onslaught on their psyche!
We Mumbaikars of course have a more considered approach. We love Goa of course for all the right reasons-the palm fringed beaches, the cuisine, the churches and the music; but for us it’s not a new discovery but is and always be the logical next stage in the continuum of our Juhu- Bandra experience.
Having grown up in Juhu, brought up by a series of Konkani-speaking Goan ayahs and schooled in Bandra, at a convent run by a formidable claque of nuns from an Irish order, you could say that I have been preparing for Goa all my life.
The revolving door of maids we had — Alice, Rosie, Lily, Mary, brought with them an invaluable entrée into the world of midnight masses, coconut-based curries, Bible-studies and Sunday dressing up for Church.
Through them we were afforded a toe-hold in to the world of three Hail Mary’s, funeral processions, confession, and images of Christ on the Cross tattooed on gnarled hands.
In school, though we were excluded from Bible studies and sent instead to Moral Science, a gaggle of Catholic teachers made sure we were schooled in the exigencies of heaven and hell and the Ten Commandments.
There was Holy Water in the chapel that we would liberally sprinkle before every exam, pictures of the Mother Mary that would peep out of our school calendars, and of course the rich Goan cuisine we would taste from the Tiffins of our Catholic friends: pork vindaloo, Brinjal pickle, and guava jelly.
And of course there were Goan boys to have crushes on from the neighbouring boy’s school! Goan boys with names like Derek and Shawn and Christopher. Always a little more with-it, and up on the latest fashions and music, with their penchant for pop songs and football, and sideburns and Elvis Presley. They made the Hindu boys look pale in comparison-and in any case, girls brought up on a steady stream of Mills and Boons were naturally more attracted to boys called Mark than Mohinder!
And if all this was not enough to prepare us for Goa-there was Juhu in our lives. Juhu with its clean beaches and heavenly sea hugging the coast and its open skies. Juhu where we would build sand castles, swim all day, ride our cycles, or collect sea shells or watch the most rivetting sunsets. Innocent un-spoilt Juhu: no five star hotels, no seedy bars and night clubs, no famous film stars. Just a stretch of thatched roof cottages, a picture post card beach and the inviting sea before the city’s sewage had rendered it dangerous to swim in.
So you see why Mumbaikars approach Goa slightly differently from their more arriviste neighbours. As far as we’re concerned Goa is nothing but the Bandra we once knew with parts of the old Juhu thrown in!
s_malavika@dnaindia.net
