Sitting on the balcony
in one of the
labyrinths of Anjuna,
the flute player from
Britain played a mellow
tune which pierced
the silence of the inky
night. Next to him was a
young woman who took
her mouth organ out and matched the tune, a beautiful
jugalbandi with no frills. Just one of the random images
during forays to Anjuna. They come to Goa as the “season”
ends and the monsoon begins and spend four months on
the quiet, going for long walks in the rain, mediating and
playing music.
There are countless others, who do farming, grow organic
fruit, make sausages, run small breakfast places and play in
small bands. Still others, (and yes they do have permits to do
so) run hotels, organise walks, heritage trails, photography
workshops and even run designer stores. They do live off the
land but take very little from it. Yes they are foreigners, some
of them are even Russian (as if that’s a bad word) but they
still come to Goa helping it retain its essence. On one side
life in Goa went on in the little towns and villages, steeped
in traditions, customs and revelry and on the other visitors
from across the world made this their homes for a period
living by the sea with their music and partying and yes their
chillums and their puffs. Then there was hedonism but a
variety which did not intrude or disturb, it wasn’t cheap, it
wasn’t oppressive and it didn’t take lives.
Locals rented their homes out happily, without having to
bother about police verifications. There were no raids, no
massage parlours and no prostitution.
As one more season has officially ended, can we just
step back and very quietly acknowledge the debt that we
owe the foreign tourists who landed in Goa. Yes, they lived
in caves, yes they did the raves, yes they smoked up, yes
they at times messed up (don’t we all) but they loved the
land and not once did they insult it, tarnish it or damage
it. They didn’t cut our hills or build homes in paddy fields.
They didn’t destroy our forests or take over the lands of
our comunidades, they didn’t run illegal night clubs that
are fronts for drugs and frustration. And yes they were all
ambassadors. It is their word that launched the proverbial
hundred ships – actually charters to Goa. They filled our
hotels and resorts and they made the shacks, not just places
for food but islands where happiness was cooked.
When many of them grew older they decided to live
where their hearts wanted, and Goa it was. They gave up
their lives in Britain and elsewhere, spent their savings and
shifted businesses with valid papers. And yet many of them
were taken for a ride, made abreast with rules with some
fine prints not disclosed, leaving many of them struggling
with notices from the Enforcement Directorate and other
authorities.
The tragedy, and we haven’t noticed yet, Goa is losing its
dearest and most valuable friends. They are the differential
between Goa and Karwar or Chiplun or even Kerala, placing
Goa, not just on the permanent international map but in
the stream of international consciousness.
Take for instance Les and Sheila Medcroft who run the
Oceanic resort in Palolem. They have truly given everything
up to be in Goa but faced a torrid time being harassed by
forces they do not wish to speak about. Norman and Carole
who run Casa Susegad in Loutolim have merged into the
foliage of this lovely village with their quaint villa home
stay. For them, this is home and not the UK.
And what do we say of Jim and Susan, who are more at
home in Miramar than Manchester or Skipton. They arrive
twice a year, (and have been doing this for more than seven
years) laden with goodies for their friends in Goa including
a family that lives on the streets on the DB marg. They have
paid for the heart operations of one of their children, they
have taken many like them back to England and given them
work lives for absolutely no personal benefit.
As we sing the eulogy on the near death of Goa as it
once was for tourists, and not the cosmetic PR driven spin
pitching Goa’s tourism through beautification projects,
beach cleaning and widening roads, and sea planes and
flying hot air baloons, that Goa tourism has now become,
the melody can be brought back if we go back to listening
to the sound of the flute and the mouth organ in the middle
of the night and spend time with those who still come here
and getting to know them.
To Norman and Carol and Les and Sheila and to Jim
and Susan, thank you. In our race to build five star hotels,
amusement parks and convention centres, let us not forget
them, they who made Goa become a better Goa. They who
love this land more than some so called countrymen who
kill our land and set muscle men and bouncers against our
own people.
54 years after our so called ‘liberation’, let us recognise
who our friends really are.
