This was thirteen
monsoons ago. The rain crashed down on the corrugated roofs of what was office
then. On the street below, the puddles some became little rivulets and if it
kept pouring, it became a pond, till a time came when you had to think like a n
amphibian and swim.
At close to 6 pm,
one part of the day used to get over and another about to begin, as it happens
in the day cycle of a round the clock newsman, when reporters near the end of
the their day and the copy desk and production are stirring themselves to
commence their day. In the paper yours truly worked then and where this column
was conceived and christened, the desk and production team sat in Corlim, in
Old Goa a good 30 mins drive from the office in Panjim.
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And it is on these
daily journeys, on these monsoon evenings that the lingering romance of the
drive, starting from the waterlogged office, hugging the Mandovi, to Old Goa,
took shape. A quick pit-stop at Geeta bakery for picking up biscuits and cakes
for the boys in Corlim, was routine a habit encouraged by a former lovable, and
professorial editor of the paper.
The Old Goa road
was one clean stretch from Panjim to Old Goa. The clouds came in from the top
of the just opened secretariat in Porvorim over the river stretching on the
horizon towards the islands of Divar and Chorao. Through the wet windshield and
in pouring rain one of the most beautiful stretches of Goa was traversed, a
kaleidoscope of old homes, quaint bars, narrow winding roads and the river.
Some images still linger. Of people taking shelter in the foyer of the Sao
Pedro church. Of folks huddled in a tavern waiting for the rains to cease and
while they waited, drinks were ordered, having endless cups of tea at the stall
just outside the Corlim industrial estate, the monsoon walks inside the estate,
waiting for the pages to be set, in the old fashion way. Monsoons were enjoyed
to the brim because there was no pressure to take pictures, upload on Instagram,
and capture moments. All you did was wander, see, absorb and imbibe.
Last week, on an
absolute whim, I took off on the very road. A balmy afternoon was giving way to
much needed rain. The skies were darkening, as they used to those thirteen
monsoons away. It was past lunchtime and there was no reason not to hit the
much loved and never forgotten road.
It was a drive of
dejavu. Every frame of the monsoons of 2004 played back with riveting clarity.
Here I was, as if on that same journey to Corlim, the river calling out, the
water falling on the Mandovi, with the same symmetry and song. I stopped
involuntary at a little home past Ribandar, just after the saw mill and the
home of MP Shripad Naik.
Memory eludes the
name of the kind soul who had converted his home into a restaurant. He used to
slip into the boat moored on the banks of the river behind his house to catch
fish. By afternoon, the catch used to be handed over to his mother for lunch.
“Customers” like us used to sit, literally on his dining table and wolf down a
home cooked fish meal. The home was, alas shut. Time does change a few things.
A buddy who shares my quirkiness for re-exploring Goa and I then headed towards
Old Goa, looking for places to eat and chanced upon a new fangled Gazaali on
the left of the road, meters ahead of the Sao Pedro church. It calls itself a
very Goan place, has a Goan proprietor Dominic Pereira, but staff which is a
mix of Delhi and Darjeeling boys and decor which is ostentatious and not Goan.
But they’ve managed to keep the essence of Goan cuisine all right with a very
spicy and aromatic prawn biriyani and spicy mussels. Overall, it’s not bad for
a pit-stop if you happen to be there, but not a destination restaurant. The
highlight, though, are the absolutely frozen beer mugs in which your pint is
served.
The journey did not stretch to Corlim. As one drove back through
the same winding roads, you realised that there are very few roads in Goa,
which haven’t been touched by the ravages of time. And just as well that this
Old Goa, Ribandar Panjim road hasn’t faced the ignominy of getting widened or
modernised. Goa still slips back on this road and stands still. And if you can
go back to 2004 in 2017, on a road, it’s a rarity which should be treasured.
For someone who is still in awe of this land and yearns to get a stronger f
ooting each passing day, these journeys are affirmations of life changing
decisions of happiness.
