Salcette never ceases to amaze me. Having lived there for seventeen years, every time I go back it’s like a homecoming of sorts…..for Salcette grows on you till you can’t figure out where it ends and where you begin. Living in Panjim has all its modern cosmopolitan elements. But when the heart is left somewhere in a small village in Salcette, it is quite another matter. As I drove through the meandering roads of Raia, it felt like a journey back in time, or perhaps in the deep recesses of the subconscious, as if a part of me had been aching for the solitude and repose that lies like a gift, waiting to be discovered, in these back of beyond lanes, where Goan culture still prevails, naturally and effortlessly, undisturbed by frolicking tourists or commercial activities.
I called up a friend of mine and we decided to have a quick bite at Mickey’s. The sumptuous morsel of Chicken do Piazza were interrupted pleasantly by the singer, Emannuel, with everyone clapping to his old classics.
I had come there directly from a wedding in a long frilly Cinderella dress, and as I walked down the steps to the beach, my slipper came off along a ragged plank. My friend, a perfect Salcette gentleman picked it up and gallantly put it on my foot, much to the amusement and cheer of the crowd. This was Salcette on a cool November starry starry night!
As I sat on the beach with friends, slowly losing myself in the waves splashing on my willing feet, I remembered just last week I had visited a Discotheque in North Goa. The place had been full of suffocating smoke, loud blaring trance music, a lot of people and a lot of booze, two Caucasian women dancing on stage and a lot of unnaturally induced testosterone. The pleasant time that I was looking for, was somewhere lost in sleaze and the lust in the eyes of few misbehaving men. Well, this wasn’t the Goa I had known for last seventeen years.
The Goa I know has all the romance and gallantry of a fairy tale, of evenings spent in company of good friends, of spirits that only help you open up your heart to share confidences, of children dancing spontaneously in restaurants by the beach, of slow and languorous Sundays spent in writing and introspection, of sharing the “reciprocity of tears” with a dear neighbor, of walks in the green fields, the fascinating local heritage site, the intriguing history of the village Church, the sounds of the village tiatr and the squeals of ensuing laughter and the numerous ghost stories, or just sitting under a mango tree.
And yet, what is being marketed as Goa is the pub and discotheque culture with its ugly combination of drugs, prostitution and sleaze. So what is uniquely Goan, which we are completely failing to depict? It’s the Goan heritage, its culture, its ballads, its mandos, its susegaad way of life in quiet quaint picturesque villages. It’s the sheer poetry of a life lived amidst nature and the repose it gives. As I snuggled into myself, I felt complete peace in the slow music playing at Mickey’s and the crescendo of waves. Thank God the Goa I know is still as alive, seething and breathing in Salcette, just as it is in my heart forever.
