by Bella Comelo
bellacomelo@hotmail.com
My teenage vacations in Goa were the best vacations I could dream of. In mid-April,
immediately after my final examinations, my family would make a beeline for
Goa. We usually traveled by steamers with names like ‘St. Anthony’
and ‘Ratnagiri’. Since I was young and agile at that time, I was
assigned the task of running to the deck to spread a sheet to reserve our place
for the night. On the steamer, the hours passed by quickly, as we made new friends,
read a book or joined in the group singing of “Tambdde Rosa Tuje Pole”
etc. As we approached the Panjim dock, our spirits were always high –
it was a real homecoming. At the customs, we had to wait for ages as the Portuguese
customs officers dug into our baggage. I don’t recall what they were looking
for – perhaps they were just out to give the returning Goans a bit of
hell. The coolies were another lot to be dealt with. We had to bargain hard
with them to carry our baggage – thank God for the pull-along suitcases
we have now. For some time during the Goa blockade, we had to embark from the
steamer at Karwar, then take a cab to the border. At the border there was a
no-man’s-land which we had to cross on foot, in the hot blazing sun -
all this for the love of our vacation in Goa.
After cleaning out the cobwebs and settling down in our house, we would read, go for long, leisurely walks in the hills, eat lots of mangoes and jackfruits and enjoy the xitt-codi and fresh fish. There were always some weddings, feasts and salves (the 9-day novenas before the feast) going on in the churches or chapels around. Going for the salves was what we looked forward to. My neighbour and friend, Visitaçâo, never missed the salves. Unfortunately, by the time she ushered the chickens into the coop, served dinner to her old aunt and locked the two dozen windows of her huge house, we made it for only half the salve. So we had good reason to stand outside on the porch of the church and talk in whispers to the other girls, and giggle softly at our own jokes. We dared not talk or laugh loudly, as there were always the older righteous women to admonish us with, “Hem Devachem Ghor. Kiteak tumi hanstat? (This is God’s house, why are you laughing?)” The one time all of us girls made it a point to be in time and go inside the church was when a padre was preaching on the commandment ‘Thou shall not commit adultery.’ Oh well – it was like a sex education class.
Vespers were held the night before the feast. After the vespers there were the fireworks. Children waited eagerly to see the firework rooster and hen burning slowly amidst myriad colored sparks. Compared to the fireworks on the 4th of July in the USA, this was a little village show. On the feast day, we were always woken up with the rang-te-tang of the local band. After the two-hour long High Mass, we endured the heat as we walked in the procession. The men in their opmus (a long white tunic and a red cape) and dozens of priests would lead the procession. It was fun buying kaddio-boddios and man’nas at the fair.
The weddings were traditional, with people from the whole village being invited. This was also like a meat market, with parents watching to see if there were eligible bachelors or spinsters for their children. After a few pegs of feni it didn’t matter what tune the band played, the older couples did their own style of dancing. Once, I watched an older couple twirling around, oblivious of the fact that the band had stopped playing.
How could I forget the Mapuca Friday bazaar? On Fridays, we would go to Mapuca to buy provisions to take back to Bombay. Cashew nuts, dried mangoes, dried chillies, coconut vinegar, chonne, sausages, etc. My mom would be busy making pickle, balchao, doce, etc. which we would haul back to Bombay.
To cool ourselves, we would also go to the Pomburpa zor (spring) and maybe a few days to the Calangute beach. We would rent a small shack and cook fresh fish and rice - and oh, the moonlight walks on the beach! Now I cannot even locate the places where the cottages were before. Calangute has become such a great concrete jungle. The poor fisher folk have been displaced by rich developers.
Before we knew it, it was the end of May and time to pack and
get ready for our journey back to Bombay. To be in time for the steamer, we
had to get up at the crack of dawn and take the small canoe from Aldona to Panjim.
The Mandovi river looked calm and placid, with birds chirping to greet the new
day but alas, for us it was time to bid adieu to Goa and to our idyllic vacation.
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Bella Comelo lives in California with her husband, Ernest.
They have four children - Anil, Anita, Anibel and Anirudh. With a Master’s
degree from Mysore University and a B.Ed. from Bombay University, Bella works
for the Oakland Unified School District and has contributed articles to several
publications. She also volunteers on the Ethnic Council of the Oakland Diocese
and as a Board Member of the East Bay Alliance for Sustainable Economy.