(a loose leaf flown from the pages of my autobiography...(
October 6 1975 ....7 pm
Tuem-Pernem....the very name of that magical place churns up emotions beyond my control...
`Rosa`...a village- belle gives birth to a chubby-baby...all of 3 kg and
a smile to die for...exactly when the Chapel Bell tolls for the Angelus...a mile away.....3 firecrackers rip the night to Herald the birth of
a little Libran. Granpa, way back in the city dreams of his pa yellin
at him...`I`ve sent him...ive sent you the one`....
granpa ...high up on the coconut tree....plucking coconuts...drinking toddy....
saying good morning to God...at 7 in the evening....still some sunlight..
Bananas and jaggery-coated sweetmart to the neigbours....sweeten their tongues.....says granny....`this young `uns` chatter will be sweeter...
Pernem.....high in the hills of Goa...where crickets never cease their
fiddling....cockerels never stop yoodeling.....couples never stop cuddling...
Pernem....how I used to love to sit high up on the branches of the red cashew tree...and watch quitely with facination as the Peacock
decended on the shed-roof.....
or shudder to think of that story Rosa told me when as a child
roaming that hill, she was chased up that very same tree by a
wild-boar...how she sat huddled up there praying for divine intervention...parched throat....trembling hands.....praying lips....
mother waited there for over 3 hours.....and the wild-boar waited too...finally it started to ram the tree......mother nearly fell down...
the timely boom of grand-uncles...shot-gun....nailed the beast to the ground...
mother feasted that night on the crumby flesh of her antagonist...
a strange smile played on her lips.while the red embers of the hearth
warmed the cold room...
mother doesnt eat beef....but she goes crazy over wild-boar....
She thinks i`m crazy to stay green....but she can speak her mind....
I dont mind....
and then I used to draw water from the square-little well....its musty taste still in my mouth....
how I wailed when 2 leeches stuck to my leg in the muddy pond...
granpa poured salt on them....only then they detatched and died a slow death....how i pitied them then....
and hide-n-seek on the attic....raw mangoes stoned from high.....till
one stone bounced back from a branch and hit above my eye...
bloody face....brother and i race...shoutin out to mamapai...
Rosa cried bitter tears..thinkin i would die....last thing i remember...
ice-cubes scarlet red.....and i`m sleeping on a hospital bed....
Rosa nearly became mad....her first born....in blood and dust clad...
i still bear the mark of the naughty stone on my left-eyebrow...its here to stay..it`ll nver go..
will i ever forget the scissor i threw at lil sisters leg after readin TARzaN KING OF THE APES?
or the zingy taste of the kokum juice squashed out from fresh fruit?
or the Sunday that i crossed the shallow creek to reach the chapel on yonder hill , unmindful of my new shoes....
or the day i played matador on PACKLO...our black-buffalos back...hanging on to his horns for dear life...and yet again the next day standin on the furrow of the plough as Packlo along with TICKLO{Tthe on ewith the dimple)...ploughed our ancestral fields...
Daddy had guts to cross the river, ferrying his big scooter in that narrow canoe....though now he has shown me the door....and i knew just where to go....he had said , you`ll grow..and grow i did and how!....I`ve gone the other way dad...you know...
and what about that teenage crush....the shepards daughter..?
she must be married now...girls marry young there...and have lottsa kids...8 is too lil`.
and the guest from bombay who set fire to the wood-pile in the backyard...after auntycurtly refused his indecent proposal....23 gallons of water to douse that inferno...but not enoughto douse the rascals passion....till granpa thought him a lesson....
and lil JUJU...kid brother...always made you cry , did`nt I?...didnt even say goodbye...must`ve cursed me so i die....
or the bicycle ride down in the Baga-valley....swooping down like the gliding vultures overhead.....preying on dead cattle thrown behind the cemetary.....human cousins ...thrown by the dozen....just outside
the peaceful sanctaury ...or should i say mortuary?
this is my story....
now i live in the city...and all that is history....though
I still love to go there...when my mind starts to worry!
October 6 1975 ....7 pm
Tuem-Pernem....the very name of that magical place churns up emotions beyond my control...
`Rosa`...a village- belle gives birth to a chubby-baby...all of 3 kg and
a smile to die for...exactly when the Chapel Bell tolls for the Angelus...a mile away.....3 firecrackers rip the night to Herald the birth of
a little Libran. Granpa, way back in the city dreams of his pa yellin
at him...`I`ve sent him...ive sent you the one`....
granpa ...high up on the coconut tree....plucking coconuts...drinking toddy....
saying good morning to God...at 7 in the evening....still some sunlight..
Bananas and jaggery-coated sweetmart to the neigbours....sweeten their tongues.....says granny....`this young `uns` chatter will be sweeter...
Pernem.....high in the hills of Goa...where crickets never cease their
fiddling....cockerels never stop yoodeling.....couples never stop cuddling...
Pernem....how I used to love to sit high up on the branches of the red cashew tree...and watch quitely with facination as the Peacock
decended on the shed-roof.....
or shudder to think of that story Rosa told me when as a child
roaming that hill, she was chased up that very same tree by a
wild-boar...how she sat huddled up there praying for divine intervention...parched throat....trembling hands.....praying lips....
mother waited there for over 3 hours.....and the wild-boar waited too...finally it started to ram the tree......mother nearly fell down...
the timely boom of grand-uncles...shot-gun....nailed the beast to the ground...
mother feasted that night on the crumby flesh of her antagonist...
a strange smile played on her lips.while the red embers of the hearth
warmed the cold room...
mother doesnt eat beef....but she goes crazy over wild-boar....
She thinks i`m crazy to stay green....but she can speak her mind....
I dont mind....
and then I used to draw water from the square-little well....its musty taste still in my mouth....
how I wailed when 2 leeches stuck to my leg in the muddy pond...
granpa poured salt on them....only then they detatched and died a slow death....how i pitied them then....
and hide-n-seek on the attic....raw mangoes stoned from high.....till
one stone bounced back from a branch and hit above my eye...
bloody face....brother and i race...shoutin out to mamapai...
Rosa cried bitter tears..thinkin i would die....last thing i remember...
ice-cubes scarlet red.....and i`m sleeping on a hospital bed....
Rosa nearly became mad....her first born....in blood and dust clad...
i still bear the mark of the naughty stone on my left-eyebrow...its here to stay..it`ll nver go..
will i ever forget the scissor i threw at lil sisters leg after readin TARzaN KING OF THE APES?
or the zingy taste of the kokum juice squashed out from fresh fruit?
or the Sunday that i crossed the shallow creek to reach the chapel on yonder hill , unmindful of my new shoes....
or the day i played matador on PACKLO...our black-buffalos back...hanging on to his horns for dear life...and yet again the next day standin on the furrow of the plough as Packlo along with TICKLO{Tthe on ewith the dimple)...ploughed our ancestral fields...
Daddy had guts to cross the river, ferrying his big scooter in that narrow canoe....though now he has shown me the door....and i knew just where to go....he had said , you`ll grow..and grow i did and how!....I`ve gone the other way dad...you know...
and what about that teenage crush....the shepards daughter..?
she must be married now...girls marry young there...and have lottsa kids...8 is too lil`.
and the guest from bombay who set fire to the wood-pile in the backyard...after auntycurtly refused his indecent proposal....23 gallons of water to douse that inferno...but not enoughto douse the rascals passion....till granpa thought him a lesson....
and lil JUJU...kid brother...always made you cry , did`nt I?...didnt even say goodbye...must`ve cursed me so i die....
or the bicycle ride down in the Baga-valley....swooping down like the gliding vultures overhead.....preying on dead cattle thrown behind the cemetary.....human cousins ...thrown by the dozen....just outside
the peaceful sanctaury ...or should i say mortuary?
this is my story....
now i live in the city...and all that is history....though
I still love to go there...when my mind starts to worry!
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