Confessions of a Goa-phile

I am completely, irreversibly, hopelessly in love. I am in love with Goa. It was love at first sight. My first sight of Goa dates back to some twenty years. I was doing my post graduation and had to attend a Conference in Hyderabad. Now Hyderabad is quite a distance from Goa but we (that is me and a couple of friends of mine) managed to convince our boss that the journey from Patiala to Hyderabad took three days by train instead of the actual thirty six hours and thus armed with extra three days of leave and a circular railway ticket for Delhi- Hyderabad- Bangalore- Goa- Bombay- Delhi we set forth on our journey. On the third leg of our journey we took the night train from Bangalore to Goa. My first memory of Goa is the sight of the magnificent Dudhsagar falls. The waterfall is set amidst thick forested landscape and the water plummets downwards with such force that it appears milky white from a distance thus giving it the picturesque name. The train stopped at Molem station and a number of vendors selling cold drinks (or so I thought) in buckets full of ice appeared. When they reached me I realized that they were selling beer. You can imagine the shock and awe that generated. I have encountered a guy selling country made pistols in a train when passing through Bihar but my first encounter with the business sense of the Goan is a far better memory. The sight of Dudhsagar fall through the train window with a bottle of chilled kingfisher in my hand was enough to make me fall in love with Goa and the bond has only strengthened since. And my first look at the Arabian Sea! People who have never seen the sea will find it difficult to imagine the feeling as it is better experienced than imagined. The experience of standing on a lonely beach, the feel of sand below your bare feet, the sound of crashing waves in your ears and the unending expanse of blue in front of your eyes while feeling the salt tinged breeze on your face is one which makes you feel at peace with yourself. And mind you, Goa is not all about blue waters, golden beaches and bikini clad babes. The languid air of relaxation, of taking things one at a time, the feeling of being away from the rat race generates a kind of Zen, a feeling which the Goan call susegad. Goa has a lot to offer to the bird watcher, the wildlife enthusiast, the angler or the adventure sports lover. A small state of a few hundred square kilometers, it has the restless sea, golden beaches, lazy rivers, wild waterfalls, Blue Mountains, green forests and fields of paddy. Wherever you go you will find the ubiquitous coconut palms, the beautiful houses with the sloping roofs and churches and chapels. Another constant presence is of the wine shops. Goa is the tipplers paradise but it is very rarely that you will find a bona fide Goan creating a scene after drinking. It is mostly the tourists (that too from my part of the country) who are responsible for the instances of drunken indiscipline. I keep reading about the ugly underbelly of Goa which involves drugs, pedophilia and sundry other crimes but I have encountered nothing of that sort in my ten odd visits. I am sure these problems exist but they are well hidden from the ordinary tourists like me. And the food! I could fill reams of paper describing the mouth watering delicacies on offer. But it will be sufficient to say that I put on around 2 kgs for every week I spend in Goa despite the rigorous physical exercise. In addition to the famous eateries many small unknown shacks and restaurants provide the best food in this world. If you are a vegetarian, you will survive but the true gastronomic pleasures await the carnivores. One day, I keep promising myself, I will buy a small house in Goa by the side of a river, ( I can’t afford a house on the beach anyway), install a state of art home theater, buy the DVDs of all the movies I have to see, plug in my world space receiver, and go live there permanently with all my books and crates of beer. There will be a spare bedroom for friends who would like to drop in. Would you like to be there, my friend?

Flowering Trees

Trees are essential for our survival. Even a class V student can tell you that. So what new can I write about them. I have no intentions of undermining their biological and environmental usefulness, but the ornamental aspects of trees appeal to me more. Take a look at trees around you. Will you find such vibrant shades of green anywhere else in nature? Try to appreciate the subtle differences between the various shades of green and you will discover an endless source of entertainment. And if we look at flowering trees, nothing in nature surpasses their beauty. Many a times on a hot summer afternoon when nothing else cools our eyes the only solace comes from the flaming orange blooms of Gulmohar. Another tree which flowers in the height of summers is Amaltas and the bright yellow blooms look very attractive indeed. The purple blooms of Jacaranda come later. One shrub which is a riot of colors throughout the year is Bougainvillea. One can devote an entire post describing the shades and colors of various varieties of Bougainvillea. Magnolia with its reverse temple like structure and mildly scented flowers is another favorite of mine. Chandni and Raat ki rani are not much to look at but they smell divine, particularly at night. One flowering tree which has beautiful flowers and smells equally good is Harsingar, also called Shefali. The small white flowers with orange stalks finds many a reference in the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore. And all the trees I have mentioned are found in cities all around us. Just take a close look at them and you will discover an perpetual source of delight, something to make the tedious job of surviving in a city more tolerable.

Birds in the city.

When I moved into this city some eighteen years back there were a lot of trees. The road I live on was lined by tall wild almond trees. As far as looks go, they were ugly trees with large leaves and large useless pod-like fruits which simply littered the street. A large number of common mynahs roosted on the trees, making a huge ruckus every morning and evening and peppering anyone unfortunate enough to be passing below the trees with generous amounts of bird-shit. Then the trees were cut down for widening the road and I started missing the clamor of birds which had made these trees their home. After a few years I noticed that the birds were back. The mynahs were now roosting on a mobile tower which had come up recently. On noticing carefully I saw that a pair of kites had made a nest on the highest platform of the tower and the rest of the tower was used by mynahs. They spent the night on the tower making the familiar racket every evening and flying away in the morning. This made me curious about the adaptability of birds in the changing urban environment and to celebrate the first monsoon showers of the month I decided to go bird watching in the city. I picked up my scooter and rode around early in the morning enjoying the mild showers. Now our city has very few patches of green left, most of the flora being represented by isolated trees by the road or small private gardens. The first birds I came across were a group of parakeets (I counted ten) perched on electric wires. The next sightings were two kites perched on a huge advertising hoarding. There were a number of pigeons and a few doves mostly on eaves and rooftops. The biggest surprise was a common grey hornbill which flew across the road and disappeared behind the few remaining trees. The commonest presence was of crows and mynahs. Some good Samaritans had left feed for birds on the sidewalk of the only flyover our city boasts of and scores of crows and mynahs were fighting over the spoils. A few years back these crows had almost disappeared but have made a strong comeback. Maybe the discontinuation of use of Declofenac (a pain killer) in domestic livestock which was threatening the vulture population has something to do with this resurgence in the number of crows as well. The best part was reserved for the last. As I reached home and was parking my scooter I spotted two brown rock chats and one bulbul on my gate. Not bad for a half hour drive. The only thing that makes me sad is that I don’t see sparrows any more. These little birds which were a part of our everyday existence when we were growing up have become rare indeed. Still, I am hopeful that like crows and vultures they will make a comeback and our children will get to see them.

Monsoon

Monsoon! The word has innumerable associations for me. It conjures up the smell of first drops of rain on the parched earth. It is associated with dark clouds, gusts of cool breeze, flashes of lightening and the roll of thunder. It reminds me of floating paper boats in the water logged streets and of wading through knee deep water on the way back from school. Memories apart, Monsoons are the life blood of our country. Everything, starting from ground water level to water level in reservoirs to industrial production and even the sentiment on Dalal Street is directly or indirectly impacted by the monsoon. So where are the rains this year? I read in the papers that rainfall is adequate in Southern, Central and Western parts of the country. Good for them. But what have the poor North Indians done to displease the rain Gods? All are looking expectantly at the sky everyday. And believe me, it is not only the farmers who are doing it. Everyone I meet nowadays from the Doctor to the Milkman is wishing for rains. The clouds did make an appearance a few times but went away without doing anything like in the movie Lagaan. So for the sake of everyone, let us all hope and pray for the rains. Let it rain so that the farmers can get on with their job; let it rain so all the water reservoirs fill up to the brim; let it rain so all of us get relief from the sweltering heat; let it rain so children may wade through knee deep water on the way back from school or better still get an unexpected holiday on account of a rainy day. Let it rain so that I take my bike and go for a long drive in the pouring rain; let it rain so that I catch up with ‘Singing in the Rain’ on my DVD late in the night; let it rain so that the family can sit together enjoying Kichri and Garam pakoras. So, all my friends please join me in beseeching ‘Indra Dev’ to have some mercy on us and bless our parched land with the bounty of rains.

Memories

My childhood was spent in various Railway Colonies of North India. My father’s job with Northern Railways involved getting transferred every few years. So we travelled from one place to another living in huge Bungalows (A legacy of Colonial days). Most of these were high ceilinged structures with lots of trees and unkempt gardens around. Insects, small animals and birds roamed around freely. Presence of frogs, toads, rats, mongoose, wildcats, hare or jackals and an occasional snake were taken as a normal occurrence. But one of my most vivid memories is the presence of birds. From the humble house sparrow to the regal peacock, there were all kinds of birds. In winters all kind of migratory birds flew in to roost in the tall trees. Egrets, cranes, storks and geese would fly in by the dozen, build untidy nest and raise their families. The noise they made and a peculiar acrid smell that was present everywhere is still fresh in my mind. In addition to the seasonal guests there were the regular residents. The ugly but stately vultures usually nested in the tallest of the trees. I understand that the population of vultures has dwindled alarmingly over the last decade and their colonies have become a rare site nowadays. But we did get to see more than our fair share of them. Peacocks made their nests on the ground among the thick bushes and searching them out to look at the large spotted eggs was a game for us. As a matter of principle, we never stole the eggs or caused any damage. Occasional exceptions to this rule were when we removed baby parrots from their nests and kept them as pets. I remember the unusual nests of the grey hornbills. The female bird would find a cavity in a tree trunk and make a nest of mud and guano imprisoning herself in it in the process. A small hole in this mud wall would enable her to peek out and accept whatever food her partner brought. The most interesting nests were of baya or the weaver birds. Usually clumped together on small trees the inverted bottle shaped nests would fall off after being abandoned after a years use and we used to carry them home much to the annoyance of my mother. The bright yellow male bayas were much better looking than the dowdy females. The feeding of birds provided hours of entertainment. I remember a bright colored Coucal (also called the crow pheasant) chasing down and eventually gobbling up a garden lizard. Immediately after monsoon showers, various birds would gather around the small holes from which swarms of winged termites emerged thus setting themselves up for a royal banquet. Egrets, mynahs, crows and even peacocks would gorge themselves silly on the bounty. The insects outnumbered the birds by far and the survivors would crowd round tube lights on the wall providing another feast for the geckos (wall lizards). With the rapid urbanization and dwindling of trees one would imagine that birds would vanish from cities forever but it is not so. Even now I come across birds everyday and see how they have adapted themselves to changing conditions. Will write more about them the next time.