-Brian Mendonça
St. Andrews church, Vasco always towered over our existence since the
time we were living in Vasco in the late-eighties. I used to proudly announce
to visitors that it was built in 1564 – the year Shakespeare was born. St.
Andrew’s church was our claim to Elizabethan history even if we did not come
within kissing distance of the Thames.
Indeed our lives were ruled by the 8.15 Sunday Mass in English. After
that a dosa at Annapurna was de rigueur. Then we used to go to the market to buy fruit
and fish. Dad used to personally inspect the catch of the day and bargain for
the best price with the fisherwomen in Konkani. Then we used to drive up with
Queenie making pulao, chicken curry and salad. While lunch was being cooked,
Dwayne used to lend me a hand to wash the car. We used to all gather for lunch,
discussing recent events and listening to music on the radio.
With the new academic session last June we moved to our new home in
Porvorim. But we have not lost touch with the rhythms of Vasco. Six years back
when we came back as a family from Delhi, dad threw open his doors for us. We
thought it would be an interim arrangement but we stayed with him and looked
after him till the last.
I grew up with the sound of the trains hooting from Vasco railway station
and the sound of the planes screeching overhead. So it is with a sense of
nostalgia that we made a trip there on a Sunday evening and breathed in the
sights and sounds of a place we once lived in.
As we moved around every storekeeper and tradesman greeted us with love. Atmaram,
the barber reached forward to grab my hand, Vishwa Surya -- the newspaper
vendor – discussed my latest article in the Weekender, and the Gujarati
stationer gave me a discount on my 2018 diary. When I shared the recent events
with them, they listened in simple, sincere honesty. They saluted my dad’s life
and endorsed my move North.
A year before I put together my poems for my debut collection Last Bus to Vasco (2006), Fr. Nascimento
Mascarenhas, who was serving in Vasco parish, suggested I write about the bells
of St. Andrews. Though he passed on last week, I hope he is reading this
wherever he is:
The Bells
of St. Andrews
- Brian Mendonça
The dazzling white
of St. Andrew’s Church
Its tolling bells
remind me of who I am
Those whom we love
Sleep nearby
Red mud, white stars
Blossoms of gold
The rising sun
slants through the
eastward church door
shuffling in for the 6.30 a.m.Mass
At 7 the Goa Express trudges in
to Vasco station
Its horn coinciding with
the final blessing.
Egrets over the marsh
reeds lisp to coconut trees
Steeple over the rooftops
River Zuari beyond
Place of origin
Final destination
White meets blue
in the liquid sky.
Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, St. Inez, Goa on Sunday, 14 January 2018. Pix courtesy pinterest.
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