Brian Mendonça
-Are
you Goans?
-We
are Indians.
As we were about to enter the AC seating area on the
lower deck of the cruise boat, Deepak asked, ‘Are you Goans?’ His eyes twinkled
as he held the door open for us to clamber into the space. Inside the boat
numerous people were already seated. There were children, families, groups of
men, newly-married couples – and us. They seemed to be in a mood for fun. But
they did not know what to expect. Some
of them had vacant looks on their faces. Others looked tired as though the
cruise was the last thing on their bucket list for the day.
Ironically we seemed incongruous, and entirely out
of place.
‘Indians,’ I replied. A bit affronted by my
defensive answer, Deepak disappeared into the bowels of the boat to attend to
his duties.
I was surprised when he went to the front of the
seated crowd and assumed the avatar of an MC.
‘Bhaiyo aur beheno,’ he boomed.
He was evidently playing to the gallery. In the numbers game tourists
outnumbered Goans. It simply didn’t matter that we were on the Mandovi river in
the capital of Goa.
This was a land of syncretism. A land where the Portuguese influence was
felt the most, stretching over a period of no less than 400 years. Its forts,
its altars, its maands, and its hills
told a story of conquest and ceding. Yes, it was the Rome of the Orient. Could
we not offer even a slice of this to visitors?
Deepak was exhorting the crowd to indulge in ‘masti.’ And then the capitulation to the naach-gaana of Bollywood film songs. All
were urged to sing along through a Karoake act, with the transliterated Hindi
words projected in English on a screen.
Rather than becoming an immersion into the legacy of
Goa – like a sound and light show of Goa’s history -- the cruise, in its
offering, bordered on the banal. On an overcrowded stage couples took their turn
to shake a leg. Then there was a set only for the ladies. (‘No pictures or videos please!’) And
finally a set only for the men. By then the men had downed drinks available on
the top deck, and were in a mood for fun. They danced with abandon, shedding their
earlier inhibitions. Disco lights fretted feverishly above.
Of course there were four Goan dances of a few
minutes each. The koti dance was one.
The last was the Portuguese dance ‘O
malhao, malhao.’ The dancers seemed listless, unenthused by the charade.
Seeking refuge from the din, we headed to the top
deck to take in the view. As the raucous sounds of merriment and music floated
in the air from another boat I wondered what impression tourists would take
back with them.
I hope it was not that Goa was a place with a
permissive culture, with masti as its
middle name, pandering to their whims for thirty pieces of silver.
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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, St. Inez, Goa on Sunday 13th May 2018. Pix of Mandovi river at dusk on 8th May 2018, courtesy Brian Mendonca.
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