-Brian Mendonça
Ever since I heard the name ‘Leda’ in a culinary
context, I was keen on knowing more about it.
Though I have come across many names in Goa, I have yet to come across a
person by that name. The name evoked the hoary myths of Greece and Rome.
As for the swan, it seemed to be the acme of beauty.
Floating gracefully on the water in perfect poise it had a prominently
lotus-like mien in facing the world. Nothing seemed to disturb its measured
gait.
How then were these two related? The reference is to a
famous poem by Irish poet W.B. Yeats titled, ‘Leda and the Swan.’ (1923) In this poem Leda, is ravished by the God Zeus
in the form of a swan.
Yeats had been a source of perennial joy for me. The
spell began from his ‘Lake Isle of Innisfree’ - which we learnt in my school
days - to the more serious ‘Easter 1916’ of the uprising in Dublin which I
teach in college.
‘Leda Seashells’
the restaurant on Siridao beach, lived up to our expectations. Proceeding to Cortalim it is 10 kms. from Panjim off NH 66. As if in keeping
with the general theme of the sea and Poseidon, the inviting archway on the
ground level opened to a universe of seashells of every hue. All, I assume,
collected from beaches in Goa, they were placed in dainty upright transparent
jars with ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ signs.
But this extravaganza of designer lighting, was
prefaced by a more rustic – and dark – journey.
The car park next to the restaurant basks under the illumination of a
high mast light, which seems a little out of place in the sleepy backwaters of
Siridao. Yet a short distance away is a huge banyan tree with its streaming
locks like sentinels guarding the place. You could sense the spirit of the tree
as your feet crushed the dried leaves strewn all around it. I felt I would like
my car to bask in the embrace of its breath and so I parked next to it. However
halfway to the restaurant I went back and removed the car, for fear of a flat
tyre.
As we sat in the edge of the sea looking down on the
water, the line of Innisfree echoed in the distance, ‘I hear[d] lake water
lapping with low sounds by the shore.’ There was a tranquillity that was
unmatched. In the distance the water changed colour from deep green to grey to
black. Overhead was the crescent moon which you could touch. To our right
seemed to be the twinkling lights of St. Jacinto island and further on Mormugao
bay.
However it struck me that all this beauty is also
vulnerable.
The live Goan music that was being performed needed to
be sung and preserved. The Konkani masala came on somewhat apologetically when
most of the guests had left.
It was a sobering thought to take back with me, ‘While
I stand on the roadway or on the pavements grey.’
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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, Panaji, Goa, on Sunday, 20 January 2019.
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