Yearnings
I wish you were here dear
For the leaves fall
If only they were the color
The last i saw you in your overall
Anonymous
Ditzy and Glitzy
Ditzy woke up to glitzy cooing in her ears what was much reminiscent of the hoch deutsch that they grew up to in Grindelwald , 'Come Shatzi, there's a drizzle outside, lets go play'. She chose to playfully tug at glitzy's jammies and pull her close and plead, 'No. Lets snuggle up. It's too cold outside'. This pretty much summed up the two girls, one a sheltered swan, the other a sparring sparrow. The Goan coastline where their hippy parents, Rolf and Heidi had chosen to park their caravan provided an ideal haven for all their childish games. They had a friend circle that comprised of mostly anglo-indian kids bordering on the infantile, the redhaired, fun seeking all round goofball - jill, cute, cuddly and a little bit on the chubby side - bob, the effervescent, bubbly cheerful brunette julie, the little prankster who can only be best described as a bundle of joy - ashi, the part time crooner, part time freaky artisan, and mostly full time loafer of the pack, frank, and finally the center of both ditzy and glitzi'es life, the freckled faced, red haired, blue eyed boy of Goa, Pete Mascarenhas.
A boy almost never shares his toys whereas girls are part of a sisterhood, a sorority where they share all their joys, sorrows and pleasures with equanimity. Pete, on the other hand was a cool, outgoing sort of fellow who was always at the center of things and loved being part of the whole, exploring with much ease at times the overbearing community of Goans - the Anglo Indians, the fresh flush of immigrants from far off lands like Russia seeking warmer climes and the natives who were always overjoyed to see a boy with laughter in his twinkling eyes amidst them.
A boy almost never shares his toys whereas girls are part of a sisterhood, a sorority where they share all their joys, sorrows and pleasures with equanimity. Pete, on the other hand was a cool, outgoing sort of fellow who was always at the center of things and loved being part of the whole, exploring with much ease at times the overbearing community of Goans - the Anglo Indians, the fresh flush of immigrants from far off lands like Russia seeking warmer climes and the natives who were always overjoyed to see a boy with laughter in his twinkling eyes amidst them.
Goa
Go on Aphrodisia
Go Andalucia
Go on Amaretto
Go Go Andiamo
Go on Aphrodisia
Go Andalucia
Go on Amaretto
Go Go Andiamo
Vagabond
Goa can be best described as a translucent and transient paradise, a blob on the coast spotted with cocnout groves, sandy beaches, long stretch of roads that seems like they are romancing the arabian sea, fisherman hamlets, beach shacks, paddy fields, all night raves and parties especially on the new year' eve, summer fiestas, football tournaments, informal cricket matches on the field, adventure sports like kayaking, off shore diving, banana boating, paragliding, boogie boarding, wind surfing, casinos bob on the coastline as the government relaxes visa laws and prohibition, architecturals wonders like the Dona Paula, institutes like the IIT, mutli-national corporation in software and manufacturing have found a safe haven here, ships carrying ore to the docks, and oil to the waiting IOCL depots, the navy has a large establishment here, but most of all what people know Goa for is that its the ultimate party destination, a never ending fiesta of music, fun under the sun, shopping in flea markets, coastal cuisine, local brews like the King's beer and the most popular local brew the coconut and the cashew feni.
Grief, anguish, merriment, anxiety, utopia, sobriety, laughter and finally that rush of adrenaline in the form of goosebumps is best promised to the returning vagabond to Goa best when he is drunk on the good stuff, high on the good smokes, and on an empty sailor's stomach as he reminisces viraha - or separation when listening to the notes wafting on the dancing waves played to by the vagrant artisan from vihar on his shehnai - that double reed singing tunes of yesteryears lit by the golden setting sun on distant shores across the arabian sea in perhaps the dreamy Istanbul navigated deftly by the silly sailor across the Boisterous Bosphorous.
The first trip for a person to Goa typically starts with a couple of mates knocking loudly on the door late at night and then more arriving unannounced with a unanimous, 'Lets go to goa buddy. Pack your things'. And like the request is the response which typically is a surprised, 'What?. Now, at this time of the night. Go away, I have tonnes of things to take care of. ', Goa, like a showman magician showgirl always manages to pull at your heart strings with some surprise that she has managed to sneak in for that sleight of hand trick that leaves you baffled and curious at the same time.
Goa is also a shopper's delight, especially if you are intrerested in shopping for knick knacks and mementos ranging from chimes, trinkets, and for the more adventurous, liberal, artsy and young at heart junta - bongs, chillums and hookahs. The little things in life take on a whole new meaning here as one explores the farmer's market selling wares like mascarpone and mozarella cheese fresh from organic farms near Poona, strawberries and other assorted cherries and berries from the hills near lonavala, khandala, panchgani to mention a few hill stations, new age grain like quinoa, cous cous and other things to go with it like the legumes and lentils, and finally that true gold of the Indies, spices and coasts from the Malabar coast stretching all the way up to God's own Country in the south. Only a place that can make a Xacuti out of something simply fowl like Chicken can conjure such a bizarre basket of goods.
The first purchase for those travelling on a shoestring budget is typically a pair of loafers, a bermuda shorts, and a t-shirt in that order. For after having soiled your clothes by jumping in the ocean with your fellow lost travllers, there is nothing like a change to beach wear to melt into the scenery. After blending in the surroundings, if time permits, and if the mind allows itself to veer away from spending too much time just running barefoot like wild stallion holding on to those new loafers in hand, one is bound to be distracted by the many shops selling books discarded by the compulsive travellers. Books have a weird quality of gaining in value and degrading in upkeep with time as and when the parchment they are written on fades more and more until its indistinguishable from an unrolled bamboo twig. If you wander off the beaten path until you are completely lost and resemble the talking siberian husky mishka in central park new york, then you might discover the aurobindo ashram and find yourself buying exotic wealth collected from the bottom of the ocean bed like spirulina globules. Items like these even though they are bought enthusiastically for superior health, find themselves as additional carry on items on carry on flight baggage to be disposed off to far off relatives in distant corners of the world. Its one way of shedding the guilt derived from all that first Goan pleasure trip.
Grief, anguish, merriment, anxiety, utopia, sobriety, laughter and finally that rush of adrenaline in the form of goosebumps is best promised to the returning vagabond to Goa best when he is drunk on the good stuff, high on the good smokes, and on an empty sailor's stomach as he reminisces viraha - or separation when listening to the notes wafting on the dancing waves played to by the vagrant artisan from vihar on his shehnai - that double reed singing tunes of yesteryears lit by the golden setting sun on distant shores across the arabian sea in perhaps the dreamy Istanbul navigated deftly by the silly sailor across the Boisterous Bosphorous.
The first trip for a person to Goa typically starts with a couple of mates knocking loudly on the door late at night and then more arriving unannounced with a unanimous, 'Lets go to goa buddy. Pack your things'. And like the request is the response which typically is a surprised, 'What?. Now, at this time of the night. Go away, I have tonnes of things to take care of. ', Goa, like a showman magician showgirl always manages to pull at your heart strings with some surprise that she has managed to sneak in for that sleight of hand trick that leaves you baffled and curious at the same time.
Goa is also a shopper's delight, especially if you are intrerested in shopping for knick knacks and mementos ranging from chimes, trinkets, and for the more adventurous, liberal, artsy and young at heart junta - bongs, chillums and hookahs. The little things in life take on a whole new meaning here as one explores the farmer's market selling wares like mascarpone and mozarella cheese fresh from organic farms near Poona, strawberries and other assorted cherries and berries from the hills near lonavala, khandala, panchgani to mention a few hill stations, new age grain like quinoa, cous cous and other things to go with it like the legumes and lentils, and finally that true gold of the Indies, spices and coasts from the Malabar coast stretching all the way up to God's own Country in the south. Only a place that can make a Xacuti out of something simply fowl like Chicken can conjure such a bizarre basket of goods.
The first purchase for those travelling on a shoestring budget is typically a pair of loafers, a bermuda shorts, and a t-shirt in that order. For after having soiled your clothes by jumping in the ocean with your fellow lost travllers, there is nothing like a change to beach wear to melt into the scenery. After blending in the surroundings, if time permits, and if the mind allows itself to veer away from spending too much time just running barefoot like wild stallion holding on to those new loafers in hand, one is bound to be distracted by the many shops selling books discarded by the compulsive travellers. Books have a weird quality of gaining in value and degrading in upkeep with time as and when the parchment they are written on fades more and more until its indistinguishable from an unrolled bamboo twig. If you wander off the beaten path until you are completely lost and resemble the talking siberian husky mishka in central park new york, then you might discover the aurobindo ashram and find yourself buying exotic wealth collected from the bottom of the ocean bed like spirulina globules. Items like these even though they are bought enthusiastically for superior health, find themselves as additional carry on items on carry on flight baggage to be disposed off to far off relatives in distant corners of the world. Its one way of shedding the guilt derived from all that first Goan pleasure trip.
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