Dearest Marykutty,
I am in Goa and I think coming here was one of the best calls I made in life. The monsoons – and the unseasonal showers that followed – have drenched the place and I am not as itinerant as I would like to be. Grounded most days with an eidolon of warmth who loves me no end and feeds me whenever I am hungry, I don’t have to tell you that I am purring content. But I think of you every time I see something new; I know how you spend hours in the balcony of your beautiful home in Indiranagar just gazing out the streets, watching life – how we met even. Since the beaches – where most tourists head to – have become quite clinical with some of the secluded stretches taken over by gnarly dogs or immobile, cud-chewing kine, I have decided to spend most of my time in the old Latin quarters of Panjim, roaming the backstreets and alleys overdosing on food and heritage.
Selfie-taking paroxysms and general gaga
The facades of the Portuguese remnants are mostly pastel-hued which makes them easy on the eyes and seldom making me blink even those rare occasions the sun is out. The people are clothed, somewhat, making them look like people and I confess, I am happy to get the occasional attention from a kind soul or two even though I prefer watching them from a distance in their paroxysms of selfie-taking and going gaga over the garniture every house has in excess that some are even left outside the gates. I was eyeing one outside this quaint Indo-Portuguese house in Fontainhas, also called Goa’s ‘Latin Quarter’ which flanks the ancient Ourem Creek, when this kind man called me in.
I don’t know much about him having just met him but his humble abode is a beehive of activity – many people congregate here in the evenings and talk about a lot of things including culture, festivals and of course the beaches and re-painting schedules. The Portuguese had set down a law that every house must be painted post monsoon – a law followed diligently by the locals even today with neighbours lending each other a hand.
Come here, let me race you up the Altinho
While I suspect the Goans are generally prone to overegging, especially about their past, giving them a lazy ear is still fascinating. Apparently Fontainhas, which extends from the creek in the east to the Altinho Hills to the west, was founded in the early 1800s by Antonio de Sequeira who built one of the biggest coconut plantations in the region. Then an epidemic happened which made the Portuguese government shift their headquarters from Old Goa to Panjim. The Altinho Hills, a heritage zone today, is a plush colony with both the chief minister and the bishop having residences atop it. The Maruti Temple, with lot of red and orange overlooking the sparkling blue Mandovi River, is also here. There are rows of parallel steps that go all the way up, with rimose nosing, pink walls and yellow balusters. If you were here we would race each other all the way up.
The church of immaculate – and not so – conceptions
Agnostic as we are – with some even calling us narcissists – it is difficult not to wonder about god when you are here. Equally the piety of the people, who talk about benisons like every day, it is also the gothic imposition of age-old churches that does it. The church of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception built in 1541, rises from the heart of the city, like a multi-tiered cake with its baroque frontispiece and rococo walls. During my aimless straying I have walked into honeymooning couples making out in the many crannies here probably gunning for a not so immaculate conception. Despite me lingering interestedly they continued without as much a second glance. Reminded me of our own passion-filled days and nights when I would clamber up the walls of your house. Remember how once we even nearly toppled over that food dispensing contraption and had to gobble up all the splattered grub before we were caught. How hard we laughed afterwards!
The abode of crucified Christ with open eyes – St Sebastian’s
My favourite is the little chapel of St’ Sebastian’s across the street from where I stay. During the daytime, I sometimes repair into this whitewashed relic which has some of the last testaments to the Goan Inquisition – where those newly converted into Catholicism and suspected of practising their former religions, were questioned to find the extent of their transgressions. The crucified Christ here is a rare one – has his eyes open and we have staring matches when no one is watching. This was, from what I heard from the informed visitors to the house, to strike fear into the hearts of the heretics who were brought here. I like to prowl around here especially after dusk imagining screams and sharp cries; a few times I have even heard a meek meow which made think some of those who were sentenced to death had returned in a different avatar. I do not hound away in haste nor do I shudder in fear but think of those long nights you would hold my hand when I would bare my innermost fears to you. And you would tell me everything will be alright with an erumpent excitement, absolutely sthenic despite your own sufferings. Marykutty, you have been an inspiration for my travels even though you are not here yourself.
Cheers to an era that refuses to go by
One day when you are better and can make it I will take you around some of the more tucked away quarters and quainter sights, explore in detail the dilapidated buildings before they cave in from neglect, imagine the stories behind faded shop signs and debate which is hotter – the Xacuti or the Recheado. Passing by Dr Fonseca’s Laboratory I wondered whether there was really a Ms Fonseca inside – the buxom belle in Mario Miranda’s cartoons. And sometimes I would hang around, the disgusting swain I am. To say, I am missing you. And hopefully you can come by in February in time for the Fontainhas Festival; from what I heard from the house, it will be on next year probably a bit muted than the earlier editions. That is when this colourful Latin district becomes more colourful, with wall paintings and impromptu street art, one big art gallery. In short, the cheery quarter will become cheerier and with you around, it will be cheeriest for me.
Hope you make it, Marykutty.
Love, Pacolo
Marykutty
Pacolo
PS 1: I have still kept the one you gave me when we met last time. Do you still look the same? Send me one whenever you have time.
PS2: Sending you a recent one of mine, with the kind man who took me in after spotting me trying to gobble up a lizard from the old plant vase he kept outside his house.
