THE NOSTALGIA OF MONTE DE GUIRIM

THE NOSTALGIA OF MONTE-DE-GUIRIM
By Tony Felix Fernandes (Student 1953 to 1964)
A nostalgic tribute to my Alma Mater,

St. Anthony's High School,Monte-de-Guirim, Bardez, Goa

Nestled on an idyllic hilltop known as Monte de Guirim, St. Anthony’s High School still sits firmly perched on it, in all its glory. It has been a model institution imparting education in the English medium for more than half a century. It is an Alma Mater to thousands of students that have passed through its portals, have been successful in their chosen careers and have spread far and wide all across the globe. They have perhaps their own stories of nostalgic moments to relate. The school was well-known for the prowess of its students not only academically but also in sports like football, field hockey, volley ball and basketball.

It is still competently run by the Capuchin Friars of the Order of Franciscan Minor. During its heyday, among the other things it was famous for, it was perhaps the only school that had its own bakery and its own power generator. It had its own fine doctor, a Friar, well-known for his medicinal cures for snake bites. Over the years it has continued to set a fine example in school management. Known for its excellent teaching staff, it produced results of a high rank in the final examinations at the Higher Secondary Level. The Friars were strict and maintained a high degree of discipline.

The school has been well-known all across Goa, others parts in India and abroad as a prime centre of education. It had at one time over 700 boarders. Other students, called day-scholars, walked up the hill to the school along the various meandering paths through the cashew fruit trees from all sides of the hill. Boys from around the nearby villages of Guirim, Sangolda, Canca, Parra, Verla, Saligao, Porvorim, Succorro, Perxet and Bastora attended this school. Other commuted on cycles from as far away as Anjuna and Siolim. They would usually keep their cycles at the quaint little shop or one of the houses down at the base of the hill and walked up the rest of the steep way to the school. From the north and west side we could use the staggered steps. And from the east we could use either the spiraling road or the steep straight short-cut to the top. Day-scholars usually carried their packed lunch with them, known locally as “buthi” and kept them in a special lunch room. The man in charge of this room would lock it at the start of morning session and open it at lunchtime. He was also in charge of the general cleanliness of the school premises. The day-scholars took their lunch boxes and headed up to the taller parts of the hill-side to eat under the cool shade of the cashew trees with an everyday picnic atmosphere!

Those were the days when it was a boys’ school only. Co-education was introduced much later. As I recall my days as a student there from the mid-fifties to the mid-sixties, this school had classes beginning from Preparatory Junior, Prep.Senior, followed by Standard I to XVIII. The High Secondary Examination Passing Class was then known as Matric. As I admire and reminisce its glory today far away from home, it seems that schooling was fun and hard work too at the same time. The school year began on the 6th of June, ending the last term in early April.

The day began with an early dawn Angelus followed by Mass at the Chapel of St. Francis of Assisi at the apex of the sylvan surroundings. After breakfast the classes began with the Assembly in the corridor of the main building. One of the students would lead in singing of the school hymn “Come Holy Ghost” with all the boys joining in. The boys then quickly proceeded to the respective classes. During the first subject period which was always invariably English, mild amusement and distraction was provided by the late-comer who sometimes arrived panting for breath, with a school bag slung over his shoulder. 

With the usual subject periods of English, History, Geography, Physics, Chemistry, General Science and Religion, it was soon time for the midday recession time with lunch in the refectory, followed by recreation time. Imagine the clatter of cutlery during the lunch-hour created by over 500 boarders all dining at one time! The din produced by this clash of utensils could be heard as far away as the classrooms on the eastern side of the temporary classrooms. The day-scholars who brought lunch in tiffin boxes (or 'buthi' as the boxes were fondly called) went to the "Buthi Room" to retrieve their stored lunches from there and then proceeded to have their lunch under the shade of cashew trees. During this time, the boys carried on with various extra-curricular activities some of which included playing table-tennis and carom. One of the fine moments that I still remember is the stackable six 12-inch LP record-changer, that was connected to the public address system and classical music was played at this time. Familiar tunes heard at this hour were 'The Blue Danube', 'Tiritomba' and 'Funiculi Funicula'. This system was also used for reciting the Holy Rosary in Konkani at eight o’clock in the night over the loudspeakers. This could be clearly heard in the stillness of the night for over a distance more than two kilometers.

Recess time was also the time for music and other activities like quick sketching drawing and painting still life for the art students under the guidance of the amazingly brilliant artist Brother known for his phenomenal masterpieces adorning the walls of the chapel and the sacristy. At this time of the break boys gathered and sang songs, playing the guitar on the benches under the famous and gigantic nunerca tree overlooking the huge expanse of fields extending to the borders of the villages of Calangute, Arpora and Parra, with a panoramic view of the Arabian Sea, the hills of Arpora, Parra and in the distance northwest the hills of Anjuna, while the music students would be practicing on the piano and violin in the music parlour. Incidentally, this room also served as a waiting room for the parents of students who visited the boarders. The Friars saw that they would always be offered a lunch. Prior to the after-noon session there was study time. Total silence reigned during this time as the “Boarding Father” constantly patrolled the corridor with his downcast gaze probably reading and concentrating on the Holy Book, but not losing any track of the odd erring student either! At this time of the after-noon we would on some days be interestingly distracted with the trucks supplying firewood as their engines whined climbing up the steep hill. Also the occasional BSA or Floret motor-cycle that revved up the hill was a novelty. I still treasure the moment when the Volkswagen Beetle first made its debut appearance at Monte in the late fifties. On the spur of the moment and in a sudden show of energy, a bunch of robust boys lifted the front end of this car about a foot of the ground! (I believe those boys were later reprimanded for their behaviour!) Others like myself admired the novel engine placement at the rear of this vehicle as a great achievement of the time. It was my first fascinating look at the VW Beetle up close, inside and outside.

During the noon break we could clearly hear the blasts at the iron-ore mines in Sirigao. Making a rare and entertaining appearance to the school during noon was the highly erudite but eccentric Sacrula de Saligao who provided us with his astonishing speeches. Most students gathered around him to hear him. His trademark was his cycle, a Franciscan habit and an umbrella with an insignia. He was never afraid of heights. He liked to stand above the rest when his delivered one of his amazing speeches, and the parapet facing the school refectory posed no challenge for the extraordinary and unforgettable man.

With the afternoon school session drawing to a close it would be tea time. A conventional bell rung by the school clerk next to the headmaster’s office announced subject periods and recess times. Incidentally, I still recall that it was not an electric bell that summoned the boys to the refectory. In fact it was about a three foot long piece of a railway-track that hung next to the refectory. Struck repeatedly with an iron bar announced the call for lunch, tea and playtime breaks. After that the boys would run down the steps or take a winding path to the playing grounds on the west side of the hill. Football and hockey being major sports the old playing grounds could no longer hold the growing number of students. So a second ground was added which also served as the main venue for the annual sports and special events days. Incidentally, these grounds served the Indian Army to pitch their tents in December 1961. During this time the school remained closed for a brief period.

There was a time when Typewriting was a recognized subject by the Poona Board of S.S.C.E. and many students availed of this opportunity. So it was not an uncommon sight to see the students pounding away at the keys of Remington and Underwood typewriters in the afternoon soon after lunch in the typing room which was located adjacent to the Clerk’s office. The clatter from these typewriters could be heard far away. So the reason for this chosen time for typing practice was that other students should not get disturbed during the afternoon study period.

Although the years seem to have drifted away I cannot but help reminisce the bathing time after playing at those grounds when the “Boarding Father” assisted by volunteer students would shower students with buckets of water drawn from the well near the grounds. Then upwards on the winding path through the cashew fruit trees up the hill we trudged again for days, months and years on end. When we at last made to the hill-top just before dusk, far down below we could still the farmers tending to their vegetable patches and rice crops in the fields.

All the electrical work was done and maintained by a dedicated Friar. Tube lights were first installed in the chapel in the late fifties. The generator, or dynamo as it was popularly known then, was used only in the night up to 11 pm. and sometimes when the skies darkened in the daytime during the rainy season. A new “dynamo” with more wattage was installed in the late fifties to cater to the additional demand created by newly added classrooms. As the old one could no longer take the full load it was then put on stand-by in case of an emergency.

An interesting and nostalgic moment that I remember is being fascinated by the pump house with its engine turning a long belt that in turn pumped the water from the square shaped well – a remarkable engineering feat those days. As young boys we would put our ear on the pipe that ran up the hill to hear the faint murmur of the engine and the water gushing through it. The school also had a lightning conductor installed on the side of the steeple of the chapel. This provided safety not only for the school premises, but also protected to the surrounding villages from severe lightning strikes.

The Fathers saw that the students were physically fit and healthy. Periodic inoculations were done and records of height, weight and general growth of students were strictly kept. General hygiene and cleanliness was maintained to the highest possible level. Inspectors from from the SSCE Board were very pleased with the overall standard of the school and met their criteria and expectations. The boys were well instructed, well looked after, well-fed and passed as being robust and in good general health. For the physical training exercise, boys lined up for the “drill” under the giant old nunerca tree. This tree was a legend in its life time. It was like a mother that sheltered and protected her children under her huge arms from the hot sun and rain. Its own branch roots were very cleverly nurtured back into the earth with soil around it round tin pipes, thereby providing support for itself. Though botanists tried to save it, the old tree is no more. But a new one that was immediately planted in its place soon grew to its full sizes and provides a nostalgic reminiscence to the visiting scholar of the old days.

During the Portuguese regime there used to be what was called “Mocidade Portuguesa”, the regime’s youth organization. These cadets were dressed in full khaki uniform and all other smart gear that went along with it - like badges, socks, shoes, belts and caps. At this time when we had this gathering of students the school looked like a battalion especially when the Inspectors from Panjim visited our school and met the “Commandantes de Castela” of our school. The school had the honour and distinction of having one of its students chosen to participate in the Mocidade Convention in Portugal in 1955. A contingent from this unit was also chosen to maintain an orderly queue during the exposition of the body of St. Francis Xavier. Being students of this school at a transient time in the political history of Goa saw us standing to attention and singing the Portuguese national anthem, and later sang the Indian national anthem from January 1962 onwards. 'Mocidade Portuguesa' was transformed into the National Cadet Corps that followed after liberation which was an youth development movement adopted as a tool with enormous potential and incentive for nation building, with a sense for their all-round development for duty, commitment, dedication, discipline and moral values so that they could aspire to become future able leaders and useful citizens if they so wished with no liability for active military service.

Pre-liberation days also had one of the Fathers at Monte compiling his very own Chemistry Book especially for our School which was found to be exact and precise in meeting the standards prescribed by the S.S.C.E. Board, Poona.

Equally timeless were the days when movies were screened at Monte. The school had a 35 mm sound projector that used an arc lamp as its light source on which cinemascope movies could be run. This projector had a separate cinemascope lens. It is also called a spreader lens used to screen wide-screen format films. Adjustment requires special technique. We looked at it with awe and wonder. “Ten Commandments” was among the great epic films shown at Monte. Other great epics on celluloid shown were 'Ben  Hur', 'The Robe' and the 'Longest Day'. The projector was maintained and safely stored in the Projector Room. The movies were shown by Bro. Salvador assisted by a young technical wizard called Camilo, who was a naturally gifted master of everything - from typewriter repairs, printing (cyclostyling exam papers), binding, electrical and various other things. He was a genius born before his time. He taught some students how to make Holy Rosaries using beads and wires. This was the time when devotion to Our Lady of Fatima was in full swing in Goa in the mid-1950's. The glow-in-the-dark bead rosaries were much sought after. Among the school’s other possessions was a full-fledged Science Laboratory for Physics and Chemistry, a microscope, a telescope and a real skeleton in one of the cupboards for Physiology students. When I was a younger student there, I must confess that I used to be afraid to go near that cupboard! One of the other creepy moments at the school was when as a young lad I refused to turn my head towards the cremation grounds on the southern side of the football grounds on the way up after games at dusk.

I enjoyed a particular togetherness on the long walk to see the football or hockey game that our school participated in at the famed Duler grounds in Mapusa. A couple of “four anna” coins in our pockets would see us through a soda and an “ice-fruit”, quenching our thirst after a long trek up and down the Mapuça hill, and returning to the school at dusk. The students in their exuberant mood sang 'We are the boys of Guirim' to the tune of 'He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.

Although those times have long gone by, things seem to have happened just yesterday, when come rain or shine we held our heads up high and cheered our Alma Mater through it all. In those days nothing was impossible for the great Capuchin Friars. They would instantly declare half a day as a holiday and transform the Senior Dormitory into an auditorium for the concert, and the classrooms into temporary sleeping areas for the two nights. And that was one of the greatest highlights, the Annual Concert, with the Portuguese Governor General as the chief guest. It was held for two consecutive days. The senior dormitory had a full-fledged permanent drama stage at its southern end fitted with a rather unique front curtain. Rehearsals were held well in advance and directed by our very own in-house Music Father and excellent driver on the western coast - none other than Bro. Salvador. The renowned musicians of Johnson & His Jolly Boys from Siolim provided fantastic melodies of the day. The first day was for the school students. The second day was especially for the parents of the students and the general public. I still remember “Ali Baba and the forty thieves” as one the best plays acted out by the students, besides other items of songs in English, Portuguese and Konkani. The famous French student and later a teacher - Thomas Mendonca - acted in school plays. Students played classical recitals on the violin on stage to the astonishment of all. Young boys dressed in girls attire performed beautiful son and dance sequences. An interesting feature in this concert by one of the Brothers was the mesmerizing creation in the movement of the ocean waves in which a boat pitched up and down from end to end of the stage to the strains of the familiar tune singing: 'Merrily, merrily, row the boat ashore.' This display was second to none at the time, a masterpiece of a creative illusion that was a talk of entire Goa. It is my guess that it still remains to be duplicated. An Arts and crafts exhibition was also held on these two concert days. Another innovation of this Artist Brother was the direction of a painting done on stage by three young artists each with three sets of pails and three sets of colours, done in succession to music and voila! the scene was ready in three minutes. Equally impressive was the crisscrossing march on stage by students in uniform which apparently looked like an endless line of soldiers marching on to battle! On the second day a very early morning Mass service was held for boarders, day-scholars and teachers, followed by a grand breakfast in the auditorium-cum-dorm. Also before the starting of the concert on the second day prizes were distributed for best students in studies, good conduct, general proficiency, art and athletics. The school was also well known for its gymnastics that were held on the Annual Sports Day with the exciting cycle race as a grand finale.

The school observed World Mission Sunday in the month of October. On this Sunday all the donations and collections from worldwide Masses go to support churches, hospitals, schools and vocations. I remember that during my time in the early 1960's at Monte, the school observed and organized a fun-packed day-long Mission Sunday celebration. All the Fathers, Brothers, teachers and students at our school were involved in this exuberant annual event that was held opposite the plateau facing the beautiful Chapel of St. Francis of Assisi. The students organized and held various types of stalls with try-your-luck games, wheel of fortune, feed the tiger, etc. Entertainment was provided by the students singing the popular hits of that era. They gathered in small groups around the circular parapet under the shade of the famous nunerca tree and sang songs like 'Roses are Red' by Bobby Vinton, Elvis Presley's 'Surrender', Dean Martin's 'Cha Cha Cha D'Amour', Hank Locklin's 'Please Help Me I'm Falling' and several other hits prevailing at the time, to the accompaniment of guitars by students. Announcements by volunteer comperes were made over a megaphone. Folks from the surrounding villages patronized and attended this fête that was held with great enthusiasm and fervour. The purpose of this occasion was to create an awareness of giving among the students and helping the less fortunate. The proceeds generated from this program were sent to the poor and charities. As the day was about to end, and the sun was getting closer to the beautiful horizon of the Arabian Sea seen from the serene hill-top, it brought to a close a fun-filled and memorable day. It was time for Felicio the day-scholar to depart and reach home before dark after an exciting day.

One of the proud moments of the school was acquiring a brand new four-wheel drive Land-Rover in the late fifties. As a young student at Monte I remember admiring it with extreme awe and wonder at this automotive marvel. Prior to that the school had a brown-colour Austin Van that was used to get food supplies and other necessities on a daily basis from the Mapsa Market for the boarders. It also served as a mode of transportation for the foot-ball and hockey teams to Mapuca and Panjim during school tournaments. On a lighter and humorous note the old brown van was fondly known in Konkani as “gongurlo” (meaning beetle in English) probably referring to its slow motion up the hill. It had perhaps seen better days in its past and hard days in its later life trying to make it up and down the hill. It was easily recognized by the distinguishable drone of its engine. Towards its final days before being put into retirement it was not an uncommon sight to see the very football or hockey team it provided transport for, in aiding by pushing it up the hill. Also many a time the “Matric Class Big Boys” would quickly be summoned up at very short notice, even when class was in session, to help it up on its way or put a stone to chock the rear wheels and prevent it from rolling down. The big boys would always be proud of having been called to try their strength.

The school had its own bakery. It was also well-known for the wine produced by the Friars. On the south-eastern slopes of the hill overlooking Sangolda and Porvorim there was a pig farm – not of the local kind – these were white and imported. Monte de Guirim had some beautiful trees and flowers grown in the garden overlooking the monastery.

Once upon a time there was a flat wooden covered bridge that joined the senior dormitory to the refectory and junior dormitory buildings. But whenever a delivery truck loaded with firewood or other supplies came up it could not pass under it to drop the load on the upper terrace. So brilliant were the fathers of Monte – they were architects too and never ran out of ideas – that they had an arched RCC bridge constructed. But still somehow it seemed to be difficult for some trucks to pass under. Nothing could pose a challenge. So then they made a slight dip in the road at that point. And the trucks passed through happily ever after. Living up to the school’s motto: “Ad Ardua”, the Fathers, Brothers, Teachers, workers and students met with the challenges before them.

A small grotto existed before 1953 next to the bridge. Modifications were made in later years. In the mid 1950's the front facade was upgraded with the artistic input of Bro. Vitalis using natural rocky boulders and a recessed altar was added along with a decorative parapet and plants adding to its overall appeal. This improvement also further stabilized the retaining wall and the Music Room with a PA system and Garrard Record Changer above it. A grand celebration with a solemn Mass was held annually at the grotto in the evening of 8th December - the feast day of the Immaculate Conception - with a beautiful candlelight procession to St. Diogo's Church attended by folks of Guirim and Sangolda which was a beautiful sight to behold. As a young lad I attended this occasion accompanying my mother with a paper lantern that I had made especially for the occasion. 

Late in the fifties, an orphanage was added to the school, with separate accommodation for about 30 pupils down on the west side of the hill, consisting of a small building that was located adjacent to the old well and pump-house near the football grounds. I believe it was later moved up to another place near the monastery on the top of the hill.

During our final days at Monte, my classmates and I stood by and watched the new huge 3-floored building gradually rise on the north side of the chapel, supervised by the Principal, Fr. Pacificus. Other general improvements were made too during this time. In the late 1950's there was a sudden rise in the number of boarders due to the school's popularity. There was an increase in the numbers of boarders especially whose parents worked in East Africa and the Arabian Gulf. The class-rooms were almost bursting at the seams, each class with nearly 4 divisions, and each division having nearly 30 to 35 students. So a remarkable and ambitious temporary project was launched in order to accommodate this sudden rise while the new concrete building was getting ready. It was the construction of a giant thatched hall with wooden uprights and large bamboo poles - with over 8 classrooms on the eastern side of the main building with wooden partitions. Today a beautiful and modern structure stands in its place.

Also worth a mention is the first Ordination at Monte of one of the students to priesthood held in dormitory of the main school building.

The school was well-known for its Students Choir. A hymn very often heard on the Medium Wave Radio Panjim at seven o’clock in the morning was sung by St. Anthony’s Choir which was recorded at Emissora de Goa Studios.

The school provided employment to all, but specially those in the immediate vicinity around Monte de Guirim in their respective trades like masons, carpenters, cooks, helpers, gardeners, tailors, barbers, cleaners and launderers. Milk for tea was supplied by various local dairies.

There was one special day when students were allowed to attend classes dressed in their Sunday best, and that was on their birthdays. Some students distributed holy pictures to the Fathers, teachers and class-mates on such occasions with a typical hand-written message :

 "In remembrance of my birthday.
 Please pray for my success in my exams."

Below the above typical message was the individual's name and the date.

But time for us at the school was fast running out. It was our final year at the school. We would soon appear for S.S.C. Examinations and be no more at the school. But only return to cherish those wonderful memories whenever we paid a visit, eager to see how the school was progressing.

Daily life and routine between the boarders and day-scholars at the school were varied and quite different by comparison. I knew this well from day-schooling friends of mine. They had different stories to relate - from helping their parents in the fields to others who had food placed at their table. Some told stories of how they helped, in the fields and at home, drawing water from the wells and going to the nearby mill to have the rationed wheat ground into flour, while others shied away from telling even if they did.

But, I knew a day-scholar who became one of my best friends through the years. He lived in Guirim, commuting on foot every day all through my years at Monte. He always had a smile on his face and was liked by all. I admired his endurance and resilience to any given situation, come rain, floods or sunshine. He was a very hardworking student and did well in most subjects and steadily ranked among the top ten in our class. I used to see him hurrying with his books and his lunch tin, headed towards the special buthi room. What I did notice was that at times he did not carry his buthi, and came in straight to the class. I hoped to find out and solve the mystery some day. As it turned out, before we knew it, our final schooling year was about to end. In just another couple of months days at Monte would be over.

Finally, just before our S.S.C. Examinations, I gathered all the courage I had, and asked him as to why on certain days he had not carried his buthi during his last many years at Monte. What he then related to me was something that I definitely was not prepared for. And it shocked me to the core hearing his story. I wished I had known this all along. To my astonishment he described how on most days his mother somehow had managed to cook and provide the lunch in a tin; and how sometimes when she had fallen ill and had not been able to prepare it in time in the morning. Some times she had left home very early at dawn to work in the fields. And there were other times when they had nothing to cook at all. And those were the days when he had not brought his buthi. But, he would carry a four-paise coin that his mother gave him safely tied to a hand-kerchief lest should he lose it and go hungry. During the afternoon break this four-paise coin would see him through with a loaf of bread from the school’s kitchen and some sweets from the shop down the hill at the “T” junction. But those kitchen servers who worked there were nice and kind. They never took money from this boy. Nor did they know that one loaf of bread was all that he would have for his lunch. And I had not known this fact at all, all the previous years either.

Years went by since then. We did keep in touch at times in the subsequent years after SSCE. I met him once in Mapusa in the early seventies. He was shopping for provisions along with his mother. He still carried his trademark smile. It was a busy Friday market day as usual in the month of May. We both happened to be vacationing in Goa at that time, returning from work on our annual leave from different parts of the world. He insisted that I join him and his mother for drinks and snacks at Café Xavier which I gladly did. We chatted about the good old days for a while. When we had finished he even persisted to pay as well, and I relented. Drawing his wallet out from his pocket he paid. Then he looked into my eyes, slightly moist – perhaps thinking of his old days - the four-anna coin and the loaf of bread! But he did not say anything. For a while time seemed to have stood still. We both probably kept our thought to ourselves, reminiscing about a past that was. Only this time it was different - a sumptuous lunch would definitely await him today, I thought. Almost reading my thoughts he asked me to come over to his house for lunch, but I had to decline as I had to take provisions home myself to my mother who would be waiting for me. God bless him wherever he may be today.

In the fascinating and enchanting, peaceful and serene surroundings of Monte de Guirim, still stands high the mighty school of St. Anthony. While on these memories I always fondly dwell, they will forever give me a reason to relate to my children the wonderful stories of the great times at Monte, chat about it with my classmates of long ago and in wishing so as a finale, I would sum it all up with the following epilogue.

EPILOGUE

Through the fields

And foliage so verdant 

Up the hill I walk once more;

Yet again I trudge as an encore.

Standing on the portal

Of my sweet Alma Mater,

Once again in the cool shade I pause

Just as I had done in the summer heat

As a young lad long ago.

Beneath the old nunerca tree,

On its trunk our names I still see,

That we long ago had carved

As young lads so carefree.

*************************************************************

Some of the Fathers and Brothers that I remember through my time at Monte. 1953 - 1964

Fr. Pacificus, Principal
Fr. Diogo, Principal Excellent English & Konkani Preacher
Fr. Ambrose, Headmaster Excellent English Teacher
Fr. Patrick, Headmaster History / Good Hockey Player
Fr. Ephrem, Boarding Excellent Math Teacher
Fr. Chrysostom, Physics & Chemistry
Fr. Fortunato, Geography
Fr. Columban, English Excellent speaker
Fr. Ireneus, Religion / Excellent English & Konkani Preacher
Br. Vitalis, Art Director Excellent Artist / Brilliant Innovator
Br. Peter, Infirmary Well known throughout Goa for snake-bite cure
Br. Peter, Religion
Br. Polycarp, Infirmary
Br. Titus, Electrical Engineer
Br. Salvador, Music Director / Transportation / Very Good Driver

KATE RUNNER IN ROAD RACE

So who exactly is Kate,

the Marathon Runner

in a Road Race?Well, she's my daughter-in-law.
And everyone in the family is proud of her.

BRAVO KATE.

HERE LIES RIVER PRINCESS

NO, DON'T WEEP FOR ME - BUT WEEP

FOR THE SHATTERED LIVELIHOODS

OF THE PEOPLE OF THE COASTAL REGION OF CANDOLIM

WHILE YOU LIVE IN SHEER OPULENCE

IN YOUR LAVISH BUNGALOW NEARBY.

ADEUS RIVER PRINCESS

COCONUT INSTRUMENTAL

Pyrography

By Tony Fernandes

CANDLE IN THE HOLLOW OF THE COCONUT SHELL

CANDLE POWER IN A COCONUT SHELL

Drawing in crayon by Tony Fernandes

                 Reminiscing poignantly of peace and harmony that our folks dwelt in, and celebrated and enjoyed salves, vespers and feasts galore in the days of yore. Prior to the start of the Vesper Services, an orchestra played in front of the the church – or at the band-stand. Young boys would vie for the sheer pleasure of holding the notation sheets for the musicians. They were also anxiously looking forward for the fireworks at the end of the vespers.

                 Walking home after the vespers in the night was a delightful moment, an experience that I still cherish. Some people carried battery-operated flash-lights, while my grandma improvised with a candle lit in the hollow of the coconut shell.

The night seemed solemn,

quiet and tranquil;

Starlit sky a real delight

In the darkness

On our way home

Holding a candle

Lit in the hollow of a coconut shell

Led us on our familiar path;

And folks from the houses along the way

Wished us a pleasant night.

(Excerpt from my book: GOA - Memories of My Homeland)

Poems, Stories, Photographs, Drawings)

'HIPPY' HANDS - A KIND OF SEMAPHORE

Visitors standing and watching in front of booth at a Craft Show:

With Both hands on hip : Daring

With Left hand on hip : Tentative

With Right hand on hip : Contradictory

With One hand on hip,
the other in pocket : Sending us wrong signals.

SORRY, I FORGOT TO MENTION

I have never craved for a standing ovation. I have never expected praise or demanded appreciation. But my attention to this anomaly gets drawn due to the fact when the host forgets to thank his guests and volunteers, and then goes out of his way thinking he can put things right by apologizing at a time when the event is at its final stage. Then he realizes that more than half of his guests have already left the building.

Worse still is also the moment when an announcement is made to acknowledge and thank me or someone else for something that was done at one's own free will. It is an embarrassment both to announcer and the receiver of the compliment, as the proclamation gets delivered only to the remaining few guests, some of whom by now have no clue what's going on. They also seem to appear slightly dazed! May be a case of one too many.

This sort of an episode may not be true just in my case. We are human. To err is human. All humans err. Whichever way you put it, all humans somehow "forget to remember", although sometimes some guys may conveniently do so.

I think it is a worldwide predicament that at times plagues the best of the Masters of Ceremonies. All goes well until you finally discover your omission and you say to yourself: "There’s always something, eh?" Ask me, I know. It has happened to me on several occasions, and I have gone home with a sad and heavy, or an apologetic heart. So readers with an experience more or less like mine need not be concerned or perturbed.

There are several instances such as the ones I would like to mention here. One of the worst nightmares is to forget to thank one’s wife for organizing an event. In such a case the day following the soiree might not be a pleasant one. Therefore always think of your wife first, thank her as soon as all the guests arrive, and then your mother-in-law. Also, even if your wife has not cooked anything herself for the occasion (even after the connoisseurs among the guests have shown great appreciation) it would very wise, in the least, to thank her for so keenly and tastefully selecting the excellent menu. And do not forget to mention the fine table center pieces that she has so carefully made herself.

There must be some truth in the fact that sometimes we forget or take for granted the ones we love most after all. Sometimes I tend to think that it must be me, for I have been also been forgotten to have been mentioned many times in my life. A few classic examples are perhaps worth mentioning here, albeit in a lighter vein. One was when my best friend forgot to thank me for taking pictures of his entire wedding when he thought I was good enough to replace a professional photographer. The second case was when I drove 25 kilometers to pick up the host's friends to the party hall. At another function my very own relative forgot to thank me for the giant posters and decoration I did, but she did not miss thanking her mother-in-law for the few stickers she put on the brochures.

Rest assured that I did not, at any of these events, go home feeling down. It fact, I felt sad for the host who probably had to go home feeling bad for not thanking me.

On the other hand, I too have inadvertently forgotten to thank people who have assisted me on several occasions without realizing it. This was probably because it was possible that it was not brought to my attention as the Master of Ceremonies. Next time if the host forgets to thank me then I must remember to thank myself for a job well done.

I am not self-congratulatory, nor do I seek praise. For I love the things that I do. I am not angry, but I should not forget to mention that there have been times when the host forgot to thank me for playing the violin (free) at a sung litany in Latin. We, "Goenkar" (people from Goa) call it 'Ladainha'. I love to do it as it takes me back in time, singing the melodic and joyous ‘Salve Rainha’ and wallowing in nostalgia of the good old 'Ladainha'

Now, am I forgetting to mention something here? Yes, of course. Before I forget.....thank you for reading this post.

GOA 'BOWLED'

'GOABOWL'

GOA SCENES PANORAMA

ON A COCONUT SHELL

(Pyrographic drawing by Tony Fernandes)

THE GRANDEUR OF RAJASTHAN

Ye Jeevan Hai Is Jeevan Ka
Music by Virtuoso Indian Pianist Brian Silas

Silent Replies

Me: “Would you like to taste a sample?”
Customer: “No, thanks, I’m alright”
Me: “I didn’t ask you how you are.”
———————————————————————————————
Me: “Would you care for a sample taste, sir”
Customer: “My wife makes our own pickles at home”
Me: “My wife makes her own too. But I didn’t ask you whether your wife does her own. I asked you whether you’d like a sample”.
______________________________________________________

Customer:(While trying to make a quick getaway, after trying a multitude of samples):
“How long do your jars last?
Me: “Jars: Forever. Pickles: 3 years”.

THE ‘ACT OF GOD’ PARADOX

The city owns the tree that grows on your front lawn. The city will sue you if you cut it down. But when a tornado strikes with force and fury, picks the tree and slams it into your garage and takes out your car’s windshield too, the city tells you to go to the insurance company.

You go to the Insurance Company and file a claim. But they reply saying that you certainly cannot file for any damage costs as it is considered as an ‘Act of God’ , and when it is so declared, you cannot be compensated.

But the irony is that the insurance company is owned by a bunch of atheists!

Flowers of My Garden

Like most houses in Goa do, ours had a modest little garden too. My mother planted different types of flower plants in it. She fetched water from the nearby well, watered the plants, trimmed them and planted new ones once in a while. As a young boy I had my own set of plants that I tended to. Every morning when I woke up I would go to the garden to admire and have a close look at the fresh blossoms and look for any new buds. During the rainy season, in one corner of the garden there grew a creeper with beautiful tiny star-shaped red flowers. These were my favourite. It seemed to grow at a rapid pace each day keeping up with my anxiety to find its way to the other side of the house. I had tied a string from one side of the house to the other, just under the eaves drop, for this fine-leaved creeper to get a hold on it. I just couldn't wait for the buds to turn into flowers.

Each village had about five communal wells. Fortunately, my house was located very near to one of the wells. These wells provided us with crystal clear natural water for drinking, cooking, washing clothes, bathing, watering the trees around our house and plants in our garden. Winding narrows paths lead to the well. Before sunrise I would be wakened by the noise of copper pots as they were placed on the ledge of the well. The rims of the wells had hollows in them to hold the pots steady. Water was drawn from the well by using a smaller copper pot that was used to fill the larger copper pot. When I was very young this well did not have a pulley. It was installed in recent times.

The common greeting in Konkani : ‘Deu Boro Dis Dhium’ (May God give you a good day) were the first words of the morning to one’s neighbours who came to fetch water from the village well.

BELATED HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

When you become a Mother, you are a mother for life. Let there be happy days for mothers everyday, everywhere. Even if I forget.

SOMEBODY'S MOTHER

The following poem is not my own,
but it is one of my favourite poems.
Its author is unknown.


SOMEBODY’S MOTHERThe woman was old, and ragged and gray,
And bent with the chill of the winter’s day.
The street was wet with the recent snow,
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng,
Of human beings who passed her by,
Who heeded not the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray.
Hastened the children on the their way,
Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
“I’ll help you across if you wish to go.”

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided her trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young hear happy and well content.
“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow;

“And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she’s poor, and old, and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away.”

And “somebody’s mother” bowed low her head,
In her that night, and the prayer she said,
Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy”.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 

God took the fragrance of a flower…

The majesty of a tree…
The gentleness of morning dew…
The calm of a quiet sea…
The beauty of the twilight hour…
The soul of a starry night…
The laughter of a rippling brook…
The grace of a bird in flight…
Then God fashioned from these things
A creation like no other,
And when his masterpiece was through
He called it simply – Mother.

Herbert Farnham

The Hand that Rocks the Cradle Rules the World

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEcjCsrAL3E

A MOTHER'S STORY by Tony Fernandes

'The Transom'

Line Drawing by

Tony Fernandes

THE TRANSOM OVER THE DOORWAY

A short childhood memoir about a mother's unique protective instinct.

Dedicated to all Mothers who protect their children in times of danger.

Excerpted from my book:
 GOA - Memories of My Homeland
(Poems & Short Stories) ISBN 0-9735515-X
Published & Printed in Canada 2004 Eclectica Publications Ontario
Reprinted in Goa - Pilar Training Institute 2005

The roof shook, the doors and windows rattled, the ground rumbled. The breeze hissed through the curved clay tiles.  The little boy woke up and saw his mother sitting in her bed. Glancing towards the 'JAZ' alarm clock on his study table he saw it was just about past midnight. “What’s wrong, what’s happening mother?” he asked. “There seems to be a big storm under way, son”. “Come here and stay close to me” she said trying to shelter the flame of the kerosene lamp on her bedside table with the palm of her hand. “Or may be better still we should stand there under the main doorway just below the transom as it seems to be strong”, she continued as she rose from her bed, and tightly clutching her son’s hand she rushed towards the main door in order to stand under the transom of the doorway.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light that shone brilliantly through the glass panes of the transom above the door. It was immediately followed by a very loud bang that shook the doors and windows. It was of course lightning and thunder, he realized. The boy, looking up as he clung to his mother’s arm, saw her staring intently at the crucifix on the opposite wall while he heard her murmur a prayer: “Please help us, Lord.”

Her earnest prayer seemed to drown under the loud patter of rain, that he could hear from the outside, beating down on the roof tiles. A moment later they could see water dripping in a corner across the room from where they stood. Soon water started dripping in various other places, drop by drop as if to keep the beat in perfect timing to the constant patter of rain along with the frogs in the fields with their endless cacophony while the boy stood bravely by his mother's side.

Slowly his mother walked to the kitchen and brought several pails to catch the drips of rain-water. The early monsoon storm subsided after a while and everything fell silent.

Then the boy asked: “Mother, why did we stand under the transom of the doorway during the storm?” His mother replied: “Because the doorway is always the last to collapse, son. At most times, the roof caves in first, if it should at all fall, in this case it did not. God has saved us”. “That’s probably the reason,” she continued, “why you see in almost all the great paintings depicting ruins, that somehow the doorway along with the transom or the lintel, and a pillar or two, are the only structures still standing.”

And I was that little boy.


Some of the old houses in Goa are made of laterite stone bricks while others are constructed using cast mud-bricks, with the roof consisting of curved tiles or patented inter-locking red tiles placed on a grid-work of rafters slit from the trunk of the coconut tree, wood and bamboo. The houses are famous for their white-washed walls and their unique entrances and distinct styles of windows and doors fitted with transoms and lintels. The houses comprise of standard balcão (entrance balcony), vosro (family room), sala (living room), kudd (pantry), and cozinha (kitchen).

To

My Wonderful Wife

on

MOTHER'S DAY

How do I begin to tell you how lucky I am
to have you in my life?
I'll start by saying what a gift you gave me
the day you became my wife.

You're my best friend in the good times
and my rock in times of sorrow.
You're the reason for sweet yesterdays
and my promise for tomorrow.

I never thought I could feel this loved
until you became my wife.
You made this year and every year
the best one of my life.

From Loving Husband

Tony

MOTHER'S DAY - by Tony Fernandes

Soon we will celebrate Mother's Day in North America. It's celebrated all over the world on different dates in honouring our Mothers. Although the dates and months of Mother's Day differ from country to country, the message is the same. It is universal in the fact that it is the occasion to pay rich tributes to one of those persons who have had a great impact on our lives, a person whose love is unconditional, to a person whose care knows no boundaries, a person who does everything to keep her children happy, provide them with education and raise them with good values.

So what can we give our mother's in return. Can we pay them back for what they had done for us? That would be an impossible task. But we can appreciate what the hardships they have gone through to raise us up.

There's also no doubt they will continue to do good for their children in the future. Hence, this is a day for showing our love, appreciate and be grateful to our mothers for their care in our growing up. A day for our turn to pamper and shower them with love.

Today I look back to the days when I was young when my mother was alive and I cannot help but grieve for her untimely death. Among the loving and kind things she did for me, I remember how she sat up late into the night while I read for my exams and how she carried me when I had sores on my feet. A Mother's love is unconditional. And she does not expect a reward for whatever she does, be it for the care she provides and the worries she has about her children's well-being every day of the year. Although we celebrate a special day that is dedicated to show our respect and love for her just one day in a year, we love her everyday.

NOT A PERFECT DAY

PROUD FATHER OF THE BRIDE

Father of the Bride, they say. What a prestigious and honourable sounding title. A position that stands second only to the bride. If the bride feels like a princess, then a father ought to feel like a king. But he is a different type of a king who doesn't sit around doing nothing. He doesn't supervise, but works with his hands too. And right now he has too much of it not only on his hands, but on his head too. He is worried and hopes that all goes well. He has his speech ready although a little fine tuning is required. His tux is ready too, tried, pressed and hangs in the closet - the complete package. He is happy and nervous too. He has the honourable duty to walk the princess, his young playful child of yesteryear now turned into a bride, to the altar. The rehearal session in church turned out just fine and is now waiting for the final countdown. Lot of worries and concerns. Primarily, the bride has to be in the church on time. Hope there are no traffic snarls. Hope the weather is good. Hope everyone reaches the reception hall on time. Hope we don't forget anything, especially the 'Rings' or leave anyone behind! Reminders. Reminders and more reminders. Run through the reminders once again. Check out everything, twice.

Proud indeed. This Father of the Bride. A catchy title that sounds rich and honourable. Perhaps well deserved. To bask with pride and glory even if it means just for a day.

WEDDINGS IN GOA

Most weddings in the Goan villages during the ‘fifties and ‘sixties were celebrated with great pomp and fervour. They were mostly held in the month of April and May. Customs and traditions handed down from past generations were strictly adhered to on such an occasion. With meticulous planning months in advance, it used to be a week-long affair. Zothi and mando were order of the day. They were sung frequently and fittingly. These were happy moments not only for the bridegroom or bride’s household, but for the entire village.

A Village Wedding

Season of Lent
Days of fasting and prayer
Were over;
Eastertide was now here;
White-washed houses
Neat and tidy
Gleaming in the April sun
Awaited the vicar’s
Impending visit;
For his annual house blessing
And greeting.

Never failing to inquire
About husband or a son
Who worked far away
“Have you heard from your sons?”
The vicar asked.
“Yes” the lady of the house replied
“The oldest is due to arrive in May”

The entire village was vibrant
Folks excited and exuberant
Time of great expectations
Everyone waiting for the groom to arrive
From a place far away
For his holiday and wedding
In the month of May.

Unconfined to bride’s or groom’s household
It was a great joy for the entire village
In the celebration to share and partake
At the forthcoming marriage.

Customs and traditions
Invitations and rustic protocol
Deadlines met
The stage was finally set.

The long-awaited groom
Had finally arrived.
In front of his modest house
Young lads gave the village elders
A helping hand in matou construction
Of bamboo and palm fronds
Twirled coloured crepe
Streamers and decoration
Under their artistic direction
Carried out according to plan.
Rented chairs laid out all around.

By nightfall
Petromax lit and hung in the matou
Its incandescence brightened the whole village
While in the balcao
Boys and girls sang the mando.

In another village far away
The bride’s household
Filled with equal delight
Looked forward to this wedding
The following Sunday.

It was time for bhuim-jevonn,
Ross and doth
Vojem, dennem and portonnem:
Some traditions to carry forth

Long before dawn
Everyone was up and about
The big day and the white Chevrolet
Had finally arrived.

The groom in a double-breasted suit
Below the family altar stood
For blessing from parents and aunts
Grandparents and relatives;
For nuptials time was running out
In the parish of the groom at sharp ten o’clock.

The photographer
Was eager to capture
Special moments in the future
For folks to treasure.

Later the bridal couple
Best-man and bridesmaid
Took a ride to town
For a studio picture.

The newlyweds’ temporary stay
Was at the neighbours during the afternoon
Eager to make their grand appearance
For the reception at the groom’s
In the evening at five that day.

In the centre of the matou
The bridal couple stood
By the three-tier cake,
The Village Vicar raised the toast,
The nine-piece band
Played the wedding march
And as announced
By the Master of Ceremonies
They danced
To the selected first piece.

Boys and girls
Friends and relatives
With their partners they danced the night away
While the band played numbers
In regular sets of three
Waltzes and Foxtrot
Tango and Cha Cha Cha
Rumba and Samba
Not forgetting the Fiesta.

Soaring high
Were the moods and spirits
Patties and croquet,
Soup and pulav served
With other delicacies of the day.

It was time now
For the bride
To show off her talent
In singing her special song
Joined in by the groom with seconds
Breaking the night’s silence.

The grand finale
Was almost in sight
The bridal couple on chairs
Carried aloft till their lips
Finally met for the evening’s greatest
And most celebrated traditional kiss.

The untiring Emcee at his spoken best
Reluctantly made a final call
The last dance he announced;
The band obliged with an encore
For the delight and thrill of one and all;
It seemed evident now
That a day of a great celebration
Had finally come to a grand conclusion.

ROS CEREMONY

Though it may not be authentic, everyone - our relatives, friends and myself, are super-excited looking for the first Ros ceremony in the family. Though it may not be carried out fully according to the tradition of our homeland, Goa, we hope it will be quite near to the original! We are looking forward to singing Goan mandos and dulpods to the accompaniment of the guitar and the harmonica. By the way, a djembe will be replacing the percussion part in the absence of the Goan 'gumott'.

THE SINGING DAHLIA

Dahlia, oh Dahlia. The singing dahlia. 

You had a clever way of getting out of any embarrassing situation like when you would come our stationery shop in Sharjah. You would usually sit on the photocopy boxes at the back of the store and sing. Well, I remember once you happened to sit on an empty box and sunk right in! But in your own way, you pretended as if nothing happened and continued singing. Well, I guess you have never stopped after that. You sang happily when times were tough, and even continue singing to this day. Can't wait to hear you sing on your wedding day.

SORRY, MY BAD!

Like all flowers, our daughter Dahlia has brought us great joy in our lives as she grew up with many great memories. I still remember when she was little she did not let me bring my work home with me. So when I came home, Dahlia would hide in a nook or corner around the house and I was supposed to find her. I always did, but one day I forgot to look out for her. When I remembered ten minutes later, I found her asleep behind her bedroom door.

HURT

News about our relatives not being able to make it for the wedding dampen our spirit. We are sad and furious. Bona fide folks are not allowed in, but the rift-raft are. We still hope something good will happen and pray our relatives will be present for the wedding.

DAHLIA MY FLOWER

DALU - A FLOWER AMONG FLOWERS

Yes, a Dahlia among my other two flowers. Always happy and never a dull moment. We all in the family are terribly excited. I have so many things still left to do. There are many artistic surprises on my hands that I must not disclose. Thirteen days remaining for the big day. Checking reminders list and adding more to it.

So what happens when our flower leaves the garden. I guess it will be empty. Though it will sad to see her leave and her absence felt I will am very happy in the thought that she has not only found somebody she loves, but one that also loves her.

SOON SHE WILL BE MARRIED

Its two months since my return back to Mississauga after enjoying a great vacation in Goa and a whirlwind tour of fascinating Rajasthan in India. But somehow although I still miss the good times of the frantic time we had during our holiday I have to get back to reality and keep on counting days to what lies ahead. Because what lies ahead is going to be equally fascinating and happy moment for everyone in the family. Because its going to be my daughter's wedding. She is 'Dahlia' a flower in our family garden.

So 14 days more and counting.

Photo by: Tony Fernandes

VISIT TO ALMA MATER

Felicio then paid a quick visit to the refectory, and while passing through the kitchen he was pleasantly surprised to see a medium-duty winch on an overhead I-beam track that is now used to lift the huge cauldrons of food from the cooking stoves. Innovative! Before his departure Felicio decided to pace up to the eastern corner of the terrace just below the refectory and next to the garage where once the famed “Land-Rover” stayed parked. But something was missing. It was the mango tree.

“Just let me cast one last glimpse south-east towards the beautiful and pristine landscape of fields and green hills of Socorro, Porvorim and Sangolda before I depart” a thought that he heard himself whisper as he gradually panned his head like a movie camera. And he took it all in! The green watermelon and vegetable patches in the distance lay sprawled along the twin roads that led to the hilly slopes of Sangolda. The view had not changed much. “May it always remain so and not turn into a concrete jungle”, he prayed.

ADIEU

SENTINEL OF THE DAWN

Misty, calm, serene.

Cross at the Piazza

 St. Diogo's Church, Guirim/Sangolda, Bardez Goa.

http://tonferns.blogspot.ca/2012/03/st-diogos-church-guirimsangoda-bardez.html

             None of Felicio’s visits to Goa would be complete without going to St. Diogo's Church and then visiting his Alma Mater, situated atop the hill and known as “Monte de Guirim”.

             This time, a guided tour of the new building followed a long conversation with the Principal and the Headmaster of the school.

             The new purpose-built wing, which features a novel sky-light, broad corridors and stair-well, is actually built on the very same spot where a humble but massive shed first stood in the early sixties.

             Felicio seemed to drift far away in his thoughts taking him back in time, remembering his class in that shed, when the Headmaster who was once a pupil in that same school startled Felicio echoing his own sentiments when he said: “Remember the old days?” “Oh, yes,” Felicio replied, “I still remember those were the days when during a heavy downpour in the monsoon the students would have had to shift to a safer place to avoid the drops of rain ruining their study books”. This was during the time when the new school building was in the process of being erected, and a a huge temporary thatched roof shed was built that had nearly 3 class with 3 divisions each, to accommodate the sudden increase in the number of students in the late 1950's - early 1960's.

OLD FRIENDS

After the church services, Felicio, thinking about his childhood glanced around casually if he could find familiar faces of his younger days. Luckily spotted a few and met them after the services. He was conscious of the thought that he must have appeared a little older just like they did to him, though none of them made any comment. Perhaps each one could notice the old missing sparkle in the other. Thoughts of younger days sent a lump up his throat. He made his way home on the scooter thinking about the times when he had covered the same distance on foot. However better times in later years had followed when his father had bought him his first bicycle.

LENT

Lenten services brought back memories of childhood. Taking part in the solemn procession winding its way around the hill-side and around the perimeter of the cemetery with life-size statues of Christ carrying the Cross, and hearing the touching notes and words of the motets sung in Konkani sent a chill up his spine. In enacting the crucifixion elders guided the young men who climbed up on the ladders to retrieve the “body of Christ” while the haunting rattle of the ‘matraas’ echoed through the church.

OLD FRIENDS

Felicio continued his daily visits to the bazaar to buy fresh fish and vegetables and drank more Kingfisher beer at his favourite restaurant in the town. He visited his relatives and friends, far and near who had invited him for their village feasts. He went to the beach with his few old friends and made some new ones.

FRIDAY MARKET

           In the old days the market place in Mapusa was busy only on the day it is best known for – the famous ‘Friday Bazaar’ day. But now every day seems like a Friday.

          After circling around for about 15 minutes one can eventually find a parking spot. One can barely nudge in between two scooters if luck is on your side. Some people realize it is a wise decision in not using a car to get there. 

          There are hawkers everywhere – at the entrance to the market and on the pavements too. The walkways are full of a huge new variety of merchandise. Half-clad white tourists with a local in tow roam around the crowded bazaar. Women in mini-skirts and big fat sweating men in shorts with huge bare bellies wander amidst local folks.

FESTIVE MOOD

In the first week of December he celebrated the Feast of St. Francis Xavier. People flocked to Old Goa throughout the month of December and then until the first week of January. Felicio managed to squeeze a suitable day one early morning. Rising up much before dawn he made a trip to Old Goa and unbelievably was home for breakfast by 8 am.

Combined with the ongoing festivities of IFFI, people flocked to the city, Panjim. On his visit to this beautiful city he had an impression that somehow some things had been left unfinished – pavements stones were stacked up in piles in several places. Government buildings, the balustrade along the river-side promenade and lamp posts were carrying a fresh coat of paint.
The joy of Christmas was evident throughout the countryside with decorative lights, Christmas and New Year Galas, music and dance everywhere.

Then came Carnival – the beautiful floats made their rounds in the major cities – while tourists and Felicio walked around some unfinished pavements.

There was a slight lull in gaiety during Lent followed by some in sobriety, moderation and solemnity in the villages. And by Easter it was time for us to join in the festivities of Shigmo.

TRYING TIMES

In equally trying circumstances, it took him another couple of weeks to gather enough nerve in getting behind the steering wheel of a car and learn the peculiar art and special technique to get around in the busy town. He went to the bazaar everyday and bought fresh fish and vegetables and drank Kingfisher beer. He visited his relatives and friends, far and near. He went to the beach with his new friends and drank some more Kingfisher beer.

Getting across to the other side of the road in the market town was quite a feat - an accomplishment unlike the old days. He had to be very careful. Motor-cycles, rickshaws, buses and trucks whizzed by every second and in all directions. It seemed as if it was a free for all. After waiting for nearly five minutes to find a clearance between speeding trucks, buses, private cars and motor-cyclists he finally managed to cross the street. He felt it was indeed a major achievement. This happened everyday. And on the many occasions he accomplished this feat, he thought he had triumphed, glad that he had emerged as a victor, thankful to be alive to tell the tale on the other side.

CHANGING TIMES

One of the great experiences in attempting to relive the past was going to buy groceries from the market in the nearby town. One of Felicio’s neighbours was good enough to acquire a scooter for him. It took him nearly a week to muster the courage to venture on the street, another week to try and remember to keep to the left side of the road and join the rest in the general approach, method and style of driving, manner of honking, maneuvering, braking and turning either left or right. Since he could not fight them he decided to join them.

OLD PATH TO SCHOOL

The next day, rising early in the morning, Felicio decided to take a stroll on the old path leading to the fields that he along with other boys walked on their to school . He tried to retrace the trail through the vast expanse of the fields. He was in disbelief to find that it was overgrown with wild plants and weeds. It appeared to be seldom used. Then as he was returning home he was pleasantly surprised at a remarkable revelation - to see a bus passing in front of his house that had “ST. ANTHONY’S HIGH SCHOOL, MONTE DE GUIRIM”, sign-written in bold blue letters on its side, picking up the students. That explained the overgrown weeds! No wonder, he thought, he could not find the old path to school!

MAJOR CHANGES

Some houses had remained the same, but the house located on the perimeter of the village had undergone a major change. It was now a modern house with a terrace. But sadly Felicio could not find the old owners there. Apparently some people who did not speak Konkani now had now occupied it. A few houses had somehow managed to keep up and maintain the old rustic pattern.

Friendly Neighbours

As it had been habitual during Felicio’s previous vacations, he decided to go around the village and visit his neighbours. This, he remembered, was something he had done from the time of his college days in Bombay. In the month of April he would travel to Goa by ship to spend his summer holidays. Visiting neighbours had been a courtesy and a habit since the days of his teens. Also he felt he should not let them presume that he has forgotten them.

His first visit was to the house of his closest friendly neighbours to find out how they were doing. Tia Anna hugged him and said she was now old, almost in her late 70’s, and lived alone. He remembered he had seen her upright long ago, but now she appeared frail and hunched. Her son worked in the Arabian Gulf. Felicio’s aunt slept over at her house since she had not been keeping too well lately.

While he was away from home he had often thought about Titi Joao. As a young lad Felicio and other boys in the village gathered around in the balcao of his house and attentively listened to the lengthy and intriguing stories he related during the evenings soon after Angelus prayers. His passing away saddened him.

Paulo Titi had passed away too. Aunt Maria had survived him. Her relatives were now living with her. As a child Felicio had played badminton in front their house. In the beginning the boys used a rope tied between two coconut trees. Later Paulo Titi had provided the village boys a real net, strong bamboo poles and powdered chalk to mark the boundaries. Paulo had organized village tournaments for them, and being a keen football player himself he had encouraged and given them tips on the fine art of the game.

Transformation

The afternoon swiftly transformed into evening. The road in front of Felicio’s house was full of hustle and bustle. It seemed as if it had now been converted into a major highway by a popular vote. Forty years ago this was a footpath, then a convenient road, now a highway. Felicio remembered how he wrote application after application to the Panchayat for the necessity of a road. Should he now write asking for the old footpath back, he thought. People were speeding home from work on scooters. Bus drivers drove with one hand on the steering-wheel and the other constantly on the air-horns. The change was quite overwhelming.