MUTT Online - Arts Community, empowering those in the arts from around the world to reach their full potential

For Email Marketing you can trust

Bombay to Goa, by lindabanana
London, GB

Rate This Gallery! Stats

Bombay to Goa

Chapter Two: Bombay to Goa

Mother India, name embellished in swirls of vivid colour along both sides of the eponymous bus, departed the Gateway of India promptly at 6.30 p.m., to travel overnight to Panjim, Goa. As the bus filtered into the rush hour traffic, Lee was filled with elation: India thrilled her. The sights, the smells, the sounds, the tastes and the textures of India were what the five senses were built for. Through the barred, glassless windows, she scanned the gaudy advertisements along the side of the road.

Pest Mortem Cockroach Control, a banner proclaimed.
You Have the Pest, Now Try the Best

Hits from Sholay blasted over the bus loudspeakers, colliding with the soundtrack from Sri Char Sau Bis, which boomed across the bazaar. Lee repressed the urge to break into a song and dance routine, like the Bollywood movies.

Consult Dr V.P. Singh: Stomach Gas and Sex Specialist

Next came the effigy of a man on crutches, covered in blood and with every bone in its body in plaster. It leant against the wall of an osteopaths office, home also to The Bombay Native Band, stunningly portrayed in a poster of dazzling artistry.

Darkness followed the bus out of the city. Then there was only the spattering of steel sparklers from suburban machine shops to light their way, and kerosene lamps to illumine the cigarettes, incense, bidis and pan on sale at roadside kiosks. A communal TV screen flickered blue in the dusk with fifty enchanted faces lit by its magic lantern. The passengers drifted in and out of consciousness. When pit stops came, they staggered, still half asleep, to squat by the road and relieve themselves, chai stand toilets being too gruesome to contemplate. Afterwards, they crouched over sweet, steaming tea, with one eye on the bus crew, nervous of getting left behind.

With the sunrise came Goa. Christmas lanterns hung outside the whitewashed houses. Women, already dressed in Sunday satin, did last minute chores before mass. They had covered every shrine with festive flowers, in homage to the Virgin Mary, Our Lady of Merces and Perpetual Succour. Across the fields, hoardings the size of Bombay tenements advertised succour of a different kind. In the shape of immense fighting bulls, billboards extolled the comforts of
five-star hotels, Four Square cigarettes, Honey Bee brandy and Kalyani Black Label beer.

At an unscheduled stop to investigate noises in the engine, a friendly Sikh plunked a shot of whisky into Lees weak and milky Nescafé. She wandered along the narrow road, nursing the cup to ward off the morning chill. She bent down to pick up a wilting posy from the ground beside a white cross.

I hope you have blessings left over for me, Holy Mother, she said, as she placed the flowers on the plinth.

Are you talking to yourself, my love? said a voice that seemed to issue out of the shrine from which the flowers had fallen.

Lee jumped then recovered. No - not to myself, she said, and definitely not to you, Elias.

Could it be that you have discovered religion?

Lee glanced up and down the road, afraid someone would mistake her for a lunatic. If anyones found religion itll be you, she mumbled from one side of her mouth. Youre in the perfect place for it.

The Wheel of Fortune has always been my religion, habibti.

Is that how youre spending your time - in some kind of heavenly casino?

Sadly, there is nothing here with which to gamble, said the ghost of Elias. You cannot take it with you, as I am sure you have heard.

At this, Lee found herself feeling unaccountably guilty.

I do, however, the spirit went on, enjoy the occasional friendly wager - matters such as when the penny is going to drop on poor so-and-so that he is not in Eastbourne any more are a great source of entertainment here.

So you dont know everything, then, up there? Im assuming up is where you are.

My dearrr, one thing I have always known and that is the future. Yours, for example, I see as clearly as I see you now.

I find it difficult to take all this seriously, you know, but go on.

I see deep shit, my love, and you heading straight into it.

Your faith in me is heartwarming. Lee took a swig of loaded coffee. Anyway, considering you didnt even know I was going on a long journey, Lee mimed inverted commas, you can hardly expect me to give much credence to your predictions.

A church bell began to chime and then thought better of it.

Nevertheless, Lee said, do elaborate.

There was silence.

Elias? she said. Hello. Is anybody there?

The chiming began again, with more confidence this time.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! she said. Ill be banging on the table next.

A horn sounded from the bus. The boy from the kiosk approached to take Lees empty cup as she ran to get on board for the last leg of the journey.

By 7 a.m., the luxury white taxi to which Lee had treated herself was winding along the coast road to Colva. Excited about seeing Rosie and her sisters, Lee searched the roadside for the familiar gate.

Here, she said, as they flashed past the Coconut Shop. Slow down; its the next on the left. Her heart was racing as the taxi bumped over the stony track where two athletic shapes were already loping towards her.

Lee, oh Lee, you are come, said Rosie, hugging her and lifting the rucksack from her back with the supple ease of one who is accustomed to physical work. See, Maria, she is here. I told you she will come today. Lee, you must go with us to the church.

Whoa! I must, by God? said Lee, stopping and regarding Rosie with mock horror. Why this sudden concern for my mortal soul?

Rosie, she has come far. Let her to rest, Maria said.

Well, that hasnt changed, said Lee. You two still cant agree.

You are having camera, no? Rosie was too single-minded to make small talk and started pulling Lee towards the house at speed.

Er, yeeeeees, Lee said, eyeing Rosie with suspicion. Why?

The statue of Our Lady arrives at the church this morning. You can take photo. It will come tonight in our house. This is great honour for us. There will be Blessing and procession and ... and prasad - food for everybody.

Lee closed her eyes and into her mind dropped memories which spanned twenty years. The way they had danced at Rosies second cousins wedding, with all the children spinning round the floor until their heads reeled. One of those children had been Rosie herself. She thought of the evenings she had accompanied them on guitar as the girls sang Abba songs knowing all the lyrics. She remembered being there with the sparkle-eyed holy man, Om Prakash. Their mother, Sabina, had warned the girls then aged two, four, eight and ten not to get in the way of the wild-looking sadhu because he knew the old ways and would put a curse on them. Hearing this, they did their utmost to provoke him but no amount of teasing could arouse his anger.
The season of the streaker flashed into her mind.

Avert your eyes! Pai shouted as he urged his daughters inside the house and chased the hairy hippy off the compound with a meat cleaver, dripping with the blood of a slaughtered pig. The girls had laughed until they had to cross their legs. Pai had turned the knife towards them and threatened to slice them into a hundred pieces, while trying to suppress his own laughter. This incident became the stuff of legend, whenever Pai presented a suggestive-looking piece of pig to cook, or if two oranges and a banana were discovered together in the fruit bowl.

Lee turned to the mahogany altar, gleaming in all its carved and polished glory. Francis made that, she said, remembering the parents wedding present from Pai Fernandes closest friend. On it, candles and cones of sandalwood incense stood among the statues of the saints. At its focal point, a space had been reserved for the statue of Our Lady of Fatima.

She will be here in twelve hours only, Rosie said with pride. All the way from Portugal country. She has gone all around Goa and today she comes to Colva. I stood in line for many hours so she will come first in our house. It is good sign you come today, no?

Lee looked up at the wooden beams of the familiar house, at the roof tiles from the Mookambika Tile Company and the plaited coconut palms which hung over them. Then she lowered her gaze to the cow-dung floor.

All at once, Rosie took Lee by the shoulders and stared into her face, pleading with her eyes for Lee to go to the church with them and then back for the supper.

Do I absolutely have to? Lee said. Wont it mean hanging around while the hordes eat and wail until God knows when? Maria grinned. Rosie groaned.

Something like, said Rosie, but I have made coriander paste sandwiches.

Lee pictured Maria sweeping the compound at 5 a.m., while Rosie was at the well-worn stones, grinding the masala - the chillis and spices she would mix with the herb to make a paste. She saw her pulling the coriander leaves from their stems, the green juice running down the groove in the base stone and her mouth started to water.

Youre a hard woman, Rosalina Fernandes, said Lee, to use the coriander paste tactic when you know I have a weakness for it. Save me some. Ill come to the church but Ill give the other part a miss, if you dont mind. Id like to see Denis and Geraldo. Do you think theyre about?

Rum and Chum the French boys? said Rosie. They will be sleeping. These days they come out only in the night. But hurry, please. We must go fast to the church.

The girls went behind the curtain to dress. When they emerged, they were wearing shiny, short-sleeved dresses in different shades of pink with frills at the neck. They vied with each other for a place in front of the mirror and pinned up their long, dark hair.

Lee rummaged through her rucksack for the chikan embroidered Lucknow suit she had bought in Bombay. She found it, still pristine in its cellophane wrapper. Extracting pins by the dozen, she shook out the cardboard insert and smiled at Rosies words. Had her old friends Denis and Geraldo become vampires - venturing forth to haunt the village only when dusk fell?

Well, I'll soon find out, she thought. Meanwhile, Im off to the House of God, dressed in my pyjamas.

Then, with Rosie and Maria in their dresses with the pink satin ruffles, Lee joined the trail of women hurrying to the Church of Our Lady of Merces on her first Colva day for eight years

Description: Lee, the middle-aged main protagonist of my novel, 'Hot Times in Goa', travels by bus from Mumbai (then called Bombay) to her old friends' house in Goa, accompanied by the ghost of her recently-deceased husband, Elias. She is running from her responsibilities at home in London and is on a quest for the mythical 'Great Sex.'

Photo Posted: Jun 20,2013 Photo Viewed: 593

Pages(1): [1]

Post Comment

Home Page | Advertise | Contact Us