Style Speak for Goa Today - by Wendell Rodricks Summer's Lament
The air crackles with heat. On the wind rides sounds of the flutter of small birds, tiny insects, a faraway peacock and a wild boar crashing in the bushes. Under the shade of a fragrant colour laden cashew tree, I spread a bedsheet and begin to read Disgrace by Nobel laureate, South African, Coetzee. It is a book that moves my heart. Between munches of warm roasted gram purchased at the Friday Mapuca bazaar and sips of chilled urak from the hills near Salem, I reach out and touch the dry brittle grass. On this hillock are kanta bushes and jambool trees. Secrets from childhood. Trees that I climbed as a child in Camurlim (Bardez). Beyond the slope are the sleepy villages of Camurlim and Chicalim with the river like a brilliant aluminium snake. Paradise ? Only if you wear blinkers ! Turn your head around. A power plant with it's antennae invades the sky like locusts. To the left, a new Government housing scheme is tearing the earth. Flattening it. Buildings for strangers speaking strange tongues. The air on the hills these days carry a babble of voices I cannot understand. Where is my beloved Konkani that once was the only music I heard on these hills ? And why are they cutting the hill with large machines and blasts ? Everywhere we drive concrete and steel into the earth. Like crucifixion nails. I hold in my fingers a fistful of earth. This wonderful red dust. Full of minerals, that will come to life when the first rains hit next month. In this fist lie a multitude of lives. Seeds that will grow into bushes and grass. Provide homes for the birds, animals and reptiles. They have moved to this hill en masse two years ago. The mongoose and the fox. The monitor lizard and the quail families. They took away their land. You see the power plant and the Binani factory ? That was their land. They were moved without permission. One day bulldozers arrived, flattened the land, and burnt their eggs in the bushes. Gone. In one month. The cattle that once grazed on this plateau now have their bellies swollen with plastic garbage and toxic white fiberglass powder thrown over the Binani factory walls. I begin to weep. Look at this land. This tired earth. This earth we played on, sang love songs to. Giver of rice. Provider of our laterite homes. Reservoir of rich mineral water springs. Mother of our culture and destinies. What have we done to our beloved Goa ? We left her. To travel for jobs. Left our homes, rich with laughter; now caved in and overgrown with thorn. These home that foreigners and other Indians are snapping up. There one day. Gone the next............for a few lakhs. We sold them. Sold our souls. In lands as distant as Australian and America; in nearby Mumbai and Bangalore, Goans live in apartments of less grandeur. Turned our backs on Goa. We don't do up our Goan homes "due to disputes". Stop these disputes please. Restore these monuments of love. At least for the memory of our grandparents who put their lives, blood, gold and sweat into this earth. We inherited paradise. We cannot now consign it to hell. It is depressing what we have done. I. You. We all. We let the fields rot. Did not repair the bundhs. Sold our homes. Did not protest when our communidade lands became industrial complexes. We let companies like Nestle, Coke and Pepsi paint our entire walls and houses. Should some young Goan advocate not sue them for millions ? For defacing mansions of cultural value ?? We sat and did nothing as corrupt politicians swarmed in like vultures. We voted them in. Blame ourselves. Let us accept our faults with facts and face the future. The future? How can we respect our rural village lives in a better manner ? Provide basic education, higher education, medical facilities, employment and care for senior citizens and infants. Which politicians can we trust to avoid rampant constructions, provide water and electricity, a crime free Goa, respect for the Khazan lands ? Someone to check the pollution of air, land and water ?? We placed our trust in Parrikar. He messed it up with communal divide, dictatorial attitude and an ego that grew beyond the size of the state. Do we now trust Digamber Kamat ? He seems among the best. But then, will he also let us down ? Goa has been let down on all sides. Birds that flew so freely have flown away. Plants that are possibly facing extinction have been bulldozed away. We don't hear the frogs any more. Public mango trees are riddled with parasite (benurli) plants. We pass these brave trees that bear fruit despite the odds. Can't we put our hands in our pockets out of love for our villages even if our Panchayats do nothing. On virgin hills everywhere are hutment's with migrant labourers who are not cared for. Their children look at me and my four dogs with bewilderment. They should be in school. Not here on the open hills watching a grown man cry. I walk to the jambool tree of my youth. It has been cut for firewood. So I collect the dry seeds to replant in my garden. Hopefully they take root and grow. But my garden is the wrong place to sow memories. All ye Goans, my brethren, come back to Goa. Do not sell your lands and houses. With the way prices are soaring, our Goan children will not be able to afford our own land. Please do up these houses. Do not expect us Goans living in Goa to hold up this vanishing culture. We need to unite. To hold onto this land that we cherish. If the government does nothing, we should do things on our own. For the sake of the land. Especially the wealthy. Go on. Do your bit for Goa and stop being selfish. There are few communities in the world that love their lands as much as Goans do. Why, oh why, then are we being so uncaring. Why are we watching Goa disappear ? In the mornings, I walk in the Colvale early mist. Through the haze I see glimpses of my old Goa. It's still there..............lurking in the mist. We need to save it, before it all disappears. It's time to wake up from a nightmare called reality !!! ---- The column above appeared in the May 2005 issue of Goa Today magazine ===
