The question - "question of the week was posted on Moira-net ( [EMAIL PROTECTED]) was What was it like or could it be like - we all going to Calangute in a bus in May?
My reply: Hello ladies & gentlemen and bald headed babies, I will tell the story as it happened and straight from the hosses mouth. I landed on the shores of Goa for the second time in my life somewhere in mid July in the year of our Lord 1962, We arrived, by the BISN ship s.s. Karanja, at Bombay (on its last voyage), and after an exciting trip by train and pickup from Sanvorddem (yours truly guarding the luggage at the rear, precariously perched on a sanduku) straight to my mother's house ina quaint village called Paitona in Salvador du Mundo.(Near what is now Kadamba Depot at Porvorim) In the month of May, in the hols, my uncle who was one of the elders of the vaddo and in consultation with several cronies decided that a trip to Calangute was in order on that Sunday. So accordingly, he entered into negotiations with Sonu the proud owner of a camião. After negotiating the * bhadem*, Yours truly was entrusted with a foolscap sheet with columns to enter names of people interested in going to Calangute. Unbeknown to my uncle, I had got a few of the boys to accompany on this expedition. We made sure that the damsels, we had eyes on, signed on the dotted line. No mean feat when you consider the strategy, the diplomacy, and the fast talking we had to do. In many places, we got replies like: *Amchem Filuk dhadtão, pun Alsu titiuchem Florinda veta zalear*. So off to Florinda's place to persuade her parents and so it went. It was thrilling when we out witted the ole foxes. So after swearing several oaths to protect and cherish the virginity of the vestal virgins, we got our quota of passengers and more if you counted the chaperones, By Sunday afternoon every one was on tenter hooks. Every one kept looking at their watches, if they had them. At last Sonu came with a chugging radiator. After a short prayer at the village *Khuris*, we all piled in, each one doing his utmost to get a choice seat near the damsel singled out for the evening. As we had some walkins, in spite of dire warnings not to do so, they thrust themselves into the camião. Sardines could have had a better time! We went to Calangute via Betim and Saligao. CHOGM Road didn't exist. At Calangute church, Sonu politely off loaded the excess baggage and we had to walk to a prearranged point near the beach. When we reached there, we made straight for the rotunda. The monstrosity called the Tourist was just being built. Calangute was a beautiful sleepy village with none of the present razz matazz - lamanis, masseurs, ear cleaners beggars etc. At the beach, we first went for a walk enmasse for the breeze, then we sat in a circle after keeping our bags near us and started talking about this, that and the other. Then it was time to play games like dog and the bone, crows and cranes. But that was soon followed by the perennial favourite twos and threes. This gave us youngsters a "*chanas*" to be near the flame of the moment and perhaps grope if the opportunity presented it self. At all stages when we were in Calangute, we youngsters kept thinking of what we could do to get the babe of the evening in our clutches. Not surprisingly, I later learnt, this was reciprocated by the 'unspoilt' village lasses. After that it was time for the sing song. Oh I still remember the songs: Be faithful darling, My bonnie lies over the ocean, wooden heart, rhythm of the rain, the hot favourites of the moment Bobby Darin's 'Things', Ricky Nelson's 'Teenage' idol, Cliff Richard's 'living doll'; Mack the knife, a popular pre-liberation Portuguese song 'ABC de curaçao' which went something like this 'vem, vem minha flor ….', cabeçinha, the Konkani Mandos and dulpodds. Invariably, someone would have a guitar and strum away. Various other vaddos and villages sat in similar circles There was healthy competition between these groups. If our group lagged in fervour while singing, some one would exhort " Look, the Sangolda group is singing much better let's show them ….". At a suitably late hour, something in the environs of 8.30 p.m., someone would decide "lets have some thing to eat. We ambled off in groups of 4 to 6 to a few stalls that were there. The groups of course were artfully contrived to get suitable pairs included. The route selected made sure we passed through some dark patches. Here, the bolder ones would hug, try to grope and even steal a furtive kiss. The dandies showed off by flashing their money. Eight annas (50 paise) was richess and a whole rupee a princely sum in those days. How we slogged, schemed. begged, borrowed or stole to have a few coins in our pockets to jingle in front of the lasses. Soon it was time to go home. We trudged to the bus-stand on the main road, just where the new parking lot stands now. Before leaving, Feddu, Salu or Vicente who had come from Bombay and was working there, was persuaded to sponsor a bottle of Caju. (Rs. 2.50 to 3) for the whole busload (females exempted). We stood in the balcony of one of the small taverns that lined the road. A '*cals*' was passed around. After the initial libation by one of the elders with profuse prayers for the well being of the sponsor, each one had a quick quaff. Then we boarded the bus, that is if Sonu was anywhere in sight. The return journey was much the same as the onward one except that we sang away and before reaching our destination, vowed we'd return the next Sunday. When we reached the village, after satisfying several old crones and assorted old papas that we had brought their daughters home unscathed, we went home to bath, supper and bed, dreaming fantastic dreams!!!!!!!!! And by mid week, there was lil ole me with another *suscrição* list!. -- Tony de Sa Ph: +91 832 2470148 E: [EMAIL PROTECTED] M: +91 9975 162 897
