Since the patent on his traditional Goan Kashti had been long in coming from Tallahassee the capital, Carmo decided to go without further delay to Goa. His old friend Manohar seemed to need both systems engineering and major funding in his political shenanigans. The systems engineering he would delegate to Balbir Singhji senior and he Carmo would concentrate on the slush funds.
Carmo had a plan in mind. He had recently met the new Saudi ambassador-designate to Washington and had become his best friend. Manohar too, had also become such a friend, a long time ago in IIT. Carmo was promised untold wealth that he could share with Manohar, in return for 'facilitation' to build a grand mosque opposite Panjim Doordarshan. One that would rival the Al Faisal in Islamabad. Carmo counted his wealth in Cuban rum and that much money would be more than sufficient to buy him enough bottles for a thousand lifetimes despite his infinite capacity. Manohar on the other hand needed to buy legislators and they didn't come cheap these days. Would the BJP be a problem to the mosque? Not at all. Manohar like a true-blooded Goan politician was ready to sell his closest relative down the Mandovi, let alone some ideology or some forgotten promises to throw the Karnataka Muslims into the Arabian Sea. So Carmo flies to Goa not without the usual incidents. Mostly related to the consumption of alcohol on board the plane. While Air India has a maximum of one or two drinks in mind for its transcontinental flyers, to Carmo that would be insulting alcohol. This misunderstanding was finally solved with Carmo buying all the duty-free on board for his personal in flight consumption and an announcement on the PA system by the chief steward that sorry, they had forgotten to carry the duty-free on this flight. After 20 hours of a sozzled journey, in peaceful ignorance of winter turbulence and oblivious to the other passengers givng him scathing looks every time he passed wind and snored - often simultaneously - Carmo reached Dabolim. The Punjabis in the plane though, had given him warm looks. Here after all was a fellow desi, drinking like there was no tomorrow and expelling all that Sarson ka Saag. Manohar was waiting in Panjim. He was told by his cronies that some Goan American friend of his was coming to Goa to see him. And that this friend was bringing him a lot of money. At first he thought it was his friend Rajan. But no. Rajan had been a long time in Goa and as happens to any overseas Goan who spends more than a month there, he was ready to tap his relatives for further green. Was he not chasing security guards and defecating ghanttis all over Campal and Mira Mar, camera in hand. Was he not spending endless hours staring jaw dropped at sleeping forms beneath statues and in city parks. Would a man with money do all that? Manohar could not imagine that all this Rajan was doing with sorrow in his heart for his beloved Goa. After all Manohar was a Goan politcian and other than money, nothing tugged at his heartstrings. So friend or not, Carmo was in for a warm welcome. He had had enough of his friends crossing over to the other side and his party big-wigs contemplating whether there was in their ranks, a more suitable future CM for Goa than he. Now Carmo, although carrying expensive air totes on his shoulders, was showing the effects of a 20 hour flight and innumerable chottas under his belt. And Manohar though having enough personal funds to buy out the Gucci company thanks to his past Chief minstership, was in sordid clothes since he intended to get the ghantti vote bank for himself by dressing up as one of the boys. He wanted to show Digamber that two could play at the ghantti game. So camera slung over one's shoulder, airbags hanging over anothers and a money satchel on the third, the three men met. Manohar did not leave his house without at least 5 crores in his bag. Who knew which legislator or minister he would meet. Carmo looked around for a bar. Since the Caravela was right in front, Carmo suggested it. Rajan's mind was working overtime. He was short of photgraphs. He had exhausted all the ghanttis, sleeping figures, denuded hillsides, and Orrisa security guards he could find. His viewing public caught up in the rage against the ghanttis, were baying for blood, scandal and righteousness. Never mind if they chose to exercise all three in the comfort of their homes on those very hillsides that were denuded. Rajan cunningly suggested they take a leak before they entered Caravela. Now anybody familiar with Panjim knows that there is no convenience on that stretch of road except for the low walls. Had not Rajan taken one of his famous photos of an office-goer doing the unthinkable on those very walls? Whatever inhibitions Carmo had, had long since gone after his 20th shot of the dark stuff. Manohar on the other hand as a good host, was ready to do whatever his guest needed to do. So down came the flies and out came the camera and we on Goanet were treated to another photograph captioned "Local ghanttis become rich but not forgetting their habits". Viva Salazar, Lisbon of the East, God's Own Country, Switzerland of India, whatever. Roland Francis 416-453-3371
