------------------------------------------------------------------------ * * * * * * * * * ANNUAL GOANETTERS MEET * * * * * * * * * ------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goanetters in Goa and visiting meet Jan 6, 2009 at 3.30 pm at Hotel Mandovi (prior to the Goa Sudharop event, which you're also welcome to). Join in for a Dutch dinner -- if we can agree on a venue after the meet. RSVP (confirmations only) 9822122436 or 2409490 or [email protected] ------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bunker It was my own bunker, my very first bunker. As I espied its silhouette in the light of a wintery, setting, Panjim sun, mixed feelings ran through my being. I was suffused with a deep feeling of patriotic pride. Here was Goa's finest ready to defend the honour of its bastion against all comers. Indeed my chest puffed up a few notches. On the other hand, I was filled with a sense of admiration at the Police for being ready to lay down their lives against all comers �C A, B, C, D, …, X, Y, Z Company included. In Goa, when you eat the first mango or cashew of the season, it is customary to say "Havem aamo kelo or have caz keli". So I had "made" my bunker. I had never seen a bunker before as various wars seemed to have eluded me for one reason or the other. So my first reaction was to saunter towards the bunker and fill myself with great big chunks of visio bytes. But as I approached the bunker, I was assailed by mixed feelings once again. Would the guardians of the bunker arrest me as a spy, a veritable accomplice of the dreaded Kasab and his associates? Immediately my wool gathering mind cast myself in the role of the Assamese youth who wanted to be a terrorist and had strayed into a naval installation in Vasco. For a moment, in my minds eye, I could see myself in a black jump suit, flak jacket and monkey cap on, wearing aviator goggles armed to my teeth with an AK 47 or Uzzi. Hand grenades hanging from hooks attached to the numerous pockets of my suit, a couple of bandoliers of ammunition carelessly slung round my shoulders completed my costume as I blazed away rat-ta-ta-ta-tat-tat at imaginary enemies. My eyes were glazed as I approached the bunker and as I stood rooted in front of it, gazing at it, I was greatly disappointed. There was just a semi-circle of sand bags, almost, it seemed, haphazardly arranged to make a rough semi-circle. I had imagined that the bunker would be bristling with police men armed to the teeth with all kinds of weapons �C Bofors guns, Recoilless rifles, Grenade Launchers, great mounds of ammunition… My fears did not let me get closer. Nevertheless, I tried to do my best to capture in my minds eye whatever I could. I could see that at one point, there was a small square arranged in the sand bags, presumably for the defenders to poke a gun through and fire at the enemy. But sad to say the bunker was empty. It contained nothing but air. I jumped at a shouted "Fudde voch re" shouted at me by a grizzly policeman. As I hurriedly, almost running, moved away, the scales fell from my eyes. It occurred to me that this bunker was at best suited for frightening sundry politicians armed with an ace mini truck full of brick bats and nothing more. Even the arc of fire from the small opening in the sand bags seemed limited. Then I realized that this bunker was not meant to fight a serious minded terrorist but was what we call in Konkani, a "chhuttecho sorop" [a toy snake made of palm leaves]. We have run through the motions of defending our police headquarters and what more is required? After all, in Goa even the bunkers are sussegad -- тσηу Tony de Sa Ph: +91 832 2470 148 M: +91 9975162897 E: tonydesa at gmail dot com ------------------------------------------------ FELIZ NAVIDAD 2009
