============ GOAN ABROAD! ============ weekly humor Episode 1:
"Enter The Pollygon" *** The parrot let out a bloody scream, and I staggered. The man in 33rd and Bird looked madly at me, and smirked. "She's Indian too, you know!.....From Gujarat in Goa!" "Whaaaat?" I gagged, "Who fed you that Gujography??" "Her owner, a Shah who brought her from India!" squawked Mr. Ugly. "Seriously, her cuss vocabulary belongs in the Bronx, not here!" 33rd and Bird used to be off Madison in Manhattan, a riot of colour. I spotted this hawkish petrel swearing viciously at her neighbours in what sounded suspiciously Indian, drowning out the jangling street rumble of the passing NY cabs, and thought I must have her. "What's her name?" "Four-two!" he said, "Not just her catalogue number, but she loves the camera, and is always screaming "Photoo! Photoo!" the man quavered. "Hey, four-two!" I called out to the seething bird. "Hey, four-three, hey four-three!" she screamed back with evil glee. The devilish creature was definitely Goan. Upper-caste Brahmin, by the looks of the bright red Goa-church-official 'ofmus' crest. I had to have her. "Two grand!" demanded the 33rd brigand, "And by the way, she's not a parrot, but a real pedigreed Moluccan cockatoo! Much cleverer than your regular parakeet. Aggressive too. But all her papers are in order!" Her certificate read: "Cockayne Oliveira Popat". A Goan-Gujju half-caste? "I'll call her Cocky," I said, "Being from Goa....does she speak...Kon'knni?" "Cockney? Oh yeah, all Brit accents, swears like hell! Now....cash please!" "Judas! Bengali traitor!" Cocky shrieked, as I forked silver to the gargoyle. "So, Mr. Silva, " said Brother Ugly, "are you too from this Goaaa place??" "You bet!" I said, "A true son whaddya know, what we call a...niz Goan!" "Niz Goan?" screeched the bird, "Niz Goan...Goan Niz, Goan Niz, aaargh!" "Ah yes, " babbled the clerk, "I've heard of you Goanese chappies, heheh! Anyhow, the bird's been clipped, so she'll goan your shoulder everywhere....." "Oh, I'm a goan abroad...!" she warbled cockily. I listened and shuddered. She dug vicious talons into my shoulder, as I emerged warily triumphant onto the bright, bustling New York sidewalk, and into....old Mauvin Bobo! Perched on the fire-hydrant, Mauvin was a decrepit Goan tramp, who eked a few coins hilariously conning NY Goans as a financial whiz and gold expert. By day peddling cardboard stocks, by night he lived out of a cardboard box. "Got a bird, I see!" quacked Bobo, "I made a killing on the stock market today!" "Yeah," roared Cocky, "Killing.....chickens! On the live...stock, market, heheh!" Mauvin was stunned, given his real occupation of chicken-seller's assistant. A recent frontal Lobotomy had flat-lined his brain into a messy pancake...a bobo! Squatting nights in Williamsburg, he made great moola panhandling Brooklyn. "I'm collecting for Haiti!" squeaked Mauvin, "C'mon Johnny, gimme a buck!" "Haiti? More like bobo's....High-Tea!" cried Coco, "You wanna buck?? Bow-wow!" "Hey Bobo," I said, "Not just a bird - she's a popat, and...the popat always knows!" "I'm not a bobo!" yelled Mauvin, "You, you, pissed, racist, casteist Sashti....ist!" "Wonder what then?" I said to Cocky, as we left, "What is Mauvin, if not a bobo?" "A hobo!!" shrieked the bird brilliantly. I began to see tumultous days ahead. The East River glittered as we took the short subway to Astoria in Queens. "That shady Shah," I gurgled, "Trained you well! Who am I compared to him??" "A shadier shah!" screeched the bird uproariously. I collapsed in a heap. The popat always knows. ====================================================================== The above column appeared in the January 27, 2010 edition of The Herald Daily, Goa. ====================================================================== http://www.konkanisongbook.com/ _________________________________________________________________ Reinvent how you stay in touch with the new Windows Live Messenger. http://go.microsoft.com/?linkid=9706116
