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THE sea breeze calls; the Colva sand calls; and oh! The call of the Colva waves which makes people fly to the beach. It is amusing to watch the people in their unguarded moments at Colva. Old age makes me take the Colva scene leisurely.
As soon as the people land on the beach, they strip themselves up to the waist, the women use bikinis or their substitutes and the gents with the trunks or briefs. Some of the exposed protruding bellies of the people appear to be a clear proof of their voracious appetite.
Sea bath at Colva is a refined ritual. Some people enter the sea and go, plop, plop, plop like the great God Pan; and they waddle their way further as if ploughing the waves. With breaststrokes, sidestrokes they swim in the alms of the sunny sea within the domain of the life guard who keeps an eagle�s eye on them. The small waves and the big waves rock them and suddenly they turn to mermaids and mermen to weak eyesight.
Most men and women, mainly, have hipbath and spine bath and get themselves soaked with dip, dip and dip like tea bags in milk cups. The divine force in the waves of the sea, massages the whole body of the star sinners and the star saints and rejuvenates them. Some indulge in footbath by immersing their feet where the whispering waves lap the shore like lovers lapping each other with sweet nothings.
A few elderly folks take in sand bath by covering their painful joints with sand. The rough smoothness of the sand bath followed by sea bath drives their arthritic pain like the magic of a magician, they claim.
After the sea bath, Goan families spend their time lazing on the beach, helping their kids to build castles on the sand. Then with the spirit of togetherness, they have their meals, which consists of boiled eggs, sausages with �Goicho Paum� (Goan bread) and with a little �copachem� (dose of liquor) of course. Then, underneath the shade of coconut trees they lie down for a calm repose on the silver sand like kings on their royal beds; while the winds blow, the sea roars and the sun bounces on the leaping waves.
The sun sinks into the sea. It is time to go. I reflect on the silver sand, the bouncing rays, the balmy shade, and the frothy foam all of which are very refreshing to the weary eye. Here is a place where ancestors came; here is a place where children�s children will come. I go home nurturing these thought, as the night grows darker and darker.
http://www.navhindtimes.com/stories.php?part=news&Story_ID=05048
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