Quiet and disquiet in Goa

Manisha Sobhrajani

One can’t stress the tranquility of life in Goa enough. Unlike other places, there is nothing called ‘rush hour’; no one seems in a particular hurry to get to anywhere. Even schools don’t begin at an ungodly hour; menfolk don’t have to hasten to work, at least not until they have bought fish for the house — fresh fish, to be cooked and consumed the same day. In fact, ‘fish’ is a topic of delightful conversation, day after day, every day.

It is said that goddess Durga, known for her temper and feisty attitude, arrived in Goa from West Bengal. The peaceful and soothing Goan landscape and surroundings transformed her into Shanta Durga or peace-loving Durga. Such is the luxury of time and space in Goa.

For me, this serenity was disturbed recently by an unpleasant incident. As I put my car into gear after dropping my daughter at her school, a biker coming from the other side of the narrow road was caught unawares. It was probably a heady cocktail of the following: fear of a woman driver, unusual speed, carefree and almost reckless, zig-zag driving. About 300 metres away from us, he applied the brakes in sheer panic. There was no need for that because I am very careful (though he would not have known that!). So, he skidded and landed right in front of the left tyre of the car. As he stood up after the initial few seconds of shock, dusting off his clothes and observing the cuts and bruises on his right elbow and foot, a crowd of onlookers gathered. I, too, stepped out of the car, knowing very well that I was not at fault. The biker, fully aware of the same, started making a few calls while children from my daughter’s school attended to his first-aid needs.

He said to me: “You should leave before my brother turns up. I won’t be responsible for his behaviour towards you.” As the crowd around us tried to make up their mind about who was to blame for the accident, I offered to drop him at his house or wherever he needed to go. Taken aback by my no nonsense attitude, he again tried intimidation: “You have no idea who my brother is. Just run away from here.” I couldn’t help but respond to his threat this time. Well, I said, he and his brother had no idea who I was either!

Meanwhile, the brother arrived, and I could hear the crowd updating him on the incident and also on me, an eccentric woman who refused to go away when she was being given a safe passage. I once again offered assistance to the biker and his brother, again heard a few murmurs in the crowd, and noticed a few people making faces at me. The first-aid procedure over, the brother simply walked away from any confrontation and took the biker away. I left, too, after reassuring the visibly shaken-up students, especially my daughter.

As I was driving back home, I felt quite disturbed. Perhaps not so much by the incident itself, but by the fact that this very road aggression was what I was trying to escape when I moved base from Delhi to Goa. But it seemed as if it had followed me. Of course, the scenario would have been much uglier in Delhi.

Yet, reflecting on that incident, I was brought back to the beauty of Goa’s natural surroundings by a seemingly commonplace event. A few weeks ago, sitting in the porch of my house here, I spotted a pair of hornbills. Across the porch is a huge tree with wild berries growing on it. The birds enjoyed the fruit as I sipped on my tea. Soon, the couple was joined by another, and then another and, in no time, there were at least 10 of them. It gently underlined to me how lucky one is to be here.

The writer moved from New Delhi to Goa a couple of years ago and has never regretted the decision