Monday 10^th December

Something weird often happens at one city bus stop but not at the other…

Last week I was at the weird event bus stop, idly minding my own business, and watching one of our local Bethlehem House residents shuffling up the street.  He was dishevelled as usually and clutching and assortment of plastic bags.  One of them contained leftover fried rice and he was very kindly feeding some scruffy little sparrows, who were keenly following his ambling process.  He didn’t turn to look at the birds, as his feeding method involved flinging a handful at random over his shoulder.  I watched as a poor girl, neatly attired, came up behind him and found her neatly shod feet suddenly coated with a splatter of cold fried rice.  She looked up in consternation and wrinkled her brow at me – what the???  I wrinkled my brow back at her, ever helpful and said, “He is feeding the birds.”

India #40

As you can tell, we really didn’t like Seaview Cottages, so when we woke up on our first day at Baga Beach we went for a walk to find alternative accommodation.  Some we looked at was extremely cheap, just a few dollars, but was so very dirty and scungy, with horrible unidentifiable yucky things under the beds, that we said no as politely as we could to the proud, beaming owners.  Who does stay in these places?  Well maybe if you were a very young backpacker just wanting to drink a lot and spend your nights at the discos…

What we did find was Raman’s, where Pete had stayed four years ago.  This place was just beautiful, but very hard to find.  There are no signs along the road, or along the beach.  We asked Manoj, the owner, how he advertises, and he said, firmly, “just by word of mouth.”  He has managed to create a beautiful place.  There are winding paths between the trees, leading down to the restaurant right on the beach, with lots of space between the cottages.  Pete was very relieved.  He thought the place would have been completely developed and built-up by now, but no.  Manoj, a very dignified, impressive bloke, said, “No, I don’t want this to be like the rest of Goa; this is it, no more building, just these cottages and lots of space.”  The cottages were all built of the local stone, a beautiful pink-red sort of conglomerate.  Just gorgeous. 

The restaurant was lovely.  Just an open-air shelter, right on the beach, with the wild Arabian Sea a few metres away.  The cook, Rajendra Takur, was a delightful, smiling man from Nepal.  He gets to see his family every two years, and sends money home in between.  We just loved his cooking, which made him smile even more widely.  The waiter, a cheery young bloke, usually wore a T-shirt which said, on the front, “Nobody’s perfect,” and on the back, “I am nobody.”  So we called him Nobody right from the beginning. At first he thought this was funny, but then he decided he wanted us to call him by his name, Nirubam.  Much more dignified!  Actually probably not a really good t-shirt to wear…. We had beautiful meals there, sheltering from the pouring rain, looking out to sea, drinking Kingfisher.  (My favourite Ramans meal was aloo gobi, potato and cauliflower curry.  I have been known to make this sort of combination myself but maybe I won’t any more because how could I make it quite as delicious??)

Pete not only found Raman’s, he also found Sonia.  He had often told me about the beautiful, thin girl selling on the beach in Goa, baby on her hip.  He would worry about her from time to time, and I would say, But can’t you send her some money?  Well no… This is all very hard.  Send money where?  To Sonia Somewhere on Baga Beach?  He was very happy to find her again.  She now has another child, a little girl called Arti, and the baby, Poojah, he met four years ago is now nearly 5.  She spent a lot of time with us, to the great annoyance of the other beach girls.  “Why are you breaking my heart?  Why do you only buy from Sonia?  Can’t you make me happy too?” they would say, with some justification.  So Mary and I would do our bit to make them happy as well… Actually most of the things we bought from the beach girls turned out to be very nice, and good value.  Necklaces and sarongs and the like. 

Sonia brought her girls, all dressed up in alarmingly lurid nylon finery, to meet us, and also her husband, Sunil, who spoke not a word of English and who looked quite alarmed by the whole process. Sonia is the powerhouse in the family.  She works on the beach, does deals with shops, cooks, cleans, organises her household, tries to make ends meet.  Sunil doesn’t work, is a bit of a liability, but she has hopes for him – he is soon, she said firmly, going to drive a taxi!  And he gave up drinking two days ago!!  We bought them all lunch.  What would the little girls like?  Palak paneer?  Aloo gobi?  Ummm…no…CHIPS!  They were very happy, sat up at the table festively, while the other beach girls looked on from the sidelines glumly.  (We did buy a plate of pakhoras to share around; we are not entirely heartless!)  A day or two later about 2pm, when we were having a Kingfisher afternoon tea, a very young beach girl came sidling up to me.  She had a small stash of necklaces and sarongs to sell, and said shyly, “Would you like to buy me some chips?”  She was about 8 and had seen Poojah and Arti feasting… The kitchen was actually closed for cooking, so I couldn’t get her chips, but Rajendra rose to the occasion and made her a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich.  She asked for a Pepsi as well and then sat very happily near us on the sand to eat her small feast.  She wouldn’t sit at the table with us, but at the end she got up very confidently, came and shook hands with us and said, “Thank you, that was very nice.”

Amongst the things I bought from Sonia is a sari, in one of my favourite colours, sort of lavender.  It is all pristine in its packet and I have no idea whether or not anyone will ever wear it.  So…if you ever need a sari for a special occasion, dress-up party, and you fancy one in lavender with a delicate silver trim… I had an inkling that arranging a sari around one’s body is quite a complex task.  “No no,” cried Sonia, “it’s easy, I will show you!”  She got out a sample sari from her wares and whisked me into it very efficiently, folding and pleating and twirling.  A group of young Indian men who had come down to the restaurant to shelter from the rain and to play pool were fascinated and watched the whole process from start to finish.  Not quite sure what was so interesting but never mind… One thing which I had always wondered about was how Indian women keep their saris swept up over their shoulders.  Why don’t they keep falling down, in an annoying manner, as would happen if I had just thrown a piece of cloth over my shoulder.  Also, how do they keep their long graceful scarves tossed backwards over their tunics?  Why don’t they fall all over the place?  Sonia was very amused by this question.  “Easy!” she said, producing a couple of safety pins!!