George Menezes

I have a terrible conflict facing me. My vision is not all it used to be, but I can see the conflict clearly.

I had two calls on the same day. One was from my dear and reliable friends and neighbours, John and Angela Machado whom we used to know in Chembur and who now, for many years, live in Verem, Bardez, Goa.

On the border of Betim and Verem to be more exact.

It is better to be exact otherwise some over confident Goan may direct you to the Police Station instead of the Railway Station as has happened to a lot of people I know.

And a Police Station is about the last place you want to go to if you are reading the jaw breaking news in the dailies or watching it on television.

John rang up to find out whether I had asked anyone to dig up my garden. “Oh no” I said. Rice cultivation is not something I would like to be doing. Although if inflation does not come down soon I may think of cultivation of some sorts. Mostly potatoes, which I like in any form.

“Fine” he said “I just thought I would let you know that some digging is taking place in your garden and your Villa shows a definite tilt to the left”.

“That is because I am a socialist at heart” I said and put the phone down, both of us laughing heartily over my corny joke.

The other call was from Themi Master another neighbour but at Pedder Road, Mumbai where we lived for 20 years. Themi runs an excellent Travel Bureau and I have been her loyal client for over 40 years.

“George” she said “I know how much you love Goa and that any excuse is good enough for you to dash of to your house on the Mandovi river but………..

“I have a good excuse right now” I said. “Some people are digging up my garden”. She started to laugh as only Parsi women can laugh. Like the Goa rains. First a gurgle, then a clatter and finally a torrent of choking proportions.

When she finally stopped, Rs 1.50 on my Vodafone, I asked her what was so funny about people digging up my garden.

“Must be some fundamentalists” she said. “What with the ticket selling racket at the Fatorda stadium they might have shifted the match with Pakistan to the banks of the Mandovi close to your place”.

“Oh dear, dear” I said. “I now really need a cheap ticket for Goa on any flight tomorrow. I must have said the wrong thing because she started to laugh again.

“Air tickets have hit the roof” she said. “Don’t you read the papers George? “I do” I said. “I read something about “Palm Air” A guy who runs an airline with only one aircraft. One flight every other day, 70,000 passengers a year and a box of chocolates and a personal handshake for every passenger who takes the flight”.

“Is there a chance?” I asked. “It flies from Belfast to Dublin if that is what you want” she said. “Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty”. I said .”George give your roving eye a break” she admonished. “I will get you a ticket to Goa where you can find another Molly Malone.”

I took the flight next morning calculating that I would have to undertake several months of fasting and abstinence to pay for the new fares.

Like most things of short duration, and you know what I mean, the price is never right. I was returning in two days and had already spent half a day at our Mumbai, “all dressed up and nowhere to go” airport.

Eight flights were held up because of incessant rain in Goa. As a freshly and forcibly converted farmer whose garden was being dug up, I thought it would be unethical for a farmer to pray for the rain to stop.

We finally landed late in the evening. The power supply was “down”. I could not even see the garden. Wetter and madder than a wet hen I went to bed famished and cold.

In the morning I summoned our gardener and asked him why people were digging in my garden? “Remember you had signed a contract with Pest Control India for white ant treatment?” he said. “They have drilled holes inside the house and filled it with some gel and a few days later these guys came and are digging up the garden”.

“But these men are not from Pest Control” I said. “And you don’t need 50 guys and an excavator and a crane to deal with white ants”.

“I thought they were Pest control people” he said, sheepishly

I walked up to the gang leader and said “ What are you doing in my property?” “Big bosses orders. Owner of Mining Company. We are looking for iron ore. The Chinese are breathing down my boss’s neck. he” said rapidly

“Stop it at once” I said. “And get out of my property in the next ten minutes”.

He laughed like Gabbar Singh in the film “Sholay” but much more menacingly.

“Are you a Naxalite” he demanded. I turned cold.

I thought of all the many peace loving but politically incorrect young people locked up for years in our jails, dubbed “undertrials” and treated like ordinary criminals.

And I felt terribly afraid for Goa and for all the intellectuals, writers, artists, musicians, environmentalists and human rights activists who might be silenced by giving them just a name. There is something in this name, whatever Shakespeare might have said. And a frightful scenario is at hand

I want to tell singer Hema Sardesai, a member of the Goa Bachao Abhiyan which is successfully spear-heading the movement of preventing the destruction of Goa, not to get fooled by the planted stories that a strong Naxalite movement is opposing the Mining industry and not to waste her beautiful voice in asking for special status for Goa.

Goa has high-jacked the special status since the time of its Statehood.

The Stae of Goa is so special that it has been controlled by big business. It can do, and has done, what its big business, its builders its politicians and bureaucrat’s decide and decree should be done.

Stay with us Hema, don’t get high-jacked. Don’t rock the Goa Bachao Abhiyan boat at the behest of those who want to destroy Goa. Stay with those who really love Goa, because in the long run Love conquers all.
Goa will be saved.