It's all about the rains... Shamika Andrade shamikaandr...@gmail.com
These days, conversations in Goa only seem to revolve around the heat. "Chodd gorom zala bai", says my neighbour Aunty Philu to me when I meet her at the Mapusa Market. I nod in reply, wiping the sweat off my nape. Dressed appropriately for the season, I look like a Mario Miranda character from any of his sketches. However, my drenched floral cotton dress sticks to my body making me seem shapelier than I'd like to reveal. Today, I could pass off for my grandmother. Like her, I have my hair tied up in a bun. Like her, I have a smile on my face, no matter what the circumstance. Grandma always liked eating watermelons when the heat got unbearable. So, I have bought a big fat juicy one, especially in remembrance of her. On my way to the bus stop, I halt at Uncle Tony's place. I wait a bit, to catch my breath and silently observe him. He is busy supervising the workers who are fixing the roof tiles. Some workers have climbed high up on the coconut trees and are throwing down coconuts and dead branches, while others seem to be building a shed for his faithful old car. Aunty Maria, (God bless her soul), would never have allowed such an important job to be left for such a last minute. What if the heavens gave way and it rained suddenly? After all, today's sky looks overcast. It is even darker than what it was just a few hours ago. And there is this cool breeze that has suddenly started blowing. Such a relief but now I also have to mind my dress! Since Uncle Tony is too busy to even notice me, I leave a packet of his favourite guava sweet, Goan Perad, for him. On finding it, I'm sure for a moment he will wonder who his secret angel is and then I'm sure he will guess it's me! Luckily, I don't have to wait too long for a bus going to Moira. The moment I arrive, there is one already waiting for me. As I step in, I can't help but notice that even the birds seem to be flying home. En route, I find even the rice fields are full of workers. Everyone seems busy today, everyone seems rushed. The only idle one other than me is the scarecrow. But unlike me, who is here in Goa for a few days to escape the madness of Bombay, even the scarecrow has a mission, to ward off birds. It is sad but today with the heat and the mad rush, Goa seems very similar to a busy Bombay. My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a loud sound. "Oh dear, I hope the bus hasn't got a flat," I exclaim loudly, much to the amusement of others. Luckily, I have reached my stop, Moira Club. And just as I step out, once again I hear that loud rumbling sound and this time, I see a flash. Did someone just click my photograph? And then suddenly, just what Goan parishes and parishioners have been praying for months, finally happens; it starts raining. The others take shelter at the bus stop. As for me, I continue walking. With no umbrella, here I am, this Moidekar Bombay girl, with a watermelon resting on my hip and a market bag in my other hand. Here I am, a Goan girl, walking in the rain, breathing it's smell on mud, listening to the frogs croak, feeling completely alive, a song in my heart, a smile always on my lips. I stop and look up into the sky.... * * * Mumbai-based Shamika Andrade has been writing for Goanet Reader, earlier in a column called 'Goan Girl on all things Goan'. She loves to write and dreams of reaching Caen, the largest city in lower Normandy to teach English to college students there.