Of pilgrims' passports, Customs' checks and stormy seas By Raphael 'Ruff' Machado rufgg...@hotmail.com
Thanks for John Menezes' write-up on the difficulties that Goans and others faced while going to Goa from Bombay, prior to Liberation on December 18, 1961.[1] Yes, I too remember the experiences of my parents and my three sisters, when they went to Goa in October 1960. We had to obtain pilgrims' passport for each of them. They too had difficulties at the border and were stranded there in the jungle for two days and two nights until they were cleared to cross and enter Goa. Of course it was just a ten to fifteen minutes walk through the jungle from the Indian post to the Goa entry point. We three brothers could not go as we had already started working at that time and could not get leave. I however did travel to Goa with my mum every year almost since 1938 when India was under British rule and we had no problem as there were no restrictions to cross the border. The mode of travel from Bombay to Goa was either by rail or sea and the sea was very convenient as small steam ships of the Scindia Steamship Co used to sail between Bombay and Panjim and the journey took just about 24 hours. During the monsoons, we were forced to travel by train as the sea was too rough for sailing. For the train journey, the Customs check at the borders happened at Colem and Castle Rock stations. I remember that the Customs checking staff and border police were very huge -- six to seven feet tall -- Africans who were brought from Angola, the then Portuguese colony in Africa. These guys appeared very mean, rude and fearful looking giants. I vividly remember an incident in particular. We three brothers were returning to Bombay with my mum after our May vacation in 1946. We were travelling by train and stopped at Castle Rock station for a Customs check before we entered India. This huge African Customs officer asked my mum to open our suitcase and bags and he found a large size pickle bottle which was made by my grandmother and given to us to enjoy in Bombay. He rudely asked my mum what were the contents of the bottle and when she told him it was mango pickle made by her mother for us. I do not really know what happened to him but in a fit of rage he took the bottle and smashed it on the platform floor. My mum started crying and I was so angry. But what could I do as I was just 10 years old. I also remember the year 1941 during the Second World War. The Axis of Germany, Japan and Italy were fighting the War against the rest of the world particularly Britain. The "Japs" had conquered the entire Far East and had reached the Burma border of what was then British India. Fearing that the Japs -- the term in use then -- would begin air strikes on the major cities in India particularly Madras, Calcutta and Bombay, by their Kamikaze (suicide attack) planes, the British Government gave orders that all women and children should leave the cities and go to the villages in the countryside for safety purposes, while all working adults particularly those in the essential services like telephone/telegrams and railways, besides other government offices, should stay behind. My dad had no place in the countryside to send my mum and us three boys. So he decided to send us to our grandparents in Goa (mum's parents) which was a Portuguese colony and Portugal was neutral as they did not join the War. Hence we would be safe there. So in June 1941 we sailed to Goa on one of the smallest ships of the Scindias' 'St Francis Xavier'. It was a terrible journey as the monsoons had just begun and suddenly there was a heavy storm too at sea. So rough the sea was that all the waves flowed on to the top deck of this steamship and the captain sounded the danger alarm signal. Fortunately there was a priest on board and as almost all passengers were Goan Catholics, he made us kneel and on the deck we started reciting the rosary to Our Lady of Help and Mercy. It was like our prayers were heard and as suddenly as the storm started, it abated within a couple of hours and everything was calm until we reached Panjim harbour on the Mandovi river the next morning. On the way at sea, we saw many Royal Indian Navy warships and a few small German gunboats which were sunk by the Navy when they had come to Indian waters for reconnaissance purposes through the Mediterranean Sea. We stayed in Goa with our grandparents from 1941 to 1943 until the Japs were defeated on the Burma front. My brother Maurice and myself also went to a primary school in Calangute during that time. We were quite happy in Goa but my mum kept worrying about my dad and an aunt and uncle who were left behind in Bombay because all the three were in essential government services i.e. Telephones and Reuters. There are many more experiences that I still remember that took place during the War, particularly the great Bombay dock explosion on April 8, 1944 as I happened to be in the dock area near VT (Victoria Terminus) Station, with my mum, on that day. But I will keep that story for another day. [1] When crossing from Goa to India needed a visa by John Menezes, book extract in Scroll.in http://scroll.in/article/665390/When-crossing-from-Goa-to-India-needed-a-visa