Panjim seems like another world away, when seen from the eyes of a village barely 10 kilometres off. Looking back at the town- turned-city from a pre-Liberation perspective.
[REMINISCENCES] Panjim, my dreamland By Ramesh B Veluskar Panjim is close to me. It's the closest city to my village, being just ten kilometres away from my village named Palem. I do not exactly remember when I first heard about it. Nor can I locate that in my mind. This story though is more than half a century old. I was then about five or six. I do recall the festival of Nagpanchami, the day on which every folk from the village would take rest and no one disturbed the earth, because all of them were cultivators. They believed that Naga -- the serpant god -- took this earth on his head, and, that day being his very special one, he should not be given any trouble by creating a disturbance on the earth while it was placed atop his head. I always liked the love and respect shown by these people towards the serpent or Shesh Bhagvan, as it was practically expressed. They never worshipped an image of the Naga at home; but they would celebrate that day in particular with a day spent on entertainment available at that time. Most of them went to a cinema show in the afternoon; naturally it had to be at Panjim. There would be a lot of gossip on the subject of the particular movie showing. There was only a lone theatre in Panjim in those days, which was called Ravalem Thetar (Rao's Theatre). Actually, it's real name was the National Theatre. Keeping these people's wish in mind, the theatre manager would actually put up a nice mythological movie that they would appreciate. Once back home too, they would go on ruminating incidents from the cinema, over the next week or so. In fact, the week prior and the week following, I heard one very popular word on their lips -- Panjim. Panjim therefore was the place where the theatre was located. In my young mind then, I had a lot of fancy ideas about the words cinema and Panjim, and found a close association between the two. For me, Panjim was always a place full of wonder and amazement. I recollect that day when I saw Panjim for the first time. It was actually not by day, but by night. There were a lots of people who had gathered near our temple. There was a vehicle of the times -- then called a caminhao. All those who were present there went in the caminhao, even my parents and me. The gathering in the quaint, old-fashioned vehicle ranged from the elder to the child, of all ages. There was no light illuminating the inside of the vehicle. Some villagers smoked biddis, and those who were close to me disturbed my respiration with their unbearable stench. Anyway, I was not much affected, being engrossed in the journey to this dream-town, which one anticipated seeing in a short while. I drew in my mind a nice picture of Panjim, and it shaped up like the picture of an urban area one had till then seen only in books. Our caminhao ran fast through the darkness of the mind. As we crossed Santa Cruz's Bandrar -- I knew that was its name, because somebody said so -- one saw glittering lights from afar. Certainly, it was much like a dream. And, when one starts experiencing anything, there's no chance left to give play to one's imagination anymore. In the darkness, it kept coming closer, just like a dream. Up in the sky, there was a spread of uncountable stars, and down there, in a corner, a dream kept approaching, glittering like gold in the darkness. Panjim was shining with a number of lamps, spread across certain intervals, on every road. Almost as if it was daytime in the town. One could move around very freely, like it was day. I felt as if I was in some story of the Arabian Nights. Suddenly, it started drizzling. It was a strange and unexpected to enjoy the unimaginable scene of a filmy layer of rain at night. Our caminhao kept going past a number of nicely-painted buildings. At last, our vehicle stopped at a temple. I heard the sounds of bhajans, which were being played nearby. All the people from the caminhao alighted and walked across to the temple. It was Mahalaxmi Temple of Panjim, and the bhajani saptah was one. At the gates, there were some women selling flowers. I smelled the zayo, and was very pleased. People brought flowers and went for darshan. In the mandap, others who were chanting bhajans chanted melodiously. I felt like stopping awhile to watch the bhajan singers. Many had stopped by then. Someone uttered the name of Manohar Shirgaonkar, and others said instantly, "Manoharbooa Shirgaonkar". He kept singing with utter devotion, his voice was very attractive and he looked like a king among the other singers. After the darshan, we spent about an hour listening to the bhajans and then got up to leave. >From the temple, we went to the theatre. This was Raoalem Thetar. It was new to me. Surrounded by nice houses, this theatre was almost like a big palace from a storybook. There were two big staircases on both sides of the entrance, giving a magnificent look to the theatre. Dad took me upstairs. As we entered, I found myself in darkness, and a man holding a torch led us somewhere. Everywhere, I saw people seated. I heard a nice song and wanted to look back to see from where the sound came. I then caught the hand of dad and we climbed some steps. The man leading us shone his torch on two empty seats. We sat there, and I saw a dream take shape before my very eyes. There was a vast ocean, a woman and a man were swimming there. They were talking in a strange language. Both of them were almost naked. Sometimes, they were seen very close and at other times, far away. I wondered how I could hear them when they were so distant from me. Though I did not understand them or what they were taking, their talk was a very intimate one. Suddenly that dream was over, and another started. This was Hanuman's dream. Amazing. I did not quite like the interval, because it broke the dream. The whole dream I liked very much though. Late at night, when I went to sleep after reaching home, I wondered about the dream. Was it strange that for the rest of the night, I saw the Hanuman dream take shape again? Panjim was associated with my subconscious as a dreamland. -- The writer is a noted Konkani writer, who's small village is located just off the national highway, near Siridao. ########################################################################## # Send submissions for Goanet to [EMAIL PROTECTED] # # PLEASE remember to stay on-topic (related to Goa), and avoid top-posts # # More details on Goanet at http://joingoanet.shorturl.com/ # # Please keep your discussion/tone polite, to reflect respect to others # ##########################################################################
