The colonisation of Goa Rajiv Desai [EMAIL PROTECTED]
It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in Ucassaim. We are sitting in the garden with our friends, Wendell and Jerome. It is surprisingly cool and a gentle breeze is swaying the coconut palms; another bucolic day in our charming little village.
Wendell is holding forth on the Delhi invasion of Goa. "I welcome them if they buy old houses and restore them with their money," he says. "But I draw the line when they make marble and granite palaces in the garish style of Greater Kailash (a South Delhi suburb known for its kitschy homes)." More and more people in this idyllic state are beginning to feel like Wendell.
The nearby village of Assegao, for example, has been virtually annexed by Delhi's high fliers, who have renovated old homes into luxury dwellings. At the other end of the spectrum, blocks of Mumbai-style apartments have sprouted.
The colonisation of Goa is underway. What is emerging has little to with the place itself and its unique culture. In the upper reaches, it is beginning to resemble the Bahamas, while the apartments and resorts for the middle classes are sleazy Thailand-style developments.
The colonisation of Goa is a problem, because it ignores the local traditions and culture. So the apartment dwellers live their Mumbai lives and the wealthy in Assegao and Dona Paula import their own little designer existence. Which is worse?
The common indictment is that at both ends of the socioeconomic spectrum, everyone seems to want to live in Goa. But they want no contact with the local culture, except as service providers: real estate agents, drivers, gardeners, electricians, waiters, caretakers.
For settlers at the lower end, Goa is about booze, babes and beaches; at the higher end, it is about the tacky Kingfisher Villa and being invited to one of Vijay Mallya's frothy parties. Everyone wants a house in Goa. It's like owning a BMW or a Maruti: a statement they have arrived.
They may own designer houses or concrete apartments. But they don't seem to have a home. Whether it's high end villas or cramped apartments, the settlers come and go, wrapped in their own little cocoons: some with Louis Vuitton luggage; others with plastic Samsonite bags.
People from all over the country and the world flock to this idyllic place. While most Goans make them feel welcome; some are beginning to ask questions. Visitors and settlers alike form their own little ghettos in which local people are not included. Among the most insular are Europeans, followed by the Page 3 set.
We had an experience in a kitschy place called Panchavati, owned by a Belgian woman called Loulou near the beautiful village of Aldona. It is a resort billed as a 'guest house retreat' that does not welcome any others than Europeans and rich and famous Indians. Similarly, at a European-owned shack at Arambhol beach, we waited patiently. No waiter came to take our order; frustrated and angry, we finally left.
Never mind Belgians, Germans, Russians and Israelis, even Indians from Delhi and Bombay are setting up enclaves that block out the local culture. They build real and virtual walls; as such, they go against the grain of the inclusive local culture of this wonderful haven.
These are the people we didn't see at the Black and Red Dance in Panjim on the last night of the Carnival. This is a traditional Goan event of celebration in advance of Lent, the 40-day period of abstinence before Easter.
The bands were superb; the evening was cool. From nine in the evening to two in the morning, we were suffused with camaraderie. We ate, drank and danced with abandon.in the streets of Goa's capital city.
What could be more community-minded than a Conga line at the street dance in Panjim, where strangers, men and women alike, held hands and swayed to the music? No drunken lewdness, no fights, no sexual harassment; only fun and dance and occasional shouts of "Viva Goa!"
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