from www.timesofindia.com - June 2, 2008 Balcao Banter
English anyone? Even as the voice of the anti-mega project brigade has gained mouth and momentum across the state, in fast turning brick-and-cement Taleigao efforts to choke the opposition were not too subtle at the recently held gram sabha. As the soft spoken Fr Michael of Don Bosco's, Odxel addressed the need to question the rampant concretisation of the village, loudmouthed musclemen believed to be part of the present legislator's brigade did what they do best: played bully. "Shut up!" they first bellowed. When that didn't quite quieten the man of God, they trumped with their fave issue: language. "Ulonk zai zalear Konkanint uloi. Na zalear bos ugui!" they shouted (If you want to talk, talk in Konkani or else sit down quiet). The priest agreed humbly and continued his discussion in the mother tongue. When it came the turn of the Taleigao MLA to share his moolah-ed opinion however, he stood up, took to the mike and proceeded to deliver a 15-minute address... in English. The Avenger Speaking of the MLA in particular, as rumours of him being inducted into the Digambar Kamatled government spread, officers at the Panaji police station were a worried lot. Some had been part of the counter attack on the legislator's home after Babush and his mob thrashed the station on February 18. What's worrying the cops is that while serving out his bail requirement (for leading the mob), the MLA had turned up dutifully at the station every day together with his cook who'd witnessed the attack on the family home. Notebook in hand, he'd noted the details of every police official who the cook pointed to as part of the attacking khaki team. The police are worried that once back in power, the legislator not known for his forgiving side, will strike back with transfers and dismissals. This is one section of Goa's public that's praying a cabinet reshuffle doesn't happen anytime soon. Cock n bull The ban on dhirios in Goa has left many an old and young bull-fight lover searching desperately for alternate entertainment to bravo on longish Sunday afternoons. So it happened a few days ago, that a 12-year-old trespassed into our Agacaim based colleague's kitchen garden with a cock firmly gripped under his arm. As our 'spellbound' associate watched, the entrepreneuring youngster nudged his fowl friend to play foul with the morning crower who has a penchant for waking all up a bit too early. For a while, both birds gloriously crowed their declaration of war on each other. Next came the sharp pecks, thrusts and general mud and feather splattering. A cock fight was in progress and how. Neighbourhood youngsters who'd smelt some good ol' afternoon fun in the sun had gathered, cheering wildly at the wild spectacle. However, the elderly weren't all too pleased. The shouts had ruined their Sunday siesta and moreover, a cock, however virulent, was no match for a raging padde. Crows, boots & public works Pedro and wife Philu, hereinafter referred to as the PPP (Pedro-Philu Partnership), were cruising on their Bajaj Chetak 1985 model. They were approaching the Zuari, near Agacaim, when the scooter coughed, choked and died. Entering a chai shop, this is the conversation they overheard: "You know. I hear the new Zuari cable-stayed bridge with the four-laning of the highway is worth 2000 crows," said a man. "Ten per cent of 2000 crows is 200 crows. That's plenty of crows to pocket." "They want to do it on boot basis," said the other. "But you are right. 200 crows is an eye-popping number." Poor Pedro could not make head or tail of this crows and boots. Said the first man, "You know, the Goa Velha bypass is pending for a over a year now. They are saying there is no mud. What a silly excuse." "Yeah," said the second man. "I hear the same length Old Goa bypass of 3 crows was completed in 45 days flat. And the IFFI related road works of over 4 crows was completed also in 45 days. If they don't get their cut of crows, they purposely delay the public works." Choking on their chai, PPP stumbled out to see bird scat splattered on the scooter seat, surely, the public work of crows. Pedro stomped his boots in disgust. Traditionally yours We'll call them the neo romantics. Hailing from the beautiful village of Bastora, neo 1 and his bride believed tradition needn't interfere with their tearfully romantic wedding. But while groom and bride exchanged vows, moved back to the Gulf they called home, and returned a year and child later, the village hadn't forgotten that they'd been denied the traditional vojem. What je, you may ask? It's the tradition of distributing sweets/fruits to neighbours and relatives usually a day after you say 'I do'. So, as the gulfies reacheds their homeground, cheers of vojem greeted their not too happy ears. The not too subtle gun to the head was the emotional ransom the extended family back at the village was subjected to a year into the longing. The pacification had to meet the expectation. And this was no mean feat in a village consisting of 75 houses. Bananas, over 2,500 of them, dhos over 45 kilos, laetri of an equal amount, dodol of some monstrous jiggly proportion and some thousand odd bol. And did we mention the coconuts? Well, flowers in hair, smiles on face and shoe bites included, family members trudged to each door distributing the goodies. Neo bride's entourage felt they were doing justice to neo 1's family's beliefs. Family neo lay all onus on the villagers, many with a foot in the grave and several teeth already there. Glad as we are that tradition, that definer of culture, is still around; the lean towards greed isn't too subtle. Fifteen bananas to each receiving family's member now, really! Fishy tales Along with fresh pao and seasonal fruits and vegetables the fishmonger delivering a basket full of fresh catch to the doorstep is quintessential to Goa. But some sellers believe in offering 'irresistible' bargains. So it happened that a colleague's mother tired of serving her family kormott (small fish) that the fisherwoman faithfully sold every morning, decided to pick up bigger fare from the market. As the lady with the basket turned up as usual one morning, our associate's mom politely said she'd no longer need the door-to-door service as the fish were a tad too small for her ravenous family. Eyebrow cocked, gaze coolly glaring, the matron of the trade shrugged her shoulders and said simply, "It's your wish, you'll no longer get the latest gossip happening around the colony." (Contributed by: Andrew Pereira, Preetu Nair, Valencia Mascarenhas, Pio Esteves, Joaquim Fernandes and Sharmila Coutinho. Compiled by Nadia Desai)
