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Our dream of conducting Bombay-Goa cruises broke that fateful day in the office of the mightiest of bureaucrats. I could almost hear it fall to the floor and shatter.
It had been our dream, our obsession to start pleasure cruises along the Indian west coast between Mumbai and Goa. We had done nothing but dream that dream for a year. In fact we went lots further than just dreaming it.
We had gone ahead and commissioned the yacht - the fair Solita, a 42 feet beauty in the classic style, complete with imported American engines and just about every latest navigational device on her. And for commissioning this dream boat, we had put every last penny we had and lots more that we had borrowed at Shylock -esque rates from financial institutions.
As far as we were concerned, there was no turning back -that point had been reached and crossed months back when we signed on the dotted line and signed over a cheque of Rs 10 Lakhs.
And today, in
the plush office of the Grand Old Man of shipping, I sat thunderstruck as he coolly announced that we would, after all, not be given the license to ply our boat along the coast of India. His paan stained mouth pronounced the death sentence easily, maybe even with enjoyment. To say that I was devastated is understating it - we were way above our nose in the water by now. Based on the earlier verbal assurances that we would get the license, we had gone ahead and started the long process of getting a yacht built. A colour brochure was printed and distributed internationally at considerable cost and hopefully even now, there were potential clients who were flicking through and dreaming their unusual vacation.
I got up and left, mind numb - after all, this is what is known as coming up against a blank wall.
Hans, my equally crazy partner in this dream was in Cochin, where on the languid backwaters, the Solita was taking shape even as I dialled the boat yard number to call
Hans and pass on the news of the death blow.
On the other side of the phone there was a silence that lasted a full minute and then he said, �Okay,. I am coming back to Bombay tomorrow, don t worry, we will think of something.
I had no idea what he meant, but my mind was too tired to guess what solution he could come up with. The next day we sat across each other. He had the latest photos of the boat. Even a few months away from completion, one could already see that she was a very special boat. We sat thus for a while and then he said finally. Okay, we take her to Goa.. we shift there.�
Shift to Goa? I mean lock stock and barrel, not to mention two young children and we simply go to GOA??
Well, the choices were clear - we had the boat so we had to try and make some money from her. There were only two options - keep her in Bombay harbour and try and get business from corporate cruises or take her to Goa and try our luck with the large number of tourists
who come there regularly.
Goa - with its palm filled beaches and quaint shacks won hands down. We had been visiting Goa for years as tourists and really enjoyed the laid back, special something that makes Goa, Goa.
As we were soon to discover - a holiday in Goa is different to living in Goa, completely, totally different. No holiday can ever give you the deep peace that comes from actually living here - watching the holiday-makers leave with long faces and knowing that you don t have to leave. This is home!
We found a lovely cottage - a ground plus one structure sitting in its own garden shaded by a huge mango tree. Early mornings when we would drive the children to catch their school bus, the birds would be making a racket. Mist would be rising in smoky tendrils from the paddy fields in front of the Saligao church. Having waved a bye to them we would proceed to the Solita - bobbing gently in the calm waters of the morning.
When we first came to live
in Goa, in 1993, the communication systems were abysmal. Almost the whole of the Candolim-Calangute-Baga stretch had about one or two fax machines, about a few dozen phones and the Taj hotels were the only ones which boasted of a telex connection. Since in our business of in-bound tour operations, fast and reliable communication is an absolute must, we had no choice but to leave behind our office in Bombay.
Imagine our delight therefore when Goa Telecom went from the middle ages into the next millennium with surprising haste in the mid 90s. Hundreds of new phone connections were given, the internet followed swiftly, and e-mails quickly replaced fax messages. Five years after we arrived in Goa we felt confident enough to shift our office from Bombay to Goa. The lone telex machine at the Taj must now be gathering dust.
Today, the Internet has made the location of the workplace totally irrelevant. As long as communication systems are in place, you can be anywhere. Sure,
some extra back-ups may be required to cope with fluctuating electricity but for the rest it really does not matter anymore where you are. You can operate as smoothly from a quiet village in Goa as you can from an office in the bustling metropolitan centres such as Nariman Point in Mumbai or Connaught Place in New Delhi.
So why should anyone be sitting in a smog-filled city when you can be sitting in the verdant hills of Goa? This ease in communications has meant that many people are now choosing to make Goa their primary residence. A combination of travelling outside Goa and being able to be in touch with the world whilst enjoying the brilliant Goan life style is attracting lots of interesting folks who have made Goa their home now. A vibrant, creative and energetic community has emerged as a result.
Living in Goa, today is having the best of several worlds, great physical beauty, instant connectivity via net, several flights and trains a day to the physical world
and the presence of some wonderful minds and personalities.
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Building our dream home
For years we had ben happy in Villa Solita, named after our nautical beauty, but let s face it, after all it was a rented house. And the landlord was making sounds of wanting his place back. So we started looking at making our own home - either an old Goan home or a piece of virgin land on which to build our own. We must have seen at least a hundred different places - each one would have us start the planning in our heads - the entrance would go here, the bedrooms there and this could be the area where...
Finally though, in keeping with the rest of our lives, the place we chose was unconventional to say the least. In the gentle hill range that runs parallel to the Arabian Sea, the hills are covered with evergreen forests. Right amongst the cashews and the karavandas, we were shown a
piece of land which stretched from the bottom of the hill to quite a long way up. We fought our way through brambles and other scratchy bushes into a clearing.
From this height, we looked around. Right ahead of us were the paddy fields, their tips turning a golden brown and waving in the light breeze. To the south, fat brown cows could been seen grazing on the hill almost a kilometre away. A little to our right across the fields, was the great church of St Alex, the patron saint of Calangute. The church bells tolled then with great synchronicity and a crowd of wedding guests came out. Overhead, a kingfisher flew away cackling at some private joke and we fell in love.
Yes, in love with this piece of land - with its brambles and its red ants, its slope and its cashew trees half eaten by white ants.
Soon we became familiar with the various government departments - the Panchayats, the Mamlatdar office, the land survey offices and a dozen more. Side by side though
was this excitement - we needed to get the drawings done - we needed an architect! After discussing it to bits, we decided on a brilliant chap, one who had recently finished a jewel of a project in a similar location in the hills. To our delight, we got along famously well - a lovely and talented fellow and we left his office after making a date to come back and see the drawings.
When the drawings were ready, we sat in front of them, eyes shining, mouths open in anticipation. There it was, our dream house - there were rooms, corridors, arches and domes, various levels and courtyards. I was charmed. Could we have a home like this - full of fantasy and whimsy? A mini Xanadu?
I looked at Hans - he was studying the drawings and frowning and my heart sank. I knew the look. Is this the main door then? Hans asked the architect, pointing at some arched doorway. I looked at the architect He shook his head sadly - looking like a headmaster acutely disappointed over the dismal
performance of his star pupil.
Do you mean to say you want to SEAL the house? He asked, his face a picture of dismay.
Well, I would like to close and lock the door behind me, offered Hans.
The architect made it obvious that we were steeped into middle class values an concepts if we wanted to be able to lock the main door. Main doors are passe He proclaimed.
This started a battle - a battle in which he tried to give us a house of his dreams, complete with underground tunnel and other fanciful features. No doubt his mind was on accolades and trophies, whilst ours was on living in a home. No need to say that these two couldn t be reconciled. In the battle one head rolled and that was his.
We found ourselves at the drawing table - after all how difficult would it be designing your own house? Well, with the help of a STG 70 software package in the hands of Alfred the computer wizard, it wasn t all that difficult. Soon we were creating bedrooms,
living rooms and furnishing them with beds, side tables and what not.
Of course, the money ran out for months, when we just stopped the work, of course, there were troubles with permissions and some rather strange government babus. But in the end, after almost two and a half full years, we moved into the green haven that is Aranya (meaning a forest sanctuary). Today, after a full five years of having lived here, we still wake up and pinch ourselves. Is this really our home?
Outside the windows, the bird population has been added to substantially and colourfully by the foreign arrivals. There are fly catchers, bulbuls, tits and orioles. In the mornings we are still awakened by the cries of the wild peacocks and at night the hill is aglow with green glowing fireflies. From the top of the property, beyond the line of palm trees lies the ocean, smooth as a sheet from a distance. And if we time it right, the Solita comes into view - a white speck against the deep blue
ocean.
For us, the first cup of coffee of the day on Solita still has as much charm as it had a decade ago. On board the Solita, we have met many wonderful people - film stars (including my most favourite Amitabh Bachchan), models, Miss Worlds, Ambassadors and heads of state. There is something about her soothing beauty and the way she introduces you to the unseen Goa has charmed the heart of many. Designer Wendell Rodricks claims that he is always inspired after a cruise on the Solita. No wonder then that Remo, India�s foremost rock-star has immortalised her in a haunting song in his album - India Beyond.
Ours is a simple story - of two ordinary people who dared to dream, and who persisted till their dreams came true. The focus of their dreams was a quality of life which they found in this very special land called Goa.
Note: Hans Tuinman was a young Dutch student when he came to India to study the `Untouchables in the Hindu caste system. The year was 1978. He
and Sucheta have known each other since then - first as friends, then as business and adventure partners and finally as life partners. Sucheta has two children from her previous marriage, Vardhan, who at twenty one is the sub-editor of Autocar India magazine. At 18 Shalome is studying in her second year of arts in St Xavier s in Mumbai. Both of them are devoted to Goa and try and spend each holiday there.
Aranya was built by Hans, Sucheta and Hans younger brother, Alfred as a joint home for all of them. Emulating Hans, Alfred too married an Indian girl, Mita.
Now Alfred and Mita have two young children, three year old Daniel, and a year old Natasha. They are currently living in Holland at the moment due to some heart condition in their young daughter, Natasha.
Sucheta Potnis is a freelance writer based in Goa.
(courtesy: The International Indian) |
