--------------------------------------------------------------------------- **** http://www.GOANET.org **** --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The First Konkani E-Cinema
BLACK Nhesop Atanchem Fashion Premiers at Masrah, Hawalli Auditorium, Kuwait on Aug 10, 2007 http://lists.goanet.org/pipermail/goanet-goanet.org/2007-August/060201.html --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some houses in Goa are made of laterite stones and plastered with a mixture of cement and sand. Other houses are constructed using cast mud bricks. Both of these types are later white-washed. It is a specialized building art in itself, with the roof consisting of curved clay tiles or patented inter-locking red tiles placed on an intricate grid-work of rafters made from the coconut tree, wood and bamboo. Goan houses are famous for the unique style with the standard balcão, vosro, sala, kudd, and cozinha. A unique feature in these houses is a thick plank of wood that supports the weight of the wall above the door or window framework. Some main doors have a transom with small translucent glass panes. It was the monsoon season of 1952. The paddy fields looked good and satisfied. The seasonal rain had been ample and uniform. The farmers hoped for an abundant crop. The first shoots of rice were visible in most sectors of the fields surrounding the village. The village chapel resident priest along with the young and old folks proceeded in a procession to the Cross by the side of main road leading to the town and in a ceremony of prayers blessed the first shoots of rice. THE TRANSOM OVER THE DOORWAY The roof shook, the doors and windows rattled, the ground rumbled. The little boy woke up and saw his mother sitting up in her bed. "What's wrong, what's happening mother?" he asked. He glanced towards the clock on the show-case. In the flickering light of the kerosene lamp the time showed 2.30 am. "There seems to be a big storm under way, son". "Come here and stay close to me" his mother said. "Or may be better still, we should stand there under the main door way, just below the transom as it seems to be strong." Clutching her son's hand tightly, she got up from her bed and rushed towards the door in order to stand under the doorway as rain pattered heavily on the roof tiles. Suddenly, there a flash of light that shone brilliantly through the glass panes of the transom above the door, momentarily lighting up the altar and all the framed holy pictures on the wall. Which one, the boy wondered, should he start praying to? There seemed to be such a huge collection to pray to. From the right there was St. Filomena, St. Christopher, St. Francis Xavier, then there was Mother Mary, Sacred Heart of Jesus, Perpetual Succour, plus the statues in the niche of the altar above him. With a fleeting glance on the extreme left of the side wall he momentarily realized that there was an array of framed family photographs, and his parents wedding photograph being one of them. His Dad's sepia portrait too was among the assortment. No time to think about his Dad right now, hope he's fine in Bombaim, he prayed. No sooner the young lad made a sign of the cross than a very loud thud shook the door. It was of course, he immediately reckoned, was caused by the deafening impact of lightning and thunder accompanied by very strong winds. The boy, looking up as he clung to his mother's arm, saw her staring intently towards the crucifix on the opposite wall while he heard her murmur a prayer. "Please help us, Lord." Her earnest prayer seemed to drown under the loud rhythm of rain drumming down on the roof tiles. In the dim flickering light a moment later they could see rain water dripping in a corner across the room. At the same time water started dripping in various other places, increasing the tempo, as if to keep the beat in perfect timing to the constant patter of rain along with the frogs in the fields with their endless cacophony. Surely, the frogs seemed to be very happy, the boy thought. Slowly his mother walked to the kitchen and brought several pails to catch the drops of rain-water. The boy helped her to place them in the centre, trying to catch the droplets which seemed to dodge him, making a peculiar sound on the tin bottom that changed after a while. After some time the storm subsided and everything fell eerily silent. Then the boy asked: "Mother, why did we stand under the transom of the doorway?" His mother replied: "Because I believe the doorway is always the last to collapse, son. They say the roof always caves in first, if it should at all fall. In this case of course, it did not, God answered our prayers and saved us". "Do you know that's probably the reason," she continued, "why you see in almost all the great paintings depicting ruins, somehow a doorway along with the transom and a pillar or two are the only structures still standing." Tony Fernandes Author of: Goa - Memories of My Homeland http://www.goanet.org/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=290