THE FUNNY GOAAA -

GOAAAAAAAAAAA - The three letter word ‘Goa’ never meant a city-state for me whenever I came across this word while in Geography lessons or history classes. For me it was a country inside a country.
It’s not that my teachers taught me this. As a matter of fact, I still don’t know what my teachers taught me all through my nursery till I managed to be a graduate
But that’s what my friends taught me. And friends always led me to believe that ‘Goa’ meant – beautiful girls from Europe. And just before I was ready to pack my bags and leave for Goa, it meant – topless beautiful girls from Europe on gleaming white beaches.
While my eyes were ready to feast on such visuals, my mind was keen on experiencing the ‘real Goa’ known for endless parties, lobsters, prawns, shacks and water sports.
I, along with my friend Sanket, reached Goa on December 3 at 7.30pm. We came out of the Madgaon station and enquired for a 350 cc Bullet Enfield and settled for a gearless Honda Activa.
The owner of the bike hiring agency, Hasan, said, “The mammoth bikes are out of fashion now. People from India don’t go for it.”
“What about foreigners, aren’t they here?” I asked in desperation as I was afraid the dreams that my friends weaved in my head would shatter even before they incubate.
“Of course they are here, but not as earlier. Inflation is a universal truth now. We have seen almost 50% drop in enquiries in the first week of December,” Hasan said.
I was partly shattered and partly relieved but the expression on Sanket’s face clearly ready, “Welcome to recession.”
We thanked Hasan and with a mixed feeling of apprehension and excitement, hopped on the bike and headed straight towards the nearest beach – Colva to look for accommodation. It was dark and most of the shops en-route was closed.
“8.30 pm and shops closed,” muttered Sanket.
I was just about to pop out an intelligently timed ‘recessionary’ answer, when both of us collectively experienced that we were in Goa for the first time. We saw a bunch of young European girls, in typical western outfits, coming from the other side on foot. Stealing furtive glances we felt rejuvenated and ready for the three days of fun to follow.
The next three days were fun-filled but punctuated by stark revelations of how the ‘real Goa’ was gradually getting buried under the debris of global meltdown.
To much of our displeasure we learnt that shacks, as beach restaurants are called in Goa, close by 12 in the night. Even the dance floors in open air restaurants are abandoned by 1 am.
“Jaldi order dena saab, 11.30 baje band karma hai,” was the gruff voice that bellowed every night during dinner, not only because both of us spent ages on pouring over the menu and decide on the sea-food to gobble up that night but also because of slowdown.
“When the guests are not there, there is no point it keeping it opened till late night,” said Arjun, from Nepal, who was waiting on us.
Guests? So two folks from Mumbai are not guests?
“Sir, guests for us are the foreigners. They give us a chance for those extra bucks. But the tight situation across the globe complimented by terrorist attacks in Mumbai has already started hitting us,” Arjun said, and sadly added that he was planning to go back to Nepal.
Yeah, he was right. In fact, both Hasan and Arjun are right. The missing Enfield Bullets, the closed shops and the 11.30 pm deadline all reiterate that the ‘real Goa’ is lost.
All we can do is to wish that people like Hasan and Arjun don’t have to leave Goa and get the guests they always look forward to.
For us, we had our time of life in Goa. We did all that we wanted to, so much so that at the end of it I felt that whatever I learnt from my friends was very right.
You know what I am talking about!