What is this life if full of care? We don’t have time to stand and stare.
In my indubitable days of teaching in STC, I
desperately to accompany my students when they went out of Kerala on week long
excursions. But my dreams never materialised due to circumstances beyond my
control.
And then one day my dream came true when Sr Marie
Cecile asked Vilasini and me to accompany the final years to a destination they
had chosen, Goa
The adage that when the cat is away the mice will
play literally worked for me, for the man around whom my existence was a rather
luxurious one, had gone on a month’s construction project to Tuticorin, and my
decision to make hay while the sun shone precipitated my desire though I did
miss him.
My mother in law bless her heart was happy to have
her grandchildren to Molly coddle and she waved the green signal. So, I set out
like a female Ulysses looking for Ithaca.
My companion was Vilasini well renowned as a guide
for college excursions and me a novice. We were told that arrangements made by
one of the girls, for our stay overnight in Mangalore and later in Goa, was made
by her cousin
And we set out with a bus full of budding rosebuds
waiting to bloom, full of the joie de vivre. With prayers and laughter we drove
off to green pastures.
Miles and miles away and all their singing and
cheering, lunchtime meant a break. Somewhere on the highway we saw a gushing
stream and they pleaded for a break. Bikers on their way stopped to gaze at the
buxom girls and had to be threatened by the driver and Kili.
Night shadows had us in Mangalore to bed for the
night in a school room on school benches. The only source of water was a tap in
the garden. So bathing was by candlelight and moon light. There definitely was
a broken misunderstanding as Jeeves would say.
We hurriedly saw the college Sr Therese Marie
studied in and a magnificent St. Alosius college and church. We drove next day over hill, plain rocky roads
and farmlands and landed in Panaji old Capitol of Goa. Our girls screamed in
delight. What I noticed was the sloping verandas in home stead’s brimming with
verdant growth, and ancient well-preserved churches at every turn of the road.
Then again evidently there was miscommunication or
some kind of voodoo for our bus took us to a seaside hillock called Dona Paula.
It was a small town where we saw young men lolling mindlessly probably sipping
feni in the cool sunshine. Our destination was a small school on a hillock
cheek by jowl with a Govt fisheries project on the side.
Amid
grumbles and tears a comedown from hopes of decent beds and bathrooms we
settled the girls, soothing damaged egos and personality blips. Miraculously
food packets from a hostel nearby arrived. We finally settled on benches to
rest our tired bones. All was quiet till about the time witches usually fly. there
came a thunder bolt so deafening as it rolled from hill to sea in atomic blasts
wave after wave.
Vilasini and I found ourselves clutched by the
shivering hands and curdling cries of our wards. The sun rose the next morning
as tho the apocalypse of the night had never happened.
Some wanted
to go back to Kochi but good sense prevailed when we were told that it was a
common occurrence and many Goan’s believed the thunder was commentating the suicide
of a beautiful maiden called Dona Paula
But the sunlight of the day and hours of roaming
the streets of the town without much supervision was a boon for our young
wards. Bike taxis a new concept for us, bike riders could be hired to take a
passenger or shopper to one’s destination
They went wading in the placid sea waters
supervised by us who didn’t know the ABC of swimming. Shopping for strange Goan
artifacts, like soap on a rope, and religious icons were on the agenda. So was
a visit to the cathedral to view the casket which had once contained the
remains of the patron saint wasabi experience especially when we walked on the terracotta
flooring where thousands had walked. It seemed to be a hallowed floor too.
There was a celebratory dinner and then it was time
to head back home after buying bottles of wine in beautiful glass containers as
mementos but we were warned that the excise officials would-be lying-in wait to
arrest us for contraband liquor for we had no license. But we were happily
advised to layer top layer of our suitcases with lingerie and the bottles of
wine to lie dormant at the bottom of ladies’ things.
Sure enough we escaped as bootleggers no
doubt but it was all in the game. We drove into STC at midnight in pouring rain
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