'Quo vadis' my beloved Goa of old?

Remember the big copper pot (known in Konkani as bhan or handdo) in which your mother boiled water? Out in the backyard, in those modest little storehouses where firewood crackled and time seemed to slow down?

The well water infused with effort, warmth, smokiness and something almost medicinal washed away all tiredness after a football game. Now, who even boils water like that? For that matter, who even remembers doing so? 

And do you remember that food cooked in terracotta pots (known as touli)? That smoked curry in those little pots and fish fried crisp with the scent of firewood?

The fish we ate came from the boats and went straight into the curry masala grounded on a rogdo (grinding stone). Today, we consume edibles we are not even sure when they were produced.

The fish we ate came from the boats and went straight into the curry masala grounded on a rogdo (grinding stone).

Do you remember the weddings? They were soulful gatherings. People didn’t fancy open-air venues and AC halls. The front yard of the house, a matov (a temporary structure often used for weddings and other celebrations) and the scent of pork and pulao in the air were all that was required to bring a Goan wedding to life and be remembered.

Again, the food served at the weddings was cooked on firewood by hands that knew the taste of tradition. People came, they ate, they and went home with hearts full and not mobile phones full of photos. Couples waited eagerly, not for instant picture and video uploads, but for their wedding albums.

Those of us who’ve been part of those old times will also remember the banter (balcao is an outdoor porch found in old Goan homes) over cups of black tea. Also, the people of that generation won’t forget the nights spent lying in the angon (that little open courtyard or space which was the heart of the home) gazing up at a sky full of stars.

That sky was a sign of the clean air we once breathed. Gone are those days. Will we ever see them again? This article is to remind you that and lived life in the slow lane.

Also, the people of that generation won’t forget the nights spent lying in the angon (that little open courtyard or space which was the heart of the home) gazing up at a sky full of stars.

The rooster calls and the honking of the poder (bread man or baker) reminded us of what time it was. No one really felt the need to see the clocks because everything happened in its and in its time.  

Things have all changed. Yes, change is inevitable. But what is the kind of change we are witnessing? Today, everything is about more—more money, more property, and more concrete. We seem to be sinking into a morass of no return.

Wake up in the morning and hit the road and what does one see? There is clutter and chaos all over. is choking at its seams. Everyone wants to be ahead of the other. We are in a race against time because we have bigger and wider roads.

Way back, the elders and youngsters glided gracefully on their bicycles, moving steadily and living healthily. Moving to the present, our youth zoom by on two-wheelers and cycles are considered symbols of poverty.

There is no place for this modest means of transport, not in the cities choked with cars and carelessness. Try cycling down a highway today and there is a big chance you’ll likely end up under a truck, car or .

Way back, the elders and youngsters glided gracefully on their bicycles, moving steadily and living healthily. Moving to the present, our youth zoom by on two-wheelers and cycles are considered symbols of poverty.

Oh Goa, my Goa. I long for the days when we didn’t have to question what we ate, where we lived, or what we breathed. Today, we barely think about what we’ve lost. Worse, we distort our own history to suit our political ambitions.

We are out to sell every inch of this land while chanting slogans of sustainability. In a way, hypocrisy has become policy. We’ve traded our lives for things that will never follow us into the next life.

This isn’t just nostalgia. This is a lament from the past that is asking us to look around and see what we are doing. Perhaps, we are living in a lost.