In
the summer, I took the caminhão from
Margão to Ponda, a major commercial centre in central Goa, to spend a few weeks
at my uncle’s estate in Khandepar, a picturesque village five kilometres from
Ponda. Today it takes less than ten minutes to drive down from Ponda to
Khandepar. Then, it took more than an hour of brisk walking before you reached
your destination.
With other residents preceding, and following in, my footsteps, I did not lack for company during my trek. As I walked, I met villagers on their way to Ponda either to catch the caminhão to Panaji or Margão or to sell their produce in the market.
The trees lining the roads would offer a shady place to rest when I felt myself wilting under the summer sun. The thought of diving into the cool waters of the Khandepar River in the company of the other village boys spurred me on. That and the prospect of participating in the evening soirées on my uncle’s porch.
Just before sundown, a group of his neighbours would converge around the red-cemented seats lining my uncle’s balcão. He would be seated in a rocking chair in his favourite spot by the door, a tiny gold-coloured snuffbox in his hand. As each friend arrived, he would pour a small quantity of snuff onto his palm and offer it to the newcomer.
Taking snuff, they say, is one of the rare occasions when the hand that giveth rests beneath the hand that taketh. Each villager would take a pinch of snuff between his thumb and his forefinger, put it in one nostril and then the other and sniff deeply. I would watch the exercise fascinated, hoping for a chance to mimic their actions.
One evening, I summoned the courage to ask my uncle to allow me to sample the snuff. I had watched the three-step sequence so often I felt I could do it with my eyes closed. At first, my uncle demurred, contending that I was too young for these adult indulgences. When I persisted, he relented and let me sample the powder.
I pinched. I pushed. I sniffed. I began to sneeze loudly, uncontrollably. My throat was on fire. My face hurt. Water poured out of my eyes. As the mist before my eyes cleared, I caught a glimpse of the expressions on the faces around me. They oscillated between concern for my well-being and amusement at my predicament.
I never went anywhere close to a snuffbox again.
...............................
Experience life as it was lived in Goa, India just before its Liberation from Portuguese rule 50 plus years after Goa became part of the Indian Union in
Short Takes Long Memories by Prabhakar Kamat and Sharmila Kamat
Available at:
http://www.amazon.com/Short-Takes-Long-Memories-Kamat/dp/8129118211
http://www.rupapublications.co.in/client/Book/Short-Takes-Long-Memories.aspx
after reading some of the reviews like
http://www.thesundayindian.com/en/story/short-takes-long-memories/13/18503/s
and elseqhere in this blog
With other residents preceding, and following in, my footsteps, I did not lack for company during my trek. As I walked, I met villagers on their way to Ponda either to catch the caminhão to Panaji or Margão or to sell their produce in the market.
The trees lining the roads would offer a shady place to rest when I felt myself wilting under the summer sun. The thought of diving into the cool waters of the Khandepar River in the company of the other village boys spurred me on. That and the prospect of participating in the evening soirées on my uncle’s porch.
Just before sundown, a group of his neighbours would converge around the red-cemented seats lining my uncle’s balcão. He would be seated in a rocking chair in his favourite spot by the door, a tiny gold-coloured snuffbox in his hand. As each friend arrived, he would pour a small quantity of snuff onto his palm and offer it to the newcomer.
Taking snuff, they say, is one of the rare occasions when the hand that giveth rests beneath the hand that taketh. Each villager would take a pinch of snuff between his thumb and his forefinger, put it in one nostril and then the other and sniff deeply. I would watch the exercise fascinated, hoping for a chance to mimic their actions.
One evening, I summoned the courage to ask my uncle to allow me to sample the snuff. I had watched the three-step sequence so often I felt I could do it with my eyes closed. At first, my uncle demurred, contending that I was too young for these adult indulgences. When I persisted, he relented and let me sample the powder.
I pinched. I pushed. I sniffed. I began to sneeze loudly, uncontrollably. My throat was on fire. My face hurt. Water poured out of my eyes. As the mist before my eyes cleared, I caught a glimpse of the expressions on the faces around me. They oscillated between concern for my well-being and amusement at my predicament.
I never went anywhere close to a snuffbox again.
...............................
Experience life as it was lived in Goa, India just before its Liberation from Portuguese rule 50 plus years after Goa became part of the Indian Union in
Short Takes Long Memories by Prabhakar Kamat and Sharmila Kamat
http://www.amazon.com/Short-Takes-Long-Memories-Kamat/dp/8129118211
http://www.rupapublications.co.in/client/Book/Short-Takes-Long-Memories.aspx
after reading some of the reviews like
http://www.thesundayindian.com/en/story/short-takes-long-memories/13/18503/s
and elseqhere in this blog
