Zorba Cafespeak Travel - Rush ... you might miss the bus to Goa

Zorba Cafespeak Travel - Rush ... you might miss the bus to Goa

Everyone is going to Goa for the celebrations. Whether its to Anjuna or Baga or Calangute, the experts seem to have the latest hotspots roll off the tips of the tongues as if they are native to this beautiful place. Every travel magazine is writing about Goa, this tiny little place which promises endless days and nights of clubbing, mushrooms and raves. ‘Are you going to Paradiso, No I think I might be going to Titos, Oh no… I think Mambos is the place to hang out’, is a rich one. Whether you have actually been there or not is trivial. For the uninitiated, these are the most written about and visited hang out joints in Goa, party place of the world, in India. I think the best one I like is that all these people go to Goa to escape the mundane lifestyles of their own cities and who do they meet at the Bar counter, lol! The next door neighbour. Ever seen ants climbing onto an ant-hill. Come to Goa for the year end celebrations.

And what is it that these party boppers from across India do in Goa. Jammed streets, blaring horns and never ending traffic dramas. Clothes and jewelry better suited to the hoity-toity five star resorts of metros rather than beaches (or perhaps this is a new fashion statement saying that stilettos should be caressed with sand everyday for that better look and feel) and eccentric fetishes for catching the one ‘happening’ party while forgetting to enjoy current moment. Its become so that you become a social outcast if you don’t make the journey to Mecca (or the party-hoppers Mecca equivalent).

What does this mean for the true Goan, the one who was born here, owns land here and has dreams to support here. The roads are no longer his to maneuver on. Though forget about him, the roads are unmanageable for anybody these days. The beaches are drug, sex and much worse havens, completely avoidable for the god fearing Goan. It is true that the Hippies had made Goa home for many years but even they are now running away. The Hippies were manageable. They wanted to be left alone and did not dream on invading onto the locals world. The true myriad cultures co-habited quite happily actually. About 8 years ago came the Indian desi, who insisted on Punjabi Bhangara or Bollywood music every minute of the day, who wanted Chowmein rather than goan sausages (Pork is bad, you see) and who would visit the beaches fully covered from head to toe (sun makes one dark you see) only to gape at everyone sun bathing in beach friendly attire. And for all those who have had the misfortune of trying Indian Chowmein, I hope you like oil and Cabbage.

And what do all these destination gurus actually know of Goa, you ask yourself. The Goa as it used to be. When people could leave their doors unlocked, or shopkeepers understood the concept of loyal customer and it was completely safe to venture out at night. There were no lounges and clubs but there was music in the air for no household is complete without each child being ingrained in the mysteries of the instruments right from childhood. There were strains of the violin or a guitar or the melodies on a piano, practiced at home and played at the church. No ear drums damaged, no egos hurt, just pure appreciation of good music. Grannies would sit on the pathways, gossiping about this and that and many days would pass without a vehicle in sight.

Ever wondered why we see the Delhites, Mumbaites, Punjabis and the not to be forgotten Malayalis but no Goans at any of these ‘hang-out’ places today. I am not talking of the odd hotch-potch of Goans who work at these establishments or better still have learned how to make the fast buck at these annual dos – the rich and savvy of metros ‘Watch out for the purse strings’. I am talking about the knowledgeable and learned Goan who knows how to have a fabulous family celebration. No loud noise, garish lights for this Sauvé Goan (Mumbaites wake up to true living). He goes to Church, comes home, there are family meals amongst many toasts and then when its time to party, the violins and guitars come out and the neighbors visit under the stars, just as it used to be. Call me romantic or whatever, but having had more than my fair share of head banging music, I still feel that its only an unplugged instrument that can make the hairs on your arms stand out in salutation to the musician.

Does the rest of India really have to descend on Goa for the seasons celebrations. Don’t their own cities offer enough entertainment options with each outlet vying with the other for prize of place. What is it that drives people to this peaceful, little, sleepy town year after year. It can’t be the beaches because Indians (black and white) all like to be fair and hence sun is tabboo, it cant be the drinks (nothing exceptional about these) and partying can be as expensive here today as in any metro. It definitely cannot be the food and music (today sorry copies of whatever you get anywhere else). What would the magazines take to stop writing about this over exposed place.

Perhaps its time to give the Goans a break. Let them enjoy their own place on this world without invading it like ants. Let them listen to their own music, eat their own food and most important – have some rights on their roads. Catch a bus for elsewhere. Discover the unbeaten track. Do something different this year. For after all, there is life after the year end celebrations, even if you don’t make it to Goa.

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