A true Goan she is, tells me the son of her best friend. She is from a family that has been in Goa many generations. A true Goan is usually a mix of Indian and Portuguese; Christian of course. He tells me this, as we sip our Fenni (a strong alcohol made from cashew nut) with Limca (a lime soda) at the Starco bar. Funny old rock tunes are filling the air along with incense and cheap after-shave. Andy, Aunties best friends’ son, is a very proud Goan. Born in Kenya and brought up in England, he still feels very Goan. He has a strong connection with Portugal and visits there often. He has still to master the language, but that will surely come in time.
Andy is staying at Auntie’s house with his family as they are on Christmas holidays from Bahrain, where he now works at the Arabian bank. Auntie told me that they prefer the freedom they have in her place rather than being with his mother that might be more demanding..
“It is important that the kids know their Goan roots”, he tells me. Would you ever come to live here? I ask. “ I could never live here. There is too much bureaucracy, too much corruption, too dirty, and too poor. We saw a woman washing her dishes on the street, in something that looked like a running sewer. It was important that the children see this, and appreciate what they have.”
“ Can I offer you another drink?” he asks. I barely could drink the first one, but wanted him to feel good, now, apologizing I order a ginger lemon honey tea. A cow is chewing on some garbage over the fence, Christmas lights are hanging above and a group of 5 beautiful Russian girls enter and sit at the table next to us. Bikinis and sarongs, one has a mini skirt on with samurai like boots, the other has a shirt that is all slits on the back, sex is pouring here like the drinks ordered at the table of Brits, on the other side.
We then go on talking about politics, Middle East, terror and Yoga. He asks me to tell him everything about it, as he has only heard about Yoga briefly.
Auntie offers the visiting family tea as I come in to fill up my empty plastic bottle with some filtered water from her fancy filtering system. They kindly deny, asking for only hot water so they can use their Tetley bags.
“Her tea is too strong he tells me”. Auntie’s tea is beautiful, strong, fragrant, a bit sweet, and served with milk. I am grateful every day as she offers me her cup of sweetness (She is 72…) with a piece of her daily cake or coconut sweet.
Auntie grew up in a poor family, with two other brothers that got to go to school.
“You are girl, why you need to go to school? You marry and take care of house” is what her mom would answer when she would ask about school.
Auntie learned to sew and cook and all the other important tasks a girl needs to know.
When ready, at 16 she was sent off to live with her husband. They moved to Africa for a few years to work at a restaurant. By the time they returned, they had 3 girls and the husband was drinking way too much.
Her husband has received a nice size property in Goa that had a small house on it. Auntie decided to stay in Bombay and raise the girls on her own. She would do alternations, sewing, cooking and whatever it took to make a living. She managed to send all her girls to school and pay for higher education for the two that were interested.
30 years ago, the husband died, and auntie moved to the property in Goa,
Over the years she managed to build three large houses on it, one for each daughter.
Auntie wears dresses, simple ones with some flowery prints, no saris. There are big marble slacks on the floor, and a Jesus on the wall. She is not too religious in the Christian manner, but indeed a religious person in human kindness.
Today she runs the business on her own, waking up early to greet the milkman and the bread man. Then with the help of one girl she takes care of the other entire house needs,
All the profits from renting the rooms are sent to her daughters.
Then she awaits them to give her money back for spending. Medicine is the most expensive, as she has too many illnesses too mention. Not that anyone could ever tell as she roams her place with a straight spine and joyful smile. Even her gold bangles and jewelry has been passed on. Only one necklace is left. “What I need now? I have enough” she tells me with a kind smile. “You have one more piece?” Her delights are a mix of western style cakes and Indian cookies, somewhat like herself. I always eat too many cakes at her house. At least they are home made, mostly with coconuts from her own trees surrounding the property and jaggery (an unrefined sugar). Her telling me stories seems to give her a purpose in life, a moment of joy and connection. I am happy to be there and relive her stories while sipping strong tea full of fragrance.
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