Viva Carnival !

Todays science topic is : Carnival

Welcome to Goa, Carnival visitors! You are in for an awesome time, from the moment you arrive in our beautiful land, until the moment you discover that a grunt of pigs has invaded your hotel room.

I'm joking! You'll be fine, probably! Because the truth is that Goa is a terrific place, despite the warnings you may have heard from politicians that jealous terrorists think Carnival is a great time to threaten to blow up stuff to stop our poor security personnel from having fun.

Well the joke's on you, Mr.Al Qaida & Mr.George Bush, because our loyal policemen and policewomen have fun too, even more than the regular carnival-goers, since they also get to play "Unravel The Traffic Bottleneck", and "Brandish Your Lathi & Scare the Tourist While Pretending to Maintain Law & Order."

And then there's Jelly-Llolita criticizing Goa as a backward state portraying "decadent western culture." For the record, that charge is unfair: Goa is WAY better armed than any other state culturally. Goa is also a world-class party place, which is why the Carnival is being held here for a record-tying 'nth time. Compare that with -- to pick a city at random -- Chennai, which has been selected to host the Carnival a total of, let's see, 10 times, no, 5 times, nope, 3 times, uhuh no, twice, naah, once, nope . . .

Wow, it seems that Chennai has NEVER, not once since Independance, been selected to host the Carnival. I'm sure there's a good reason for this, such as that the Chennaiites have no concept of Carnival Bacchanalian Delights, too few hotel rooms, or too many asinine lame-brains representing "Ancient Divine Culture".

But enough about Ms.J. Let's get back to Goa, and how you, the Carnival tourist, can get the most pleasure during your stay here, with the least amount of sucky hangovers.

ARRIVAL
Chances are you'll land -- if you're lucky -- at Dabolim Soon-To-Be- (Name of Freedom Fighter) International Airport Goa, hoping to find a welcoming, modern, tourist-friendly airport such as is described in your Government of India, Ministry of Tourism Brochure, - what the airport will eventually be like if they ever finish it. This is unlikely to happen in the current century because the airports are under the control of politicians, who traditionally fall into one of three categories: (1) incompetents; (2) criminals; and (3) incompetent criminals.

My neighbour and his family have been born and have lived here forever, and mentions in passing that for that entire time the airport has been under construction, with almost all of the visible progress taking the form of larger and better barricades to prevent people from entering.

At the airport, you will notice that many people speak Hindi; this is often true in Goa. It is not a big deal. Most Goans speak some Hindi; in fact, many of them speak Hindi far better than -- to pick an asinine lame-brain at random -- Jelly-Llolita.

But the English is too very well spoken here,and helps a lot.

Nevertheless, you may find it helpful to learn a few basic Hindi phrases, such as:
"Kripya kijiye Bhenji ya Bhai Saheb.'' ("Excuse me, sister or big brother.'')

"Mein do din se mere samaan ke liye intezaar kar raha hoon'' ("I have been waiting two days for my luggage.'')

"Ji haan, maine ticket kharid liya tha.'' ("Yes, I have bought a ticket")

"Kyaa umeed hain ki Carnival se pahele mujhe mil jayega ?" ("Do you think I will get my luggage in time for the Carnival?'')

"Sundaas kidhar hain ?'' ("Where is the toilet?'')

TRANSPORTATION
Goa boasts a modern light skybus and ''transit for the masses'' system that cost crores of rupees and serves an average daily transportation of nearly four people between two pillars. This system was conceived of and built by basically the same political leadership responsible for the airport, so needless to say it does not go to the airport.

It also does not go to many other places that many Goan residents would like to go, which is why most of them do not use it. To them, the skybus is a mysterious object that occasionally whizzes around somewhere in the adminisphere, unrelated to their lives, kind of like INSAT 1B.

The point is, you need to get a car or a bike. Do NOT be afraid to do this. You may have heard horror tales about driving in Goa, but the truth is that you will be perfectly safe, as long as you remain within the parking area. Beyond that, you're on your own.

If you do venture out on the roads of Goa, here are some rules to bear in mind:
*Never stop for an amber light unless you want to be rear-ended.
*Maybe for a red light but only if there's a posse of cops around.
*Signaling a turn is viewed as a sign of weakness.
*If you do stop ensure you're back in the parking lot before you do.
**If you find yourself stuck behind a slow-moving car that does not appear to have a driver, that car is in fact being operated by a senior citizen approximately the height of a soda bottle, but with worse eyesight. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PASS THIS CAR. At any moment the driver could suddenly decide to turn right without warning. Just be patient, and within 5 kilometres the car will drive off the road, often into a roadside ditch or the Mandovi river, and you can pass safely.

About parking: In Goa, it is acceptable to park pretty much anywhere, including on sidewalks, lawns, and slow-moving pedestrians, but thanks to Maneka Gandhi it is a crime to park on stray dogs.

There are also some pay parking spaces; if you find one. Parking is trickier in Calangute & Arambol Beaches, where the last available space was taken in 1985. If you go over there, you will have to hire a local driver, who will park it somewhere else. Mumbai, for example.

Here are some useful Hindi expressions for getting around Goa:

"Raaste se hato Jelly-Llolita.'' ("Get out of my way, you stupid idiot.'')

"Thuko math bewakoof.'' ("Please do not spit Jelly-Llolita.'')

"Arabi samudar yahaan kahin hain na?'' ("Is the Arabian Sea around here?'')

"Nangae logon ka beach kahaan hain?'' ("Where is the beach with the naked people?'')

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh !!!!'' ("Excuse me, but you have parked on my foot.'')

The Carnival parade commences at 4 pm post -siesta (yawn).

A fine attraction which offers Fun For The Whole Family, such as food, music, food and comic relief with grown men wearing thongs and a parade of village children wearing costumes with enormous heads. These would make ideal disguises for terrorists.

Oh! And then there's the Pooja Bedi float.

Four-legged foodies - Part III

Single-minded purpose

John has a new dog, which means he’s going through this phase where he spends a lot of time bending and petting and going” Yesss! That’s a GOOD boy!” and otherwise practically awarding him the Mahavir Chakra for achievement, such as not going peepee on his pillow.

His name is Bruno, which is a more traditional bear’s name, but it describes him very well. Most dogs are earnest, which is why most people like them. (I once had a dog named Earnest, come to think of it, I once knew a lawyer named Earnest too!).

You can say any stupid thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, “Dammit, You’re RIGHT! I just never thought of that!” So we think dogs are understanding, loving, and compassionate, and we overlook the fact that they spend the bulk of their free time circling around other dogs to see which one can sniff the other more number of times in their personal region.

John is not sure yet whether Bruno has a working brain. You can’t tell, early on with dogs. Years ago when Naren got Dipy, everyone thought he was really smart, because he was somewhat of a bull terrier who had this extremely alert look. At first we took this to mean that he was absorbing every detail of his surroundings with his keen senses and analyzing it with lightning speed, but it turned out to be his way of expressing the concept: “When do we eat?”

Dipy would be sitting in the lawn looking very sharp and a squirrel would scamper right by him. Normal street dogs hundreds of feet away would detect the squirrel, and would bark vigorously, and we humans would also detect the squirrel, and shout helpfully: “Look! Dipy! Squirrel! Catch the squirrel!” And after a few seconds of delay, during which his ears would send the message by inland letter to his brain that something was going on, Dipy would turn in the exact opposite direction from wherever the squirrel was, adopt a stiff watchdog-in-readiness pose, and go: “When do we eat?”

I used to think Collies were smart dogs, after watching all those TV serials of Lassie. Lassie looked super-intelligent, partly because the family of humans she lived with was made up of button-heads. Whenever no one was around, one was always getting pinned under a tractor, and Lassie always ran back to the farmhouse to alert someone. She would whine and tug at their trousers or skirts, and they would waste time saying things like: “Looks like there’s something wrong? Does Lassie want us to follow her? What wrong Lassie girl?” like this was the very first time it happened instead of at least once a week ( not counting reruns) With all the time they spent pinned under the tractor, I wonder how they managed to grow anything on the farm. They probably got by on earthquake or flood relief support that Lassie filled out the applications for.

Lassie is also the name of Bruno’s German Shepherd mom, a real gentle motherly type who doesn’t sleep. Post lunch she lies by the divan in the living room and then she scratches herself, engaging in loud personal hygiene. Then she thinks,” Maybe I can go out!” and she pads across to the door ,which of course is closed- it is always closed mid-afternoon; even the flies have learned this by now – and she looks at it, in case there’s been some mistake. Then she senses, Sneha sleeping on the divan, and she has the most innovative idea she has ever thought of, which is: Maybe Sneha will let me out!” So she pads over to Sneha and licks her in the face, using the same tongue she uses for hygiene, and Sneha says, “Dammit, Lassie! Go away!” So she lies down for one minute, which is how long it takes for her lone functioning brain cell to forget everything that ever happened to her since she was born. And then she starts again: SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH LICK LICK LICK, PAD PAD PAD, and (think) PAD PAD PAD TONGUE “DAMMIT LASSIE GO AWAY!” (pause) SCRATCH SCRATCH......

John doesn’t know yet about Bruno. One day he will give him the dog intelligence test, by hiding the ball under the blanket, and hope that Bruno at least finds the blanket.

Okay okay Indu, Manuela, Arvind and all you dog lovers out there, I don’t want you sending me a bunch of threatening letters, asking how dare I say your dogs are stupid when your dog can add, subtract, cook a gourmet dinner for ten, etc. Please note :I never said YOUR dog is stupid. I said John’s dog might be. I feel Bruno can’t be too intelligent, because here is John reading this article aloud, and despite the fact that he’s lying at Johns feet, he’s still wagging his tail and going:”When do we eat?”

Of Man & Machine

Onward Road Warriors

If there’s one thing this country needs, it’s bigger cars. That’s why I’m so excited that Hindustan Motors & Mitsubishi have launched a new mound of metal which offers consumers even more road-squatting mass than the current leader in the humongous-car category, the popular Toyota Innova – visible from the planet Mars.(C’mon even the Ambassador is now visible from the moon!)

The new Mitsubishi is called the Montero ( Untamed Jungle Adventurer ) The TV commercials will show it splashing through raging rivers, dashing up rocky mountains, swinging off bungee ropes, and diving under tsunami seas to fight off giant underwater sharks, & rescue pet turtles to impress Preity Zinta – all the daredevil things that SUV’s do in the Wide World of Sports.

In fact the national highways in the Wide World of SUV Sports, having been abandoned by humans, are burgeoning with deer, birds, tigers, hare and other wildlife species that have fled the forest to avoid being run over by nature-lovers in multi-ton vehicles charging through the flora and fauna at 100 kmph.

In the real world, of course, nobody drives SUV’s in the forest (what forest?!), because when you have paid upwards of 15 lakhs for transportation (the most powerful 4-wheel drive with monocoque body and multi-link independent suspension,3.2 liter 16 valve DOHC intercooled turbocharged DI-D and a cyclone-type pre-air cleaner – gasp!), the last thing you want is squirrels doing potty on it. Now if you want an off-road vehicle, you get yourself a 1990’s Tata Sumo, which combines the advantage about not being worth worrying about with the advantage of it being so ugly that poisonous reptiles flee from it in terror.

In the real world, what people mainly do with their SUV’s, as far as I can tell, is try to maneuver them into and out of parking spots. I base this statement on the lanes of Panaji market, where many “up-market” shoppers drive Mahindra Scorpios. I’ve noticed that these folk often purchase just a couple of items- maybe a bottle of mineral water and a 100 grams of low fat, zero-calorie paneer- which they place in the back of the SUV, having the same cargo carrying capacity, in cubic metres, of Bhutan. This means there is plenty of room left over in case, on the way they decide to pick up something else, such as a herd of water buffalo.

Now comes the scary part: getting out of the parking spot. This is challenging, because the driver does not seem to be able to, while sitting in the drivers’ seat, see all the way to either end of the vehicle, even with multiple mirrors on either side. While driving a scooter, on numerous occasions I have found myself trapped behind an SUV backing directly towards me, its massive metal butt looming high over my head, making me feel like Faye Ray looking up at King Kong.

I’ve tried blowing my horn, but the SUV drivers cannot hear me, because they’re always talking on cell phones the size of baby pacifiers (“The bigger the car, the smaller your cell,” is their motto) I don’t know who they are talking with. Maybe they’re negotiating with their water buffalo suppliers. Or maybe they’re trying to contact another cell phone in the same area as the rear end of their car, to find out what’s going on back there. I’m thinking of carrying SOS flares so that I can warn SUV drivers that they are about to run me over. Although I really don’t think they’d care if they did run me over. A big reason why they bought an SUV is “safety,” as in “you, personally will be safe, although every now and then you may have to scrape the remains of other motorists and pedestrians off your bumpers and tyres.

Anyway we now have the new Mitsubishi Montero, which will be even larger than the Scorpio, which maybe will have separate decks for various classes of passengers, and someone on the bonnet teaching Kate Winslet (Titanic) how to spread her arms and dry her pits.

I can’t wait to see one of these beauties wheel into Panaji lanes. Other drivers and pedestrians will try to flee in terror, but they will be sucked in by the Monteros’ powerful gravity and become stuck to its’ massive sides like fridge magnets. But they won’t be noticed by the Montero driver, who will be busy banging the side of his head, trying to dislodge his cell phone, the size of a pea, which has fallen into his ear canal.

And it will not stop there. This is India, dammit, and Tata Motors is not about to just sit by and watch Hindustan Motors walk away with the title of “Most Insane Passenger Vehicle.” Cars will just keep getting bigger on Indias’ footpaths-for-roads: I see a time, not too far in the future, when suburban society housewives will haul their overdue DVDs’ back to the rental store in full-size,16-wheel tractor trailers with names like The Terminator, Dara Singh or Bheem..
It will be a proud time for all Indians, a time to cheer and sing “Sare Jahaan Se Achha.” We should sing loud, because we’ll be hard to hear, from under the bumper.

Four-legged Foodies - Part II

And the Blue Ribbon goes to ……

Recently Indu (my sis-in-law remember?) and moi , visited the Chennai Annual Dog Show held by the Kennel Club. This is considered one of the most prestigious dog shows held in the entire South of India on that particular weekend.

It is one of those dog shows in which serious, highly competitive dog snobs enter pedigree dogs that can trace their heredity back 200 generations and their parents are snobbishly called “Sires” and “Dames” (the dogs parents not the owners ) and basically spend their entire lives sitting around being groomed and fed, like Aishwarya and Sushmita .

You cannot compare this show to the show held in Goa though - by the Manekaji Mutt Patrol, a local group that consists of people who adopt stray dogs and cats – reflecting the sussegard attitude of Goa where, the term “formals” means “wearing some kind of clothing.” This dog show is for street dogs, many of whom, technically, by breed, would fall under the category of: “probably some kind of dog.” These are hardworking highly productive dogs, striving to outnumber the population of humans living in Goa.

Street dogs are also like Indus’ dogs that spend their days industriously carrying out their vital dog mission of sniffing every object in the world, and then, depending on how it smells, either (a) barking at it; (b) eating it; (c) attempting to mate with it; (d) making peepee on it; or, in the case of her small excitable dog Pixie, (e) all of the above.

But back to the Kennel Club display of pampered show animals. When we arrived, the last-minute preparations were proceeding with the smooth efficiency of a political riot. There were dozens of dogs on hand, ranging in size from what looked like cotton candy with eyeballs stuck on, all the way up to the Hound from Hell. Naturally every dog, in accordance with the strict rules of dog etiquette, was walking its owner around by the leash, and trying to sniff every other dog’s rear end. Some of the dogs were in costume, maybe they were competing in the Dog and Owner Look-Alike category. (Most of the dogs compete in a number of categories in the show.) Some owners were also wearing costumes – “Look at that”, I said to one of the judges, pointing to a man wearing just a loincloth and a hat, with an extremely old, totally motionless, sleeping Daschund.
“Oh, that’s Ulaganathan,” the judge answered, as if it explained everything.

The judge in question, Shri. Nagachandra Ramakrishna Choudhry (whew!), was a columnist from the local news-daily, with no formal training or expertise in the field in canines, ( Heh! You are joking Saar ! Canines is your teeths!)

You will be relieved to know that there were also other professionals, Shiela Moonsamy ,the Vice –Principal of the pre-school ground where the show was being held, (motto: Let’s clean up this mess!), and the General Manager of a 5-Star hotel which very kindly sponsored the lunches - for the dog- owners , the dogs refused to touch that stuff !

There was also your token foreigner looking very officious, sweaty and red, in a 3-piece suit and tie, under the 36 degree C heat, with a clipboard in hand making wild gestures at the dogs.

Another judge, named Shrimati Haldiram, actually did seem to know a few things about dogs, but I believe she was not totally 100 percent objective, inasmuch as her dog, Kali Bindi, was entered in most of the events. Shrimati H consistently gave Kali very high ratings despite the fact that Kali Bindi is – and I say this with great humility and affection – the ugliest dog in the world. I think she might actually be some kind of highly experimental cloned hyena. Nevertheless, thanks in part to Shrimati Hs’ high marks, Kali did very well in several categories, and actually won the Trick Dog category, even though her trick consisted of – I swear this was the whole trick - chasing her tail for several minutes.

Actually that was a pretty good trick considering the competition. The majority of dogs entered in the Trick Dog event did not actually perform a trick per se. Generally the owner would bring the dog up onto the stage and wave a dog biscuit at it, or play a flute, or wave about or stammer (Hey Rover, hey Rover, C’mon!, c’mon! Hi! Hello!) in a futile effort to get the dog to do something, anything, while the dog looked on with mild interest ,or attempted to get off the stage and mate with the next contestant or the judges leg. My personal favourite in the Trick Dog Category is a small Pekinese whose trick consisted entirely in jumping up and down and making peepee on a napkin.

I could imagine that, with so many strong contestants, both on the stage and hiding under the table, it is not easy being a judge. Nevertheless at the end of the show they had to pick one dog as the Best in Show. It was a big decision, and although there was a strong and objective push for Kali Bindi, it was decided, after an agonizing wait of a fraction of a second, to give the top prize to Ulaganathan, with the old, totally motionless, sleeping Daschund. Ulaganathan got quite emotional when he accepted the trophy, and the judges were touched although they did ask him to make his dog move its paw so that they could see that it was in fact sleeping, and not actually deceased. That Kennel Club has standards you know.

Pride & Prejudice

Is it natural to feel doubts as a Goan. Well here's some diehard views ..

a) D'costa -" Why should we have a serious, upright, image of ourselves, when nobody else does?"

b) D'mello -"Goan public relations appear to have been handled by the same firm that represents Charles Shobraj."

c) D'sozzled - "For years, the image of Goa that was broadcast to the world were the Bollywood movies, which depicted this as a place infested with drunks, violence, drunks, paedophiles, drunks, homicidal psychotics,drunks,loose women and did I say drunks ? -- worst of all -- really stupid movie plots. Goan "literature" was portrayed by cartoonist Mario Miranda, Goan classical music took on the image of pop singer Remo Fernandes, Hic !"."What happened"

d) D'lima - "People take these images seriously. When you travel to other cities, and you tell people you're from Goa, they never consider your opinion seriously."

e) D'loser - "Every few weeks you see an article about how some organization has announced its annual list of the Ten Nicest Places to Shop, or the Ten Best Places for Entrepreneurs, or the Ten Easiest Places To Get A Haircut In While Playing The Bongos Naked During Carnival, but whatever the category is, Goa is never in a top group. Goa is always something like No. 13, behind Bihar and Tihar Jail."

f) D'father & D'son - "So, OK, we have an image problem. But one thing you can say about this state: When the going gets tough and the game is on the line, we Goans have an amazing ability to suck in our guts, tighten our helmet straps, and shoot ourselves in the foot.

Sometimes this is just plain bad luck, as when John Paul II attempted to hold an outdoor Mass here, and a lightning storm threatened to turn him into Pope Shashlik. But sometimes we have to put real effort into screwing up, as when we hosted the 2006 "International" Film Festival, and national media people, who had come here expecting to be pampered into a stupor, wound up sprinting through Miramar, their clothing singed by the flames from the friction of crowds trying to squeeze into the movie venues."
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A Day in the Life of....

It's not as bad as you think.
Probably the most striking characteristic of Goans, aside from the fact that so many of them apparently received their driver training from army conscripts, is the way they're always asking each other "What happened?".

I've lived here on and off for four years, four months and a day, and when I meet or call people, they inevitably ask, "So, what happened?" As if I just met with a car accident.

And I'm not alone. Everybody asks everybody this. People who've lived here for decades ask each other this. I'm confident that if THE "Babush" ever takes the witness stand, the first question he'll be asked is "What happened?"

This is not because of a lack of knowledge. It's not like in, for example, Delhi, where people will say "Kyaa haal hai !" (how is your health) but what they clearly mean is "Hey, hope compared to that last pauper I met, you're loaded, I need to take some money off you!".

No, Goans ask with a concern in their voices. They're a tad insecure. They really want you to say that you are fine and like Goa, because this reassures them that they're not total nuts for living here.

This is a suspicion that nags at Goans, especially when something bizarre happens, the kind of thing that seems to happen occasionally down here, such as your second-grader casually mentions that one of her Russian classmates brought a machine gun to class; or you're late for work because because an alligator attacked the ferry operator; or your next-door neighbor stops by to ask if he can borrow a cup of pickled pigs testicles; or a former chairperson of the Chamber of Commerce reports that somebody broke into her bedroom and stole her bootleg copy of Regional Plan 2011. These are the times when, as a Goan, you ask yourself: "Do I really want to live here? Should I maybe move to New Zealand?"
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Crime in Paradise !

You think I'm exaggerating? You think it's not that bad? You're right! Sometimes it's worse.

Notwithstanding the lesser criminals, like Charlie Shobraj (came here for a bit of R& R from the rigours of Big City crime - now recreationing in a Nepalese jail), the Du Pont guys (now settled in Tamil Nadu and trying to get the Government to change the Constitution of India!) it warms the cockles of me heart, it does, to see the really big Kingfish, Socialite Restaurateurs, sundry actors and big city realtors (motto:have money will travel) , still unafraid to visit and continue to sample the spoils of this fair land with impunity.

Goan crime is well and flourishing if one is to go by the headlines alone on page 3 of the local Navhind Times(motto: The Newspaper You Can Trust).One whole page dedicated to, well you decide - and here are the headlines, ALL true :-
(a) Attempt to murder accused granted bail
(b) Two women in a hit and run case serious
(c) Vasco police register cheating and forgery case
(d) House burgled at Succour
(e) Harassment case
(f) 10-month infant found abandoned
(g) Three held for trespassing
(h) Man remanded to police custody for stabbing
(i) And the clincher……Girl held for making obscene gestures at passersby.
lalala.......and a partridge in a pear tree.
Or is January 13th just an unlucky day .

It was also the day of the arrival of Cavaco Silva distinguished foreign minister of Portugal (still referred by some as the motherland), who was here to promote one of his books – "How to Acquire property illegally and keep the locals from ever guessing" or "The Art of Brewing Vintage Feni". To help along sales of his book Goa University decided to confer on him an honorary degree of Doctor in Literature.

My favorite Welcome-To- Goa crime stopper is about Anil Jacob from Kerala who escaped from police custody while returning from a dental appointment. His friends; concerned that he was being tortured under the dentists drill decided enough was enough and proceeded dramatically to rescue him from his dreaded captors.

Now why did they have to go and use a Tata Sumo, ( they obviously did not read my recommendation that the Tata Sumo is an off-road vehicle and not meant to be raced on city roads which are reserved for Mitsubishi Monteros and the like) Long story short, the SUV turned turtle and 5 of them are in custody in place of Anil. Not a bad exchange I'd say, 5 for 1.

"Next time we should handcuff these heinous criminals" said the cops, "we can't have their uninvited friends freeloading in Goan jails as well!" There is a reward out for Anil with his picture - OF COURSE he has not had a haircut, or shaven his beard or now wears horn-rimmed glasses, why would he? No one recognizes him at the Rasta Israeli Bar Lounge and Grill at Arambol Beach, he just blends in.(based on my "lead" he was caught again just last week)

And while the drama played out, my friend Veena who was there at the time, shaken seriously, rushes over to the roadside Tour Operator agency, whose employees, in true heartwarming we're-all-in-this-together Goan fashion, are loudly informing her, through the glass door, that this incident did NOT occur on their property.

Meanwhile, distinguished Japanese author Sockitome San is lying down sideways on the car seat, possibly wondering if this is, in fact, the kind of community where people purchase a lot of prayer books. Welcome to Goa, sir! Anything else we can get for you? Bulletproof vest? Change of underwear?
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Four-legged Foodies - Part I

Four-legged foodies – part I
Who's best friend did you say !!??

Indu my sister-in-law stays in a house with numerous pets and three other humans.
Indu is fond of animals: She has a flock of parrots and budgerigars, a school of fish, and half a dozen rabbits, living in the outside yard with a decorative pond ( the fish live in the pond, not the birds), and six dogs patrolling on the inside. Actually one of the dogs is slightly more mobile than a coconut tree due to his arthritis but more than makes up for it in sheer bark power and bulk and is about 12,000 years old. He may in fact be medically dead. But dogs don't get all weepy over their physical disabilities. This particular dog, his name is Dobi since he vaguely resembles a Doberman on steroids, - maintains a productive routine, which consists of every now and then getting to his feet (this takes about an hour) and wandering around until he bumps into something, which he sniffs. If he thinks it is food, he tries to eat it; if it bites back, he knows it's one of the other dogs.

The other dogs are more active; their job is to wait for people to open the gate, then bark loudly and angrily to communicate the fact that, based on their extensive experience as dogs, the people at the gate are bad and somebody should bite them. Dogs are deeply suspicious of anybody using a gate. Even if, when the gate is opened, it turns out that the people standing there know the dogs, and in fact live in the house, the dogs will continue barking at them for a few seconds, in case it's some sort of a trick.
Dogs behave this way because they are extremely vigilant (I am using "vigilant" instead of "dumb").Indu also has a small, nervous dog named Pixie who is so vigilant that she would be classified on the animal intelligence scale as category: "mineral". A low-lying cabinet with glass doors is in her path out the door and Pixie notices her reflection every time she passes it. Pixie reacts as though her reflection is an entire gang of street urchins, barking, growling and running around in small alarmed, circles to let everyone know that her reflection is bad and she will bite it ( she rarely does). After looking behind the cabinet and not seeing another dog she calms down. But the moment her reflection reappears, all the current drains out of Pixies' mental battery again, and WHOA! RED ALERT! Pixie goes off again like a small, fur-brained, defective car alarm. It is not a quiet household. But you can be sure it is a very secure household, thanks to Pixies' vigilance.

But here's a story that happened at a friends house with an equally vigilant dog, a daschund named Spike. They were having a nice dinner at home, and during this dinner Spike kept going to a window and growling. Nobody paid any attention, because dogs are always growling – maybe at the moon, maybe at the fish , maybe at the Reserve Bank – who can say?

After dinner everyone, including the dog, went into the other room to have dessert and watch the Indian cricket team play an important one day international match against Bangla Desh. Actually the women watched the game; the men actively controlled the outcome by shouting at the TV. The dog watched the dessert.

Through skillful team shouting, the men won the game, and everyone agreed it had been a pleasant evening. Then the women discovered that their purses, which had been left by the dining-room window, were gone. While they had been shouting at the TV, a thief had sneakily reached in and stolen them. He had obviously been watching them through the window. The growling dog had been telling them this.

When they discovered the theft, each person reacted in a different way. One called the police; another smoked a cigarette, even though he had technically quit. Another decided to go and look around the back for clues. Perhaps he would even find the burglar! Then remembering his karate classes he would wet his pants.

He was called into the house by his wife who informed him that the cops were on their way, and that he was being too vigilant by wandering around the house in the dark.

The police came quickly. Needless to say, the dog barked at them. They later concluded that the reason the dog did not bark at the thief was that (a) it was busy watching the dessert, and (b) the thief stood at the window, which apparently is not a violation of dog security rules.

The next day the purses were found in a garbage disposal minus cash -
but their credit cards, drivers' licenses, makeup, tissues, pharmaceuticals, hairdryers, washing machines, and other stuff that women keep in their purses were intact.

We can all learn valuable lessons from this on home security, namely:

1.We should not only lock our doors, but our windows as well.
2.Dogs will give you a lot of "false alarms," but every now and then they may really know what they're growling or barking about.
3.Or maybe not.
4.Experts will agree that if you really want peace of mind and your home to be safe, fish are worthless.

Ah!Weary Traveller

Did you say "Pearl of the Orient?"

Goa also could probably present a friendlier face to our tourist visitors. You get off a plane in Singapore, and you're greeted by a spacious, clean, modern airport with futuristic skytrains whisking people between terminals. You get off a plane at the Dabolim International Airport And Regional Alcoholics Anonymous Convention Centre, and you half expect to be run over by goats.

We are talking not Third World but about a possibly Fifth World situation here, a seething, babbling mass of confusion that can be very scary if you just got off a plane from, say, Tokyo.

There you are, Mr Sockitome , wearing your brand-new active swimwear, palm-printed shirt and straw hat, all set for a restful tropical vacation, and suddenly you find yourself in a dirty, ill-lit, confusing airport, trying to thread your way through surging hordes of people shouting and gesturing in numerous languages and pidgin English; massive extended families carrying an astounding variety of baggage, including tyre tubes, washing machines, giant TV's, pianos, livestock, house parts, etc., and forming huge disorganized clots in front of counters representing dozens of tour operators (proud motto: "If The Engine Don't Start, We Share This Rickshaw, Hokay?").

What bothers me about these tour operators is, in all the times I've been to the airport, I've never seen any of their tour buses, COMING IN, only some going out. I'm convinced that some of them don't HAVE any buses or their own. The way they work is, they wait until they've gathered a bunch of passengers, then go around to garage sales looking for buses in their price range. This causes lengthy delays, sometimes resulting in the formation of whole refugee passenger villages in the main airport lounge, with primitive huts and chickens roasting over open fires.

This is the scene that you, the Japanese tourist Sockitome San, must fight your way through in an effort to reach the Baggage Claim area, only to find it littered with mildewed inactive swimwear, printed shirts, and straw hats, costumes containing the remains of former tourists who perished while waiting for their baggage to arrive, apparently from the planet Jupiter.

And miraculously, when you do get your baggage, and fortunately you have your own car, you will find yourself out in Goa Velha, on the NH17, God forbid, dealing with: North Goa returning evening traffic -- the states last true lawless frontier; a place where you're not even certain that the cops are licensed drivers, a place where you are passed on the left, passed on the right, passed by bikes driving right on top of your roof, cars that were last inspected during the Liberation, buses on which the only maintenance activity ever performed is that occasionally the road transport department slaps another layer of what appears to be blue paint on the windows, cars without doors, and some with the doors welded shut – oops that's a hearse from Bosco Modern Funeral Home ( they have internet access) traveling along briskly with a marching band, a lot of them seem to be going out of their way to hit you, which they probably are because, as an out-of-town car owner driver, you may well be the only person in all of Goa who actually has insurance.—Banzaiiiiiiiiiii ! -------------------------------

Step Two

The priceless haystack

Before I left to look for a new house my wife Geeta and I sat down to figure out our Price Range. We used the standard formula where you take your capital, divide it three ways, one of which then gives you the amount you will spend annually on living expenses if you bought a house that is much cheaper than the one you will actually end up buying.

With that figure in mind, I took off for our new home-to-be Goa, and on arriving, embarked on the following rigorous nutritional programme:
BREAKFAST: Eggs over easy, toast and beer
LUNCH: Pomfret Richaud, Paella and beer
TEA: Scones, Prawn patties and (hic!) beer
DINNER: (hic!) wazzat gimme some beer … I'm not as think as you drunk I am (HIC!)!!
Also I ate a lot of health–fanatic foods such as Pork Sorpotel and Beef Vindaloo.

Some of you may be wondering why Geeta didn't come with me considering this was an important financial life transaction. The answer is she is a very dangerous person to have on your side in a sales situation. She asks a lot of very embarrassing questions like for example: "What is the price?"

Me, I develop great anxiety in the presence of obsequious fawning salespersons, and the only way I can think to make it go away is to buy whatever they're selling. This is not a major problem with say, pastries, but it leads to trouble with cars and houses.

When I went to buy a car, I was anxious to get it over with as quickly as possible. I walked into the car showroom trying to read the brochure on the car which explains that the only part of the car included in the Base Price is the brochure itself, and you have to pay extra if you want for example, seats. After a few minutes a salesman spotted me and came up striding, smiling with 55 white teeth like an entire Rotary Club. Here is how I negotiated:
SALESMAN: Ok Kenneth. Here's a ridiculously inflated price that only a moron with spaghetti-brains would settle for.
ME: Fine but I'm looking for something with a little more flair.
SALESMAN: This IS top of the line. We'll throw in a spare tyre for an extra 20,000 rupees and two spare keys for 5,000 rupees each. Sir!
ME: (thinking, "He called me Sir!") Excellent! I'll take it.

I am worse with houses. The last time I was with Geeta trying to buy a house, I made an offer on the place where we were standing:
ME: This is perfect! Isn't this?
GEETA: This is their office.
ME: Well, how much do they want for it.

Eventually of course Geeta had to come, since I can't be trusted to buy a house without paying the same price for the garage as for the house.

Moments after Geeta arrived, she discovered that there were no houses in Goa in our Price Range. Our Price Range turned out to be what the average houseowner in Goa spends on their pets. And we are not talking about pampering the pets, just sating them enough so they let you into your house.

Fortunately we looked at new options, we sat down and discovered an all-new home-buying concept tailor-made for folks like us called: "Going Above Your Price Range." That is where we started looking and discovered an even newer concept called: "Going Way Overboard on Your Price Range" This is where we eventually found a house, and I am looking forward to seeing it someday, assuming inflation does not catch up with the snail's pace at which it is being built.

The last time we bought a house we had to take out a loan. The way it worked was they have this thing they called 'margin money' which is a large sum of money you FIRST give to the bank for no apparent reason. It's as if the bank is the one trying to buy the house. You ask the real estate broker and he just says: "Oh yes, margin money! Just bring a sackful for the settlement of that!" And of course we did. We would have done anything to secure our house loan. Banks know this, so they keep inventing new ways to see how far they can go:

BANK MANAGER : You have to pay 5,000 rupees to our lawyer for checking your documents.
ME: Yes Sir
BANK MANAGER: Then there's the charges for the valuation report of 10,000 rupees
ME: Of course.
BANK MANAGER: And as a goodwill gesture there's 3,000 rupees for ladoos and dry fruits.
But it was all worth it to get our loan and own our first house.
Then every month we started paying some money back, and at the end of the year the bank sent us a computerised statement proving we still owed them all the money we had borrowed in the first place.

According to the brochure our new house has everything I look for : (1) Garden space (2) a lovely unhindered view of the valley. I understand it also has rooms.

The First Step

Selling the mansion
We thought it was a mansion --- 10000 square feet of prime rib concrete, brick and steel, with a garden.

So what did prospective buyers say??
They never said: "Fabulous house! We'll buy it! Here's a suitcase full of money." No, they looked the look, which meant: "Who installed these tiles? Butchers?"

Sometimes the more polite ones would say : "The structure looks lasting." Meaning: "These people have lived here for 14 years and they painted it mortuary gray."

We were trying to sell our house.
We had elected to move voluntarily to Goa.
Our only child had benefited from the experience of growing up in a community that was constantly enriched by Dravidian culture and a diverse and ever-changing infusion of pollution and tropical diseases. Also they have mosquitoes down there you could play tennis with.

We threw out a lot of our stuff. Our stuff was much too pathetic to give to the poor. We offered to give it away but the poor took one look at it and returned laughing to their slum dwellings.

What we did give away was our daughters' college text books, which had a yellow felt marker highlighting the "good parts." You college grads out there know what I mean…. You go back years later and read something you chose to highlight, and it's always something like: 'Stylised architecture represents both an addition to and a deletion from architectural styling" Then dawns the realization that there was a time when large portions of your intelligence was devoted to this type of knowledge. I wonder what the poor will use the text books for. Probably as cooking fuel.

One book we did keep is called "Surviving Tsunamis." Its about earthquakes and waves any self-respecting surfer would win the posthumous Nobel prize trying to catch THIS wave and hang ten, and we thought it might contain useful tips about life in Goa. "Large tin sheets from hoardings with potential for decapitation were hurled inland by a gale force of 250 kmph." We also kept a dog-eared copy of "The Joys of Sex" – I wonder why.

After we threw away our stuff ,we hired two men, both named Ramesh to come over and fix our house so prospective buyers would not get to laughing so hard they would fall down those uneven stairs and break their legs. The two Rameshs were extremely competent, the kind of men who own power saws and drills and freely use words like "manifold coupling" and can build houses using only compressed wooden matchboxes.
They drilled and pounded and tried to make the house look as nice as when it was built. This cost thousands of rupees.
After the Rameshs completed their ground work, the house consisted of holes, which they filled up with cement putty. When prospective buyers asked: "What kind of construction have you used? I answered: "Cement putty."

The only high point in the move is when I got even with my daughters "art" projects gathering fungus over the years all over the house. My wife and I have had the same arguments over it maybe 500 times, wherein I would say, "Throw it away!" and she would say, "No it is hers, she has so much talent" My wife grew up in a very sheltered joint family household and she still believes every scrap of paper our offspring scribbled on should be preserved for posterity.
Over the years, these art pieces had come to believe that as long as my wife was around they were safe, and they had grown very smug, which is why I wish you could have seen the look on their faces when, with my wife out of station on assignment, I took them out and arranged them execution style along with the garbage, and, as a small crowd gathered, lit a bonfire. They made sounds I am sure other artworks in our house will not soon forget.
The rest were mostly humdrum days. I looked forward to the day when someone finally bought our house, perhaps they now use it as a tourist attraction ( Cement Putty Kingdom – 10 km.) and we could pack our remaining household possessions, - a guitar and 500 vinyl records- into cardboard boxes and move to Goa to begin our new life, soaking up the sun and watching the palm trees sway in the moonlight. At least until the tin sheets decapitated them.