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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