The Hindu reports: In the old days, summer was when one left Goa. Old Portuguese houses got stiflingly hot without air conditioning, foreigners returned home, the parties stopped, and the markets shut. I’ve lived here on and off since the early 2000s, moving further and further away from the hippie haunts of my 20s (they don’t exist anymore), and closer towards the Goa of the Goans.
Now, decades later, I live in a small, hidden vaddo, or neighbourhood, whose name is shared with all its inhabitants (except mine). Elaine, my neighbour, knows the trees in my compound better than I do (her home has been in her family since 1871), I never lock my door, the poi man leaves bread at my doorstep for me — whether I pay him or not — every day, and my cat is fed and my garden watered by Bani next door (because I gave her son my old guitar). And it has made me fall in love with summer.
Background
Summer is when Goa comes alive — there is so much produce! Every morning, my garden gives me something new: jackfruit, fresh kokum, cashew apples and, of course, mango. Everywhere, old Goan ladies sit on the side of the road selling mangoes from their gardens.
Key facts
- In the old days, summer was when one left Goa.
- Old Portuguese houses got stiflingly hot without air conditioning, foreigners returned home, the parties stopped, and the markets shut.
- Now, decades later, I live in a small, hidden vaddo, or neighbourhood, whose name is shared with all its inhabitants (except mine).
- And it has made me fall in love with summer.
- Summer is when Goa comes alive — there is so much produce!
What this means
Anyone who has had a homegrown Mankurad can’t remember what an Alphonso is. They’re not cheap, but worth every bite. Mankurad mangoes from my backyard | Photo Credit: Simrit Malhi The local markets are teeming too, with neero (cashew apple juice), watermelon, oysters, limes, and urrak.
The alcoholic beverage made from fermented cashew apple juice is the elixir of summer, the foti (crown) on Goa’s susegad reputation, and reason enough to suffer being sober the whole year. Urrak with a side of my favourite: dried and fried bombil | Photo Credit: Simrit Malhi Drinking urrak turns me into an old Goan aunty: I get more confident, adopt their cheeky nonchalance. I become the drunk jester, and at night, I dream of walking through cashew and coconut trees lit by moonlight.
Originally reported by The Hindu. This story has been edited and re-presented by BRIC Team.
