(This article
is a travelogue regarding the writer’s experience of visiting St. Xaviers
exposition at Goa in the year 2004)
During the dusk of 2004, the sinners
of the planet got an opportunity to depurate their sins by touching and
osculating the relics of St. Francis Xavier. Me too a sinner wanted to see the
remains of the saint and blatant belief of the world behind it for which I got
carte blanche from my father when my 5th semester examination
calorie was on its rising. It was a time when my days were sunk in exams but my
dreams submerged in the Goan fantasies. After termination of the examination,
with the expectation of tuning and turning myriad dreams into pragmatism I
prepared for it and started counting down in the calendar thinking when
December 27th will come- the day on which my friend Subeesh and I planned
to leave for Goa for elucidation, experience and exhilaration.
Due to heavy scurry as the Christmas
vacation was on, we didn’t have berth when we booked our ticket but on 27th
Dec with the help of one of my friend Rajesh’s mom, E.Q. got cleared which I
have applied on the same day and finally we got two berths in coach S 12 in the
train Hapa Express. I entrained Coimbatore
passenger and reached Shoranur Jn with my bag and baggage at 7:15 p.m. The schedule time of the Hapa
Express was at 10:10 p.m.
but it was announced that the train was running behind schedule and will be
reaching at 10:45 p.m.
After having my dinner from a near by vegetarian bistro I whiled away my
boredom by beholding the busy passerby and passengers; staring the stars in the
night firmament above and the junk strewn in the rail tracks below; by looking
at my watch and watch looking at me. At last, train arrived before 11:00 p.m. in which Subeesh was there
who had boarded from Ernakulam North with the extreme zeal and zest. That night
was over and done with just by harkening the clamorous crying of a child and
his mother’s lullaby in the lower berth, sending the innocent into the innocence
of somnolence.
The killer billow- Tsunami and its cataclysm
had astounded the conscience of the people all over the world on 26th
Dec, the day next to Christmas as a ‘Christmas gift of nature’. All the
passengers of the train, some even forgetting to have their morning tea were engrossed
in the headlines and photographs of the news paper about the unheard word-
‘Tsunami’; its anger and aftermath. With all these scenes on our eyeballs we
had omelet, bread and biscuit as our breakfast to cease our appetite and later
on got caught up with the discussion and dialogue about the horror of harbor
waves with the co-passengers. We were a bit apprehensive regarding how far it
was safe and sound to visit the beaches and whether there will be a wallop of
wave in its gargantuan form deluging the coast of Goa.
When the sun was directly above our cranium
train reached Madgoan and we stepped down the platform of Madgoan with shrill
thrills. The station was jam-packed as usual with swarm of tourists from diverse
corners of the world with their respective sui generis subculture, style and
statements. It was debut trip to Goa for
Subeesh and for me second time. An attention-grabbing fact is, for me the first and last trip of
the year 2004 was to Goa. Last time I came to
an all India
moot court competition held at Salgoacar College of Law but this time it’s with
multifarious objectives ranging from enlightenment to enjoyment.
With looking around and carrying the
luggage we headed on to G.T.D.C. and inquired about the faring, traveling and
lodging. From there itself we booked a two bedded room in Madgao Residency and
paid the peak-season-fare. Then by catching an auto rickshaw we moved on to Madgao
Residency. After reaching there we had to wait for a while as the receptionist
was busy entering into records; attending the phone calls and convincing the
tourists. Later on, we entered our name, signature and seal in a cumbersome
book as per the instruction of the receptionist and got the key of room no: 805.
Soon after, one of the attendants escorted us to the room no: 805 showing earnestness
and eagerness.
We two relaxed and refreshed;
changed our attire by watching the changing flips in the T.V. channels and were
geared up in search of the route to Saint Xavier. Without knowing the direction
to the destination Old Goa we set on with the idea that in Goa
all road lead to church
of Bom Jesus. We sinners
were on the way discovering the gates of immaculateness and impeccability.
After inquiring how to reach Old
Goa, we boarded a bus and confirmed with the conductor the time it takes to
reach the place of purity and publicity. The passengers sitting nearby were the
natives of Goa who were quiet familiar with the places and few of them had
visited the church more than two or three times. We planned to have our lunch
after witnessing the relics of the saint. It was an idea of Subeesh that
‘church first and lunch later’ but later only we both felt that it was a
decision for suffering and soreness. In the bus near to us there were three
children standing with their parents sitting. The children were very smart and
sweet testifying the age of innocence, benevolence and nonsense. Subeesh, a
pugilist had a weakness for kids for which he told me to take the snap along
with those smirking beings, possessing beautiful heart. We can’t get back into
those smiling and sublime minutes but can smile by looking those captured
moments.
We reached Old Goa at 2:15 p.m. and zeroed in to the
ultimate terminus with full potential. The colourful chunky crowd was moving in
one direction and therefore we too tag along those thick sinners devoid of any hesitation
and further question. There were policemen standing on the side of the road
helping the ignorant populace how to go about; signaling with their hands the
steering vehicles to take one side and setting up the barricades to segregate
the confused-concourse thoroughfare in order to gain better momentum for man
and machine.
We entered the doorsill to the grandiose
exposition. On both sides of the way were the marts exposing zillions of
commodities for selling; five-and-dime stores with diminutive despicable wares
and transitory hotels serving drinks from sprite to sugarcane juice and foods
from cheese to Chinese. We had plans to shop lot of items but decided to do it
while coming back after seeing the saint. But I purchased a gibus hat for
sheltering my head from the humidity and also a stygian goggle for cooling
effect to my ogles on the way. The way doesn’t comes to an end here it’s just
the tip of the iceberg. In fact the way was crammed by the obstreperous
canvassing and campaigning by the peddlers for selling of their articles; by
the importunate vendors soliciting the tourists for their merchandise and by the
emptor and shopper haggling with their negotiating adroitness.
We had light munchies to cease the
smoldering hungriness but it was zilch for me. With the famished abdomen we
proceeded to link up with the unbelievable two mile serpentine swirling queue
of the believers and non-believers of St. Francis Xavier. There was a mile long
rope stockade close to the fence of the church starting from the entrance of
the church gate till the end of the pale yellow fence inside to which was the
dual queue with different sort of people from different parts of the world
standing and moving with a gradual pace. Police personnel were holding and
standing the rope barricade without permitting any persons neither to make a
transit over it nor to get in between the queue. All the persons were footing by
enduring the noonday humid despite of some holding parasol and some wearing
panama. The snake like queue was crawling at a snail's pace but at times it
acquired greater momentum which made every one pleased. We mingled with the
people along with us. Four to five Malayalis were there standing next to us in
the queue and they were a good time pass till we reached the footstep of the
church. By cracking jokes, commenting dialogues and chanting melodious rhythms
Subeesh and I spend the lackluster hours. The sun came down and our shadows
became longer but the length of the train like queue was swelling and was creeping
at the old rate. Many people with jaded anatomy were sitting on the other side
of the road to take rest in the shade of the foliage and their family members
and friends were standing in the queue. After regaining energy people come and
join the line and their relatives went to take rest. The reciprocal process
prolonged till the sun went down in between through the buildings and branches
of the trees. Before the advent of the eventide flashes of camera started
flicking here and there which reminded me to take few snaps of the tall creamy
coloured church and the encircled flowery garden to it. A common scene was that
some peoples by loosing their last vestige of patience were quarrelling with
the policemen to enter into the queue as some people with tricks entered in
between the line but all those attempts of argument were futile because the
right to equality prevailed applying the rule of law equally to every one. The exception
was the handicapped and the old people unable to walk. With the help of their
attendant they were allowed to make an entry through another gate and make out
the exposition. All and sundry was hoping at that moment to be a handicapped.
In reality all had became handicapped by standing more than four hours in the
queue.
I perceived various images while
standing in the file. It remains in my mind as a montage of miscellaneous
matter. The populace consisted from hoi polloi to haute couture; from the
occidental tourists to oriental townsmen and from the Caucasian skinned folk to
the craggy haired Negroes. The gathered people spoke in their own mother tongue
and some people chanted the divine rhythms of Jesus; they were having their own
culture; adored in their unique costumes and pursued different religion but mostly
they were Christians. In total, it could be said that it was an interaction of
variety displaying vehemence and vibrancy.
The crawling innumerable reached the
gates of the Kirk dedicated to the infant Jesus and now a World Heritage
Monument. All were
permitted inside through a metal detector signifying the tight security
involved. Then after that till the doorstep of the church, pandal was there and
the authorities had provided seating arrangement to the side of the way which
was a relief to the weary uncountable. With no time we reached the portal of
the cathedral where we had to make an entry through another metal detector. On
the passageway there was a caution written that ‘taking photographs were
prohibited inside the church’. After discerning it I kept my digital camera
inside my pant pocket. Despite the warning the bold ones where taking the snap.
Breaking the law is too common every where especially in India whether
it is in the church or in the court.
In the long run the four hour long
waiting came to an end. An amalgamation of relief and reverence was the reaction
by seeing the inside structure of the cathedral. When I popped into the central
room, it was dark and there was the light of few candles and dim bulbs. I
didn’t understand why they had provided such a poor illumination for an
impressive exposition. The holy dead relics of the St. Francis Xavier were kept
in a silver casket on which tout le monde fingered and kissed. I too osculated
the casket and made a careful observation within few seconds. For me relics of
St. Xavier resembled an ochre coloured ligneous sculpture of a slender man
clothed in shining raiment. My second look gave me a horrific notion and to
state it ironically- I felt the relics of St. Xavier having a similarity with a
saint in satanic physiognomy. It was like a frightening dead body having a xyloid
skull with hollow eye socket, protruding defunct teeth, lengthy russet coloured
fingernails and toenails and dead veins seen obviously in the osseous hands. I
couldn’t comprehend the benefit of such an exposition. Why St.
Francis Xavier? Answer is simple- its commercialization of religion;
commercialization of St. Francis Xavier and what more than this in a
commercialized, liberalized, privatized and globalised globe?
With lots of bamboozling questions encompassing
dubious miasma, I came out through the egress. Besides the self asked questions
there was escalating hunger which turned me blind as a bat. Subeesh and I
hunted for food with full voracity. From a hotel just a stone's throw away, we
had the food till we satiated our self. With the loaded tummy we set on for
shopping from where by bargaining we purchased many things from wrist watch to
wooden wallet; from refulgent trinket to remarkable T-shirts and from puppet to
pottery.
In a choked bus we traveled from Old
Goa to the capital of Goa- Panjim. The city roads with zebra crossings were deserted
in the jacket of nocturnal murkiness with hardly any stray dogs roaming hither
and thither unlike in Palakkad- my place of nativity, where the nomadic canines
are too common. The whole conurbation was under the lassitude of diurnal
activities but the illumination bulbs all over shimmering in oomph especially
in the night clubs and pubs. We made inquiries about the contiguous and chief
pub in Panjim. A driver of auto rickshaw gave information about a pub named
Tito’s situated near to the beach Calangute and said that there was no good pub
nearby in Panjim other than Tito’s. Since Calangute was a bit remote and there
was no bus available to go there at the nighttime, we hired the same auto
rickshaw and hit the road to the said place expecting the unexpected. The vicinity
was filled with full of foreigners and Indians less in numerals. The rickshaw
wala took to the frontage of the pub Tito’s. The place was marvelous and
mysterious. I was having a doubt that whether we had arrived in a heaven in
hell or in a hell as heaven. After paying the ingress charge we were about to
enter but there was an out-and-out checking by three security men of the pub.
They comported to us like the Indian soldiers checking the Pakistanis before
crossing the frontier. That was a picayune disgrace which we disregarded.
People in modish apparel divulging
lots of skin, smoldering cigarette in between their fingers and showing embroidered
etiquette were chatting, shimmering and drinking varying from beer to brandy
and having food from hamburger to frankfurter. It seemed like a breathing space
where we get the concoction of euphoria and emancipation; where we discover
motion of diverse obsessions forgetting the friction of stringent life and
could satisfy the appetite for passion of shaking body, syncopated music and
stimulating sex. That day, DJ Ivin who is considered as the best DJ in India was
playing the music and VJ Tanya with her charismatic voice was compelling the
crowd to dance on the dance floor rocking to the rhythm of energizing and
enigmatic music. Most of the people were tangoing with perspiration oozing out
from their face which glittered by the striking of the colourful brilliant
laser lights. The weary ones moved to a side and took rest and after some while
again join the blazing bunch. Apart from the dancing of the gorgeous multitude
there was dance on the rostrum by three beauteous and voluptuous damsel dancers
in between each hour for diversity in the divertissement. These mantras prolonged
through out the night till 3:30
a. m. and finally it came to a finis. It was awesome in total.
We two met lot of guys in Tito’s
some became our friends. There was MTV VJ Nikhil to whom I went and shook
hands. He liked my occult dance and enjoyed very much. Many more fans and
foreigners of the nocturnal pleasure were present there without knowing how to
spend their superfluous sterling under their placket. ‘Money is the ultimate of
everything’- that was the attitude of the public who gathered in the pub. Is
love no where in today’s world or hidden somewhere? We need it every where
otherwise what are we with just a decaying framework craving currency and
contentment.
Hiring a Maruti Omni we went from
the corner of Calangute to the door of Margao Residency covering virtually 50
K.M. in the silence of Goan night. Since we both were exhausted and were
drowsy, after reaching the rooms of our residency we soon went under the
blanket of somnolence and waked up only at 11:00a.m., the next sunup. By 12:00 p.m. we were ready to leave and checked
out from the hotel after having done all the formalities.
We reached the Madgaon Railway
Station by an Auto Rickshaw. The first thing we did was, we went and secured
our luggage in the cloak room. After that we inquired about the train and train
timings. Getting all sorts of information we both left to the beach Colva
calling an auto rickshaw. It was just 6 K.M. from the station to Colva but the
fare seemed unjust for us. Bargaining
with the auto rickshaw drivers was considered futile as the fare was fixed and
no driver reduces single paisa. I had already been to Colva when I came last time
to Goa. Colva beach has its own scenic
splendor. It’s where the sand, sea and sky blend in enchanting natural harmony
unspoiled by men. Cottage to the side of the beach, craft sailing in the Arabian Sea and canines straying hither and thither are
the things which anyone could see if got a chance to visit here. The sands of
the beach were having copious foot prints, sun in the sky was radiating with
its piercing rays and the eyes of people visiting there were looking the rising
tides in the sea. It was a true esthetics in its utmost extreme. We spend in
the Colva beach itself till the sun came near to the far-flung horizon. We did
some shopping from the agora of Colva beach for our classmates and neighbors,
had bellyful chow and returned back in an auto rickshaw to the Madgaon Railway
Station.
I went to take the ticket.
Fortunately there was no queue and hence got the ticket quickly. Announcement was
there that our train Mangla Express which was scheduled to arrive at 7:30 p.m. was sprinting late by three
hours. Subeesh and I sat in a bench and
passed the time by confabulating regarding the two days experience and
extravaganza. All plans can’t be converted into practice. The things practiced
may not be planned sometimes. Likewise, we were having lot of other plans but
not all was made into practical reality which could be later made a subject
matter for prolegomenon and polemics.
Finally, Mangla Express rolled into
the station at 11:00 p.m.
There was an inconceivable scurry in the general coach but we both managed to
get inside and caught seats. On the one hand people were sleeping on the rack
meant for stowing luggage and on the other hand many people were standing
paying the same fare. That was not fair for which there was furious
conversation and later the sleeping persons were made to get up and give place
for standing persons to sit. We climbed the rack and sat till the next dawn. I
have never sat like that even for my examination but what to do, its all
compulsion which has to be endured as we didn’t got berth in the sleeper coach
due to the heavy rush. It was the first time in my life I am traveling in the
general coach for more than 650 K.M. Lots of ‘first and last’ deeds and
decisions were the part of this journey. Eventually, miles mitigated by, as the
train trundled from station to station. In between one station Subeesh got down
to take ticket from that station to Ernakulam as I had took the ticket from
Madgaon to Shoranur for both. By the time Subeesh came after taking ticket the
train left. When the next station came I got down and looked for Subeesh but I
couldn’t find where he is. A sinner searching another sinner- Interesting,
isn’t it? I was little tensed but my tension was released when next station
arrived. Subeesh came smiling and described what has happened. When he missed
the train he took a lift of a passerby scooter-man and caught the train by entering
into the last coach. It seems like a fiction but it happened. Believe it.
In due course, Shoranur Jn came.
There was Rapthisagar Express about to leave from Shoranur Jn going via Palakkad. I was happy by
seeing that otherwise I would have to wait for a long time for another train
going to Palakkad. I boarded Rapthisagar Express which took off within minutes
and I was looking and gesticulating with my hands at Subeesh, the last seconds
with tears struck in the eyes. Now everything find a space in the layer of my memories;
memories to conceive and cherish whenever I get time.
After reaching my home I made a
sweet retrospection about the search. I felt like the search was incomplete.
Something was missing somewhere. Right now I am in search of that ‘something’.
