Christmas in Goa December 25, 2008

A Christmas adventure, in six parts

There are a few ways that you can tell it’s Christmas in Porvorim, Goa. Simple paper lantern stars hang on the front verandah of most homes and businesses, much like the Hindus’ Diwali lanterns. The local Sainik Cooperative store around the corner is selling packages of kalkals, bebinca and other homemade Christmas sweets on a poker table in front of their store. Families on motorbikes ride by with Santa hats instead of baseball caps. And Elvis Presley croons “Blue Christmas” at the Cinamon Cafe, where our driver has brought John, Melissa and myself for an “American breakfast” to start our Christmas day.

Melissa from London, Ontario and John from Washington, D.C. arrived in Goa a few days ago and we  were to relieved to discover that – in spite of never having met and having a tenuous connection to Aloysius’s house in Defence Colony – we could have a fun and memorable Christmas together.

Like myself, Melissa is a Canadian of Goan ancestry who has come here for the first time to connect with her roots. Her father taught Aloysius Hindi and her family’s ancestral home in Moira is just down the street from mine in Nachinola. Her friend John is also a first-timer to India, but an experienced traveller. Both have day jobs as mechanical engineers, but John brought with him a Chrome bag full of camera and sound equipment (including his brand new Canon 5D Mark II). He’s an avid cyclist, but  shoots and writes on automotive culture as a freelancer, which we thought was funny, considering I shoot and write on bicycle culture.

Atlas Bike Porn December 22, 2008

Money shots for the truly geeky

A few people have asked me for a close-up look of the Atlas Supreme DX bike. Here’s a few snaps after a forty-five kilometre ride today.

Fresh from the shop	Grips' custom tape job	Front and rear brake system
Decoration and protection	Rear brake system	Snap lid prevents drive-by grabbing

Bicycles and Bare Breasts December 21, 2008

Here’s what they’ve got in common

Mother Earth (installation by Subodh Kerkar)

I found myself back in Candolim area and had a couple of hours in the beach area before it got dark – Candolim is about fifteen kilometres from my house in Porvorim, but at least forty-five minutes by one-speed bicycle. I turned the bike onto one of the laneways that lead to the beach.

The beach laneways are always hard-packed rutted roads and too narrow for anything but the slimmest car. Pedalling the bicycle along them is a pleasure because the souvenir, fresh fruit and ice cream vendors are usually teens who spend the day catching up with their friends and are less aggressive than their main street counterparts. They’re also usually girls and they grin at the bicycle with its pink plastic basket and call out, “Nice cycle!” when I pedal past.

Big, flabby, relaxed bodies

At the end of the lane grassy, sandy dunes pick up where the road leaves off. I locked my bike to a sign post that pointed to the “Bob Marley Shack” and headed the opposite way. My feet sank in the soft sand and I slipped off my dusty white Crocs. The surrounding trees formed a leafy corridor, and as I continued west towards the Arabian Sea the late afternoon sun, the beach shacks emerged. I stood and took it all in – the gorgeous, relaxed touristness of one of Goa’s famous beach stretches. To the left and to the right as far as the eye could see, palm leaf and bamboo pole “shacks” lined the high tide line.

Each “shack” is actually a respectably-sized open-air restaurant area with ceiling fans, padded rattan chairs, and inexpensive Goan seafood. After the monsoons have passed, each shack owner pays the Goan government an exorbitant amount for a license, builds their shack for the November to March season, lay out lounge chairs close to the water’s edge, and wait.

They wait for the air-con buses of mainly British and Russian package tourists to wander into their own little patch of sand, and they serve them hand and foot. By the end of the day, the lounge chairs are strewn with big, flabby, relaxed bodies – brown and white, men’s and women’s, covered and uncovered.

Hellooo…cyclist?! December 20, 2008

This bike traveller is feeling like a Tribe of One

A technically functional but culturally inobtrusive bike outfit

A little while ago I decided to head out on a Sunday bike exploration. I dressed in a a favourite ensemble that is technically functional but culturally inobtrusive: knee-length baggy polyester shorts, short-sleeved white top, black bike socks, thick-soled Airwalks, and a sun hat. I bought the handmade hat on a solo three-month bike trip in Thailand because it has a wide brim for sun and rain, a chin strap for gusts and downhills, and easily scrunches in a pannier.

I was coasting down a long slope here in Goa along the Porvorim-Calangute road, taking it easy (the linkage brakes system combined with my wheels’ steel rims don’t work so well), when I spotted a person on a cycle who didn’t look like the others.

Does G.O.D. live in G.O.A.? December 16, 2008

An answered prayer, of all the crazy things

Roadside cross between Baga and Calangute, Goa

A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling pretty low. I was feeling bad about a little boy I met, the Mumbai event, and my seclusion. The neighbourhood I’m staying in is called Defence Colony and there are many interesting retired officers and their wives here, but no one my own age to play with. Beyond the Colony is the the town of Porvorim – a bustling drive-through town on India’s National Highway 17, but with no quiet place to relax and sip tea.

Solitary and surrounded by people, I missed the company of housemates, friends, colleagues and Vancouver’s Commercial Drive. One night I went to bed early, laid under my mosquito net, and I prayed to my Goal-Oriented Director (GOD).

“Dear GOD, please help me find some friends here. Help me to connect with people and be able to be a part of this community, in some way.”

There must be a powerful connection here in God’s Own Acreage (GOA) because – there’s no other way of putting it – blessings and angels soon entered into my life like drops of spring rain.

8 Views on Rural Journalism in Goa December 14, 2008

What’s wrong with Goa’s media?

[I attended this workshop and found it fascinating. This is the summary I wrote up for them Note that I won their prize for Best Rural Journalism Story! - UR]

A summary of  the “Workshop for Rural Journalism” organized by Media Information and Communication Centre of India (MICCI), Friedrich Ebert Stiftung (FES) and The International Centre, Goa  December 9 – 11, 2008

Roland Martins of GoaCan demonstrates that with a Rs.100 “formality helmet”, you get what you pay for.

It’s not a coincidence that an intensive “Workshop for Rural Journalists” on December 9 to 11, 2008 preceded the national Right To Information convention at the International Centre, Goa in Dona Paula. Both events shared the same organizers: Media Information and Communication Centre of India (MICCI), Friedrich Ebert Stiftung (FES) and The International Centre, Goa (ICG); and the workshop neatly foreshadowed the RTI convention’s theme: The Road Ahead.

In the case of the three-day workshop, Goan journalists, visiting writers, professionals and students participated in eight sessions to learn how their reportage could improve the road ahead for Goa (and India’s) under-served village communities.

The workshop drew on speakers from media, activist, political, and NGO circles for a variety of viewpoints, but it also included the voices of villagers themselves – one session took participants to a nearby fishing village to meet its residents, hear their stories, and write a story.

Make Up Your Mind December 8, 2008

A new way to support democracy and feminism

“Some women wearing lipstick and powder have taken to streets in Mumbai and are abusing politicians spreading dissatisfaction against democracy. This is what terrorists are doing in Jammu and Kashmir.” – Politician Mukhtar Abbas Naqvi on protesting citizens after the Mumbai attacks (Nahvind Times, Dec. 7, 2008)

“’New feminism is about being gorgeous in skin and daring in attitude. There’s a need to tone-down the glamour. I didn’t use make-up even for the camera.” – Model and Fear Factor participant Nethra Raghunathan on the new “make-under” look (Times of India, Dec. 7, 2008).

Notes on The Mumbai Event December 5, 2008

Let’s put fishers and hotel staff on India’s security payroll

Page 1 of the Sunday Express: the sickening news that not only had government intelligence received alerts on a possible sea attack a week ago, but that the terrorists had penetrated three levels of coastal defence and lingered in Indian waters for 72 hours before finally stepping ashore.

I’m in Goa, and this small Indian state is about ten hours south of Mumbai. We’re safe here (thanks for asking), but we’re quite aware that we share the same coastline, rail corridor and hospitality workers. I’ve been following the news of what’s being called “The Mumbai Event” or “26/11” (perhaps CNN has come up with a more snappy title?) but it hadn’t really settled into my psyche until I sat down and caught up with a copy of the November 30, 2008 Sunday Express at a coffee shop in Candolim.

Before that day, I knew that Goa was involved. Many Goa-bound train passengers were caught in the indiscriminate firing at Chatrapathi Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai’s main train station. They were lined up to board the Konkan Kanya which was scheduled to depart Wednesday evening. Reported Goa’s own Herald  on Thursday November 27, two Goan brothers in Mumbai for a medical examination and at the station phoned the newspaper to report that gunshots had created panic in the station.

In search of Atlas and Hercules, DX December 3, 2008

[A sneak preview of the next Momentum Magazine  column]

If they sell bike parts, I reasoned, they must be a REAL bike shop

For weeks, the bicycles tormented me. From the moment Aloysius picked me up at the Mumbai airport and his car weaved around a one-speed, made-in-India bike toting a sack of rice; then another hauling six red propane cannisters; then another carrying an older lady with a grey bun and a gold sari  – I was reminded that I didn’t have a bike.

I’d flown into Mumbai to begin a six-month sabbatical of living, writing and riding in Goa, India and decided to leave my bike at home. Once in Goa I’d settle into my father’s cousin’s house, I reasoned, catch up on my grandparent’s Burmese-Portuguese-Indian ancestry; then buy an Indian bicycle of my own.

Aloysius – who I’d been corresponding with for years and was familiar with my weakness for travel by bike  – was completely supportive. He recommended I buy a bicyle in Panjim, Goa’s state capital, but he was willing to step into a back alley bike shop in Mumbai’s Dadar market to get the process started.

Rope and Newspaper Cones December 1, 2008

India shows me her mean side

Living the good life in Baga Beach

I’ve been living in two Indias: the bright, beautiful one that surrounds a newcomer to Goa; and the dark, dangerous one that surrounds long-time resident and writer Gregory David Roberts in his true-life book Shantaram. Until yesterday, the two were separate, and I was able to curl up with the compelling book at the end of a glorious day and lose myself in another person’s tales of crime, violence, and corruption.

But yesterday, his world crossed into mine and I caught a glimpse of an India that hurt me to my bones. I knew that it would happen, but I resent that it happened so soon.