In life, everything looks better in retrospect- a wider angle, a clearer vision, the cloud of emotion almost completely dissolved.
We romanticise pain, as Kait Rokowski so poignantly put it: "Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red."
Sometimes, I wonder how we, Goans, allowed Goa to change so much, so fast. Yet other times, I label myself a hypocrite as I enjoy the tiny perks of development in my state.
Sure, change is good, but as Richard Siken warned, “How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?”
It makes me think. How much has Goa transformed over the years? How much more will she endure before she becomes unrecognisable, before it’s some kind of murder?
Have you ever seen a beggar starve for food? The initial pangs of hunger are bearable, but eventually, hunger paralyses him until even a stale piece of bread tastes like manna from heaven, and he sings praises to God.
But according to the books, wasn’t God supposed to provide for him anyway? Isn’t food a basic human right?
The current state of Goa mirrors this. Take the condition of the roads, for instance. We are the beggars, pleading for good roads we rightfully deserve as tax payers.
Deprived of basic necessities, it took me a while to realise how we've been brainwashed into believing that anyone fixing or tarring a road is doing us a great favour, when in reality, they are simply doing the job they were elected to do in the first place.
This is what happens when you’ve been deprived of something so essential, you forget it is a basic necessity that has been overlooked for too long. Gradually, it has now been ingrained in our minds that broken roads are the new normal, and a smooth road is some sort of a miracle stretch.
Holding that thought, let’s not forget the haphazard work that somehow costs crores of rupees, yet falls apart within a few months, a downpour of rain or the endless digging that never seems to stop.
Tucked inside cosy political offices, corruption is an age-old tradition, observed in silence.
But as all frustrated citizens would sarcastically say, we don’t ask for much, if you’re going to steal, fine, take an extra cut but atleast get the job done properly, once and for all.
Take Porvorim, for instance. The roads were shut off for months, causing inconvenience to commuters who remained quiet because, hey, at least we’re getting the roads we rightfully deserve!
Unsurprisingly, it has only been a few months of a little rainfall, and the tar has already sunk into the ground, been patched up haphazardly, and garnished with loose gravel that is sure to dig into our skin if, God forbid, we fall off our vehicles and kiss the tarred floor.
The list of grievances runs long, but who listens to the people once the ink on the index finger of their left hand has faded?
Writing about issues like this, those in power will label us pessimists. But how long until they realise that a so-called pessimist is also some sort of realist?
Caught between the corridors of nostalgia and progress, betrayal and change, frustration and helplessness, loss and gain, Goa stands beautifully poised unsure of her fate but leaving it in the hands of her people.
Hoping that they will love her like a gardener loves his flowers. Enough to water and watch them grow but also wise enough to understand that no matter how beautiful they look, plucking them would only kill them.
And sometimes, just sometimes- the final act of love is letting go.