Leaving has a bittersweet nature. Every time people move away from home, due to compulsion or in the quest for better prospects, there’s a sense of loss and disconnection.
For the ones boarding their flights, there are those heart-wrenching losses like missing your grandmum who remains back home, or those celebrations where all your cousins met, and even that longing for a peculiar taste that was only available at the restaurant just around the corner.
And then, those losses that were hardly noticed, like not hearing that elderly neighbour ask, "Kamak voita, go?" (off to work) as she saw you walk as usual in the direction of the bus stop, or not recollecting the words that went in the address blank you filled throughout your childhood.
Leaving impacts even the strongest. But, not just for those moving away; loss hits everything left behind with much impact, if not greater.
The other day, on my way to buy some bread for dinner, I heard myself say "Don pao" (two breads) to the baker who didn’t move a bit at the request.
As he continued to stare in confusion, my attempt for recovery looked like, "Bas do" sticking two fingers out, hoping he understood.
Holding the bread, wrapped in newspaper, I walked back, lost in thought. The mere incident took me right to those waves that kissed the shores gently, I remembered the younger me attempting to dig a hole in wet sand, and failing every time I tried.
With no attempts made to create new avenues and tap into existing potential in Goa, youngsters are leaving in pursuit of something better.
I realised then, no matter how much you try, the void left by those departing is soon filled by others. And, that’s exactly what is happening in Goa, with no attempts made to create new avenues and tap into existing potential, youngsters are leaving in pursuit of something better.
While there is no harm in anyone migrating, whether leaving or filling the gap created, there’s something that happens to the place itself. It changes, sometimes for the good, and sometimes not so much for that. And, in Goa’s case, those leaving are indebting her with quite a heavy price.
Abandoned by her own guardians, today, the biggest cost Goa is paying is through her land. The land that is continuously watched by hawks – the real estate builders, those yelling 'it’s all in the name of development' and those that see the State as just another avenue for profit.
Even as news blares every day with reports of a new land grab case, involvement of Goan politicians illegally changing land zones to even statements like ‘Delhi now conquers Goa’ doing the rounds on websites advertising the State's land sale, the distance between Goan shores itself seems to have distanced us from the problem.
Slowly, and not so silently anymore, Goa’s land seems to mourn, with her wails getting louder each passing day. Stripped of her hills and the green lands slowly slipping away, she seems to be losing people who would fight for her along with the opportunities that will actually do her good.
Goa is counting on all those who she has cradled for generations, especially those who, no matter where they go, introduce themselves as ‘I am a Goan’.
So, whether caught up in a nine-to-five job in Goa or walking on the streets of Wembley, or basking in the sun, there’s every reason to think about Goa, as her tomorrow needs our attention today.
After all, home sometimes can never be replaced, and it's up to us to ensure that Goa remains something we can call our own.