As a person who mostly lives in my own little bubble, I’ve often wondered if people really thought badly about Goa, or if my profession forced me to believe so.
In my opinion, the best writing comes from the things that you wholeheartedly believe in, just like the best marketing is when you try to sell an idea that you truly believe in. Nothing beats that.
Journaling for these past two years and writing about the ‘soul of Goa’ and ‘what not to believe’ about it, somewhere felt unnecessary; like people were supposed to know these things, like nobody was actually thinking of Goa as a sleazy holiday destination anymore, like years’ worth of content that we had been putting out was more than enough for everybody to get the message.
Sometimes it is easy to live in the past. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable, and you know what they say about dealing with a known devil rather than an unknown one. But a devil is a devil regardless, and I was ready to leave him behind along with the idea that every tourist was thinking badly of my hometown.
Because what if I was the only one who thought so? What if they actually knew how beautiful my Goa truly was? What if I was the only one stuck in time? What if they were really coming to Goa to embrace its waves and gain solace?
Carrying my thoughts around, I entered a restaurant in Panjim to have a simple dinner. I left my favourite fancies who were calling out to me from the menu, and ordered a simple meal – daal fry, and tandoori roti, no butter.
The waiter arrived with my food in no time, but the door did not close behind him as ten to twelve more men entered and took a seat in the restaurant. They were all tourists, at least according to me.
The restaurant was particularly empty. And although eavesdropping is bad, some conversations are meant to reach an audience, in one way or another; and call it divine intervention, but I happened to be at the right place at the right time to listen to this one, and share its disturbing contents with you.
With not a care in the world, nor one look at his surroundings or an ounce of decency, one among the many middle-aged man preached to the ten others seated opposite him.
“The women in Goa? They may look like they come from decent families, but trust me, they all want only one thing, sex!” he said. The others smirked and leaned in, in excitement.
“The women in Goa? They may look like they come from decent families, but trust me, they all want only one thing, sex!” he said. The others smirked and leaned in, in excitement.
He went on to say a lot more about how apparently, “lady solo travelers come to Goa for a ‘good time’ and not exploring,” all while assuring his obedient followers that ‘rooms were available’, Baga has the best shopping streets and wearing a helmet while riding a bike is necessary.
Well, at least he got something right.
Disgusted to my core, I listened on in disbelief as he later proceeded to speak in fluent Konkani to the man seated beside him. The only tool that I knew would tell me if he was a Goan or not, and according to my faulty calculator, it seemed like he was.
Questions and frustration raced through my mind. My blood boiled.
What did he just say? The conviction with which he spoke? How can a Goan itself speak in such a manner about his hometown and its women? Is this even legal? Can the government sue him for defaming the state? Is this why tourists think badly of Goa? Because our own speak so degradingly about it? Would it be okay to just go and knock the daylights out of him?
What did he just say? The conviction with which he spoke? How can a Goan itself speak in such a manner about his hometown and its women? Is this even legal? Can the government sue him for defaming the state? Is this why tourists think badly of Goa? Because our own speak so degradingly about it? Would it be okay to just go and knock the daylights out of him?
What I did not hear was their food order.
He seemed to have lost his appetite somewhere in between all the crap that was coming out of his mouth while I mustered up the courage to leave my tandoori roti behind and walk up to this supposed fellow Goenkar.
I wanted to ask him what he was on, and where he was getting this information from. How would I get a good night’s sleep if I didn’t?
Upon being questioned, his first response was getting defensive and not letting anybody else speak. The second was claiming that he was a Goan.
But the holes in his story were soon exposed when he started off by claiming that he was from Panjim and contradicted himself just a few minutes later stating that he was from Taleigao.
At first, all the men seated there were supposedly his ‘friends’ who he was ‘warning’ about all the scams lurking around Goa, and the next minute, he claimed to be a tour operator who was explaining the tricks of the trade to these tourists.
Still disgusted and mad, I breathed a sigh of relief – at least this pimp wasn’t a Goan. But that still didn’t make what he was doing okay.
Still disgusted and mad, I breathed a sigh of relief – at least this pimp wasn’t a Goan. But that still didn’t make what he was doing okay.
“It’s not what you think, even I have a mother and sisters at home,” he said. But it didn’t sound like he did a few minutes ago.
“I understand,” he assured, to which I replied, “You cannot possibly understand, you are not a woman. And if you really did, you would not be speaking about them this way.”
It is because of people like this that our beautiful state has lost face. It is because of men like these that even the handful of the good ones suffer.
The problem that so many ignore is not in the way a woman dresses, where she goes or what she does, but in the male gaze and the way that she is perceived.
If you ask me, it’s in the way we see the world.