Goa – the Land of Sun, Sand and Feni

chillibreeze writer — Rajesh M. Iyer

Crab bites on your bottom and weeklong feni belche. Goa might be heaven for other travelers, reveling in the infamous sun and sand, but you can spare me the memories.

Call me a cynic, if you please, but I have no intention of being reminded time and again of the visit to what all my friends call paradise on earth. Not that I have anything against the place, but I dare say, I can’t say the same about Goa having similar thoughts about me. And it all began with that damn crab which sneaked upto me like a double agent would do unto his own country.

The crab bite was so bad, I still can’t sit properly, and this piece had to be typed while I stood staring down at the screen. And, to think we’re days removed from that horrendous event. Even though I’d like to forget it as soon as possible, it’s a hard task. And, every time I cringe with pain, I shudder with the thought of all those gleaming bodies lying on the beach, as if they all suffered from some cloth allergy. It was such a sight that made me turn sideways, giving enough room for that damn crab to bite into the juiciest part of my rear end. It was as if the crab was telling me not to have such a dekko. Well, that’s one theory that’s propounded by some of my friends. But, dammit, what are holidays for if you can’t even have a little peek-a-boo. Besides, it wasn’t even that. It was those creatures on two legs, naturally adorned with oh-what-nots that could make the most steadfast salivate, who are responsible. Eons back poor old Vishwamitra had to suffer from this very affliction that’s been a bane to the civilization in general, pulling down a virtual horde of great names, trashing them hard in dust. Well, destiny had a slight change of plan for me. It reserved sand for me, replacing the standard old dust.

As I stood up with the alacrity of a cat on a hot tin roof and jumped around on those golden sands, I saw something strange. It wasn’t just the humans who gave me those strange glances, but the crabs also decided to join the bandwagon. A virtual party seemed to come near me, eyeing me with such suspicion that I thought my shouting at their bite was totally out of place, breaking some code of conduct. I don’t know what a ‘propah’ gentleman would have done, but then pain is pain and there’s a limit to it, especially if it happens so suddenly and at such a place, too.

As I stomped out of that beach in a huff, I could still feel something moving inside my new pair of Bermudas. As I shook a little more, the damn fellow with two sharp claws dropped down, totally unashamed of what all he had been up to inside a territory where no gentleman would like to enter.

‘Perhaps he admired you much, saar.’ I wanted to sock the hotel manager in the eye. And, that stupid grin he had when he said uttered this inane line made me all the more uncomfortable about the place.

I decided to forget it all by the best method I knew.

‘What, saar, why whiskey?’, uttered another set of dirty teeth in another stupid grin. This time it was the room attendant. No amount of cajoling would deter him from making me drink the local drink of Goa.

Feni hit me bad the first day I drank it and I cursed the room attendant while lying on my stomach, thanks to the irreverent crab. And, unlike the crab, this fellow – with perhaps the yellowest set of teeth I’d ever set my eyes on – understood my words perfectly. But, like the crab, he decided to do his own thing. Every time I ordered a bottle of whiskey, he’d bring me a bottle of feni instead, irritating me so much that I decided to complain. I don’t know what stopped me from doing that, and before long I was actually drinking that stuff. But slowly the new-to-my-taste-buds concoction started growing on me, making me want more. Here I was, always priding myself to being a disciplined drinker, swigging straight from the bottle like a man possessed, totally forgetting what it feels like to pour a drink in a glass before drinking.

And, as if this wasn’t enough the damn fellow started chiding me for using a chauffeured taxi, as if it were a crime. Taken totally by his words, I got myself a rickety bike and tried exploring the virgin country, only to fall a dozen times, apart from ramming another biker headlong, which apart from getting me some permanent bruises, got me a free night stay. Even though the police barracks definitely cannot be termed comfortable, the effect of feni hardly made me realize. I slept like a log along with similar creatures who outdid me in their love for the Goan spirit and some vermin who perhaps licked my face the whole night, trying to taste as much of the drink as they could. But the best part was to differentiate between the culprits I shared the barrack with and the policemen who saluted me when I waved a wad of notes in the morning. They all looked the same to me. Similar shiny faces, similar stupid grins, similar set of dirty teeth, and definitely, a similar breath; smelling of you know what.

There was more to Goa than that, but I’d rather not go into details. It brings back such strangely odd memories, something I’d love to do without.

When a friend of mine asked what mementos I brought from Goa, I had a whole lot to show. Six large scars, three small ones, a pair of black pouches under the eyes, a deep gorge like a crater deep below, thanks to the crab, and a strange belch that refuses to part.

That’s how I ended my solitary journey to that marvelous land of sun and sand. And, boy am I happy it’s over, even though the after-effects can still be felt. And, in case, you didn’t like my piece, you know whom to blame. It’s Goa, man!

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—About our writer:

Editing four magazines, writing scores of columns and articles and scripts for TV, films and documentaries doesn't seem to whet his appetite. Rajesh M. Iyer is ever wanting to lap something new and exciting. A perfect Mr. Been-there-to-do-that.

A maverick to the core, Rajesh M. Iyer also straddles stratospeheres hunting for prospects that can tickle THE funny bone.

Goa – the Land of Sun, Sand and Feni

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