This day, last year we were in Goa. I clearly remember Banda arguing with the tout about how Sakrant was almost over, the 'season' had ended and the hotels should not charge more. Cheenu told him that it was not in the tout's hands and they started arguing over it, one of the million arguments they must have had in the year of 2006. Some of the other arguments these fellows had were about how 9/11 was a conspiracy by the US, should Demi Moore be termed as a whore or not in Indecent Proposal, since ladies in Kamathipura only do it to feed their children, how a photo should be clicked etc.

So there we were, desperately looking for a room at 8pm and you would know, the public transport in Goa closes down at 7.30 and taxi drivers charge you ridiculous amounts. And then started another Banda v/s Cheenu arguments about if we should run to Mhapse instead and i prayed for something good to happen in the midst of all this...and it did. A bearded middle aged man appeared out of nowhere. I thought, if Jesus was about 40 and he would have started to lose hair on his head, he would have looked exactly like him! His name was Anthony Gonzalvez.
Ok...so it was not. I would have liked if it was though. He was Anthony D'souza and he took us to his Roop Mahal, Prem Gali, Kholi no. chaar sau bees. Kholi number char sau bees was situated on top of a small hillock which oversaw the Mandavi and the base of which was situated a gaonthan. The room was small and had lemon yellow walls with roof made of layers of broken pots. ('Thatched with broken pots'...or something like that). The room needed cleaning and we asked Anthony to do it. Anthony had a cottage, he stays with his family on the upper floor while he used the rooms below as rooms for a lodge.

Our room needed cleaning and we asked Anthony to take care of it. He called out to people upstairs in konkani. We were waiting in the lobby for our room to be cleaned,tired and weary and wanting to throw our bags and hit the bed. I could hear footsteps, typically of a person coming closer to you. A lady was 'descending' down from the wooden stair case. First I could see her heels, then her knee length skirt and then....Cheenu nudged me with his foot. Typical of us guys, i'll tell you. So there she was...'descending' upon us...saw her heels, her legs, the waist and whoah! the face! She was the prettiest banty* ( pronounced as bunty) we had seen. Speak about love at first sight. Now you see why I speak about Anthony as a God sent gift?

Most of you must have visited Goa and your Goa tales might be far more adventurous than this but we have seen Nina so...go stick a L on your foreheads.
And there are some who have not been to Goa yet //cuts a giant L from the newspaper// here..this is for you, stick it on whatever you like.

So..there stood Nina in front of us. Nina was Anthony's wife. Believe me, she was more beautiful than all those topless white chicks on the beaches. Mesmerised, all three of us, all at once. But all good things come to an end you know. Another set of descending crashing foot steps but this time it was Bruno. I don't know what his real name was, but I thought 'Bruno' would be an apt name for a human bulldog. He was topless too. With a hairy back and black shorts. Black shorts only. He spoke with a slur and had a beard too. His tongue was out of his mouth while he spoke. ith that being said, i would like to add, although Bruno looked like Bruno, he was a thorough gentleman.

Bruno and Nina cleaned our rooms. Beauty and the beast. With our eyes fixated on Nina.

I don't understand what is it with firangs and their fascination with Indian cows. They take photos of their ladies feeding the cows. They take photos of an electrician on the pole. They take photos of municipality workers fixing tiles on the foothpaths. They also have drunken sex on the beach right next to the place we were sitting, corrupting our young little minds.

"Staying on the beach in the night is illegal", said one gentleman. Buhh. So..we kept wandering about and stayed on the beach. In the morning on the same day, Banda had his hind on the wooden massage beds cum chair that these firangs use and was made to get up since 100 Rs/hour were to be paid to use them. It was a full moon night with gentle breeze and it couldn't be more romantic, especially with the light from the lighthouse on the Aguada fort falling on us after regular intervals . Only, I was stuck with these two jackasses instead of some one special.
Anyway, Banda was so happy about getting to use those chairs for free in the night that he could have written it in 10 foot big letters on wet sand and could have made a figure of a mooning Bruno.
It got so bloody cold in the night that Banda pulled my hand over himself like a blanket to keep himself warm. A sleepy mind wanted to twist his arm and yell out "go bury yourself in the sand to keep yourself warm, you faggot!", but the sleepy minded decided to be nice and just put his hand back to where it was originally.

I could go on. Someday later.
For now, an evil Monday awaits. Buhh.



For the uneducated,
* Banty = babe+aunty
also, if you wish to expand your knowledge,
BHBB. ( pronounced as bhabha)
= Badi Hoke Babe Banegi.