17-03-2019, 06:20 PM
I travelled aimlessly from Pune to Belgaum to Goa. Stayed for two days at Colva and then returned to Delhi late at night on Tuesday. Ranju was there to open the door.
"Did she like the iPad?" She asked
"Very" I replied enthusiastically.
"Did you show her all the features?" She questioned.
"Definitely, you take me for a fool or what?" I said, irritated.
Ranju looked at me quizzically. Fortunately, her phone rang. I was let off.
Routine life rambled on. Outwardly, nothing had changed, but internally? I think I was getting obsessed with changes!
Two weeks passed and I, like a maniac kept on checking all my electronic addresses. Nothing pinged. Slowly, I stopped looking. I gave up.
The WhatsApp showed a message on Tuesday morning, exactly 14 days after my return to Delhi with a cryptic message, "Check mail." I opened the mail and there were a short message and one attachment.
"Take some leave and come. John Pinto will meet you at the airport. Bye."
The attachment was an air ticket to Dabolim airport for Wednesday morning. I had 24 hours to understand the meaning of all this. I replied the WhatsApp message with an okay sign.
Leave wasn't a problem. I called Ranju and informed her that I needed to go on a short duty trip and to my relief, she did not ask questions. In the evening, we went out for dinner to the Saket Mall and akin to a pilgrimage went inside the 'fabindia' store. A woven jacket caught my eyes and I showed it to Ranju. She flipped the price tag and arched her brows, almost touching the roof.
What the hell! I bought it.
The early morning flight gave me time to reflect on this very peculiar travel of mine. It was a mysterious journey and straight out of a thriller story. John Pinto would be there to take me to his den. Would I be blindfolded? I laughed. The passenger on the next seat looked back curiously. I was nonplussed but he smiled back. Maybe, he too was pursuing some story of his own. The sun was rising and I felt the excitement of a new day.
As I came out of the airport building, I looked for a heavy set muscular man with a cigar and goggles. He was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a thin balding man in slippers was standing with a placard with my name wrongly spelt. I shouted, "John Pinto!" The gangster in slippers approached me flashing a smile extending to his ears. The first words that tumbled out of his mouth were, "Nasta karinga to bolo (Have some breakfast)."
I soon realized that the cab was taking me towards the southern part of Goa. John Pinto appeared to have an intense interest in the dwindling quality of 'feni' (a local cashew/coconut wine), produced nowadays. He lamented the dishonesty and shortcuts that had engulfed the 'feni' producers. Good days apparently were gone from Goa! I listened to him carefully. I wanted to ask him the whereabouts of my destination but refrained, for a variety of reasons. I allowed my luck to take me to my endpoint.
Once we crossed Margao, I suspected that I was headed towards a place we had visited a long time back. We crossed Canacona and I knew that I was going to the Palolem beach, the most exquisite beach in Goa. Our dreams of conjugal bliss had matured there. At "D'souza's Shack." The beach hadn't changed much and retained its charm. I asked Pinto to drop me at the car park. I needed to walk about 500 meters to the shack. It had to be that place!
Pinto asked me, "Tumko D'souza ka shack malum hai kya? (Do you know where D'souza's shack is?)"
I nodded. Pinto handed me a worn-out card and said with humility, "Sir, car ke liye phone karneka. Raat ko chhod kar. Thora feni chalta kya? (Call if you want a cab except at night. Would you like to sample some feni?"
"Did she like the iPad?" She asked
"Very" I replied enthusiastically.
"Did you show her all the features?" She questioned.
"Definitely, you take me for a fool or what?" I said, irritated.
Ranju looked at me quizzically. Fortunately, her phone rang. I was let off.
Routine life rambled on. Outwardly, nothing had changed, but internally? I think I was getting obsessed with changes!
Two weeks passed and I, like a maniac kept on checking all my electronic addresses. Nothing pinged. Slowly, I stopped looking. I gave up.
The WhatsApp showed a message on Tuesday morning, exactly 14 days after my return to Delhi with a cryptic message, "Check mail." I opened the mail and there were a short message and one attachment.
"Take some leave and come. John Pinto will meet you at the airport. Bye."
The attachment was an air ticket to Dabolim airport for Wednesday morning. I had 24 hours to understand the meaning of all this. I replied the WhatsApp message with an okay sign.
Leave wasn't a problem. I called Ranju and informed her that I needed to go on a short duty trip and to my relief, she did not ask questions. In the evening, we went out for dinner to the Saket Mall and akin to a pilgrimage went inside the 'fabindia' store. A woven jacket caught my eyes and I showed it to Ranju. She flipped the price tag and arched her brows, almost touching the roof.
What the hell! I bought it.
The early morning flight gave me time to reflect on this very peculiar travel of mine. It was a mysterious journey and straight out of a thriller story. John Pinto would be there to take me to his den. Would I be blindfolded? I laughed. The passenger on the next seat looked back curiously. I was nonplussed but he smiled back. Maybe, he too was pursuing some story of his own. The sun was rising and I felt the excitement of a new day.
As I came out of the airport building, I looked for a heavy set muscular man with a cigar and goggles. He was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a thin balding man in slippers was standing with a placard with my name wrongly spelt. I shouted, "John Pinto!" The gangster in slippers approached me flashing a smile extending to his ears. The first words that tumbled out of his mouth were, "Nasta karinga to bolo (Have some breakfast)."
I soon realized that the cab was taking me towards the southern part of Goa. John Pinto appeared to have an intense interest in the dwindling quality of 'feni' (a local cashew/coconut wine), produced nowadays. He lamented the dishonesty and shortcuts that had engulfed the 'feni' producers. Good days apparently were gone from Goa! I listened to him carefully. I wanted to ask him the whereabouts of my destination but refrained, for a variety of reasons. I allowed my luck to take me to my endpoint.
Once we crossed Margao, I suspected that I was headed towards a place we had visited a long time back. We crossed Canacona and I knew that I was going to the Palolem beach, the most exquisite beach in Goa. Our dreams of conjugal bliss had matured there. At "D'souza's Shack." The beach hadn't changed much and retained its charm. I asked Pinto to drop me at the car park. I needed to walk about 500 meters to the shack. It had to be that place!
Pinto asked me, "Tumko D'souza ka shack malum hai kya? (Do you know where D'souza's shack is?)"
I nodded. Pinto handed me a worn-out card and said with humility, "Sir, car ke liye phone karneka. Raat ko chhod kar. Thora feni chalta kya? (Call if you want a cab except at night. Would you like to sample some feni?"
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