By The Mandovi

It was the last day of the Film Bazaar 2017 at Goa. Though there were some helpful knowledge series sessions throughout the day, I was tired by then. Three days and nights of hectic networking had drained me of all networking enthusiasm. Plus I had an evening flight home. For all these days, I could not take a single picture as I would leave my camera at the hotel. Too much to lug around at the bazaar. And the only lens that I had brought along was the heavier Sony Distagon 35mm F1.4.

I decided to take it easy and go out photographing on the bike I had hired for the entire stay in Goa.

A day before, seated in the little diner at the hotel where I stayed (The Crown, Panjim), I had noticed a massive painting of a cluster of fishing boats, painted over one big wall. All the boats were peculiarly in shades of Blue. The manager at the restaurant, in his over-enthusiasm, had drawn my attention from the painting to the opposite side, out of the window to an actual cluster of blue fishing boats, far away, across the vast Mandovi river, a stretch of which could be seen from the hotel.

So, post a late breakfast, unsure of what to seek, I put a few charged batteries in my jeans pocket, slung the camera on my shoulder and went off on the bike towards the point across the river. It was the top sun. Technically, just the wrong light for any photography.

It turned out to be the ‘Mandovi Fishermen Marketing’ premise. With a big gate and ‘No Photography’ written prominently on one of the the walls inside. I still rode in and parked along the lines of the parked two-wheelers. I felt I would not go and ask anyone for permission, as it usually draws the mind to the ’No’. A few guys were chatting close by. I deliberately stood near them and looked around. I tried to look as unsure as I could. One of them asked me what did I want. I showed distress. I told them I had come from the other side of the river to photograph a few pictures of the docked boats, but now this ‘No Photography’ board right on my face! My intuitions worked. The guys in unison said it was okay. I could go inside and shoot. They would ensure no one said anything to me.

Rumi's words, 'You seek, what seeks you...'

I went in and took some pictures.

There was still time. I wasn’t hungry either. If I continued up the same road, I’d reach Candolim. Candolim is a North Goan tourist hot-spot. I was looking for serenity and silence. The river looked so calm and inviting. I decided to go along the river as long as time permitted. I came out of the gate, turned around and went under the bridge and followed along the river on the Britona road, deeper inside towards East.

To anyone who comes to Goa and hires a bike, I sincerely advise her or him to go on this road as far as you can. This part is one of those unassuming sides of Goa that tourists usually don’t get to see.

Quiet life. Slow people. Roads are canopied with old trees. Great aromas from kitchens where the street narrows down for small stretches. And a very loving, almost musical envelope of quietude. After a point, the only thing you feel alien is the sound of your breath.

I went down that road as far as I could and turned around when it forked, and I could not make up my mind on which side to choose. Both looked so beautiful.

I came back and stopped at a church which I had passed a while ago. Later I got to know it is called the Our Lady of Penha De Franca Church. It’s an enormous unmissable white structure, right on the river. I parked my bike and got in through the gate. There is a big barren ground, that needs to be crossed to reach the church. What caught my attention was a lone guy standing with a fishing line on the boundary wall. I walked towards him. As I got closer, the river started to show up. I realised there was no land after the boundary wall. The river touched it. And the man, with a packet of sliced bread near his feet (used to make the baits), stood there in silence hoping for a catch. He smiled at me. I smiled back. And we had silence as our third companion. The fish showed up when there would be a crumb in water. And almost immediately the piece of bread would disappear. The guy had caught hardly any fish. While the pack of bread looked half finished already. Two or Three small fish lay near him on the ground. One was still gasping. But he regularly would pull his line back, add the bread pieces and throw the line back in the water. He relentlessly did that as long as I was there. And with no luck. When I left, he was almost out of bait.

The place is magical. This is where the Mandovi river forks and bends. The straighter of the two marks the mouth of the Mapusa river. Even the sound of my camera’s shutter began to bother me after a while. It felt out of place. An old man in a small wherry came rowing from a distance. The man on the boat slowed down and chatted a few lines with the man on the wall. The guy finally lit a cigarette and rowed away. I could hear the flint stone brush the iron of his lighter.

The whole experience with silence had transformed my mind. I wanted to stay in that zone for long. But I had a plane to catch. And was hungry too. I rode back to Panjim and went to the Hotel Mandovi for lunch. Many years back when my parents were alive, we had once come here for a meal. And then, so late in my life, I had gotten to know that when they had come to Goa for the honeymoon, they had, in fact, stayed in this hotel.

I had a quiet lunch there. Felt happy to see an old waiter at the restaurant who, I remember, was there when we were here with my parents.

Requested him to oblige me with a selfie together.

I went back to my hotel. Handed over the bike. Picked my stuff and headed for the airport.

In the cab, all I had, was the whole experience of the Bazaar, and the few precious pictures in my camera.

Silence stayed back where it belonged.