Kishwar Desai

July.11 : From the blistering and rainless heat of Delhi, coming to Goa has been a joyful journey, as the rain gods seem to have found their abode here. Just stepping out of the airport into a warm drizzle cheers you up — and then, of course, the fiercely green and rampant vegetation lunges at you with open arms. It has been raining almost non-stop for the last few days, and it promises to continue in the same fashion, making one wish there was some way in which we could transport this wonderful rain to some parched areas of the country. Opening the newspapers and looking at dire predictions of drought in the northwest is ironical. Out here, the fields are submerged with water and farmers are worried that the monsoon excess may have already swept away some of their newly-planted crop.

The triple lunar eclipse is being blamed for everything — and my knowledgeable cab driver assures me that after the eclipse, we can expect, amidst other mayhem, torrential downpour in Goa. He also gloomily tells me that things will get much worse. At least, according to him, that’s what the astrologers are predicting.

But it’s not just the astrologers. Even the rest of us rather mundane folk know that things can only improve if we use our resources better. If only we knew how to plan for these seasonal variations and used proper drainage or harvested rainwater so that we could utilise this manna from heaven a little better rather than let it just flow away. Unlike Delhi, though, there seems to be no shortage of water in Goa — or even electricity, which has been coming and going a bit, but nothing like the mind-boggling powercuts we have been experiencing in the capital. One reason could be that the population here does not make the same demand on the bijli supply since the weather does not really require people to use airconditioning 24x7. In fact, at present it is so cool that we don’t even need fans, and at night it gets really chilly.

Coming from London, where it is no fun to walk in the cold rain, and from Delhi which has had just a few teasing drops of moisture lately — the Goan rain is much like Goa itself. Overwhelming in its abandon, and warm enough to walk in. Of course, some of it also pours into the house — thanks to the broken tiles our simian visitors leave behind every time they bound along the rooftop foraging for food. If once they swung from tree top to tree top, now they simply bounce off (always in a community) our roof and then onto the neighbours’, leaving large gaps in the ceiling…

So we have the usual tubs and buckets placed around the house to catch the persistent, wayward torrents of rain. But it is these moments which make Goan monsoon even more authentic and enjoyable — and I marvel at this wonderful three-and-a-half century old Portuguese structure in which we live. It has survived 350 monsoons stoically.

However, I wonder how much longer Goa can remain a green paradise? That, in fact, is already a rather tenuous description with gargantuan mountains of garbage choking the countryside and still no proper policy of garbage disposal. Obviously this reckless disregard of garbage will pollute the ground water as well, and lead to all sorts of illnesses. Even just outside the newly refurbished airport, garbage has been swept into drains giving rise to a rather unpleasant smell. The stench is made worse by the monsoon as you stand outside waiting for transport. It is the same problem in our homes. Especially if you live in a village, like I do. There are no means of recycling — no bins in which we can dump our garbage for weekly or even daily collection. (A discipline that I have become rather fond of, in my London life.) In Goa, most households just burn their daily refuse — not only does that add to global warming, but also leads to a careless attitude towards rubbish disposal, since as homes get smaller, or people start living in flats, they start chucking rubbish wherever they find an empty spot. So when you drive around Goa, don’t be surprised if you come across fields which seem to be sprouting plastic bags, glass bottles and other rubbish which can’t be burnt. It’s just the local residents converting Goa into a garbage dump — now a time-honoured custom.

However, some things are changing in Goa. One possible fallout of the National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (NREGS) noticed in Goa this year has been the sharp drop in migrant labour which used to work in the fields, especially from states such as Karnataka. People have discovered that they can stay at home and earn money — so why migrate? Obviously, the extra cash from NREGS has added to their personal comfort levels. In the past they would come into Goa in a group — hire a house and live together, earning money during the cropping or sowing seasons. It meant leaving their families behind for long periods of time, and a rather precarious existence — depending on the generosity of the host-farmer. It also meant a drastic change in diet, clothes and weather — the only advantage being the mingling of cultures and the imperative of travel imposed upon them. Now it seems local Goans are being hired instead — but they are much more expensive than the cheap migrant labour that used to be available in the previous years. The good news is, of course, that if farmers want this migrant labour to come back, they will have to match their earnings from NREGS — and offer them more money plus perks. That will help push up earning and comfort levels further. But there are other, as yet unanswered, questions: Will the increasing cost to farmers be passed onto us, the consumers, and therefore lead to higher food prices? Or will it become yet another burden for the already-suffering Indian farmer who is often unable to cope with both the vagaries of nature and the unavailability of labour? And, on the other hand, will NREGS eventually lead to any additional skills in the labour force or will it simply be a means of replacing one lot of backbreaking manual labour with another? And will the resultant immobility of a previously mobile workforce have any other, as yet unknown, impact?

The writer can be contacted at kishwardesai@yahoo.com

Kishwar Desai