User:Jproenca

This Ole House

There it stands This-Ole-House, all brave and regal holding on to its dignity and casting its doleful gaze on all and sundry. Looking around, it sees the verdant hills where the ebullient birds are twittering in song. The lone stream gurgles its way chirpily through its chartered course while the golden rays of the morning sun coat the adjacent paddy fields with a surreal sheen. It is a bright Sunday afternoon with the cerulean sky and the pleasant lilt. With Nature, all resplendent and in celebration, casting a mocking gaze at This-Ole-House . But today its walls are bare and covered with moss. The antique portals are tottering on corroded hinges while the windows have been victims to numerous burglar raids. The crystal chandeliers have crashed to the floor, the wooden rafters are now food for the white ants, and the parquet floor is encroached by the lawless foliage. Vermin have bivouacked at every nook and corner while the family heirlooms are for sale at the market place. Slander, purporting ghostly apparitions and eerie lights is common talk and the village folk attribute this fall from grace to the “curse of Camelot.” It is perturbing to witness all the profanity hurled on This-Ole-House. It is pitiful to observe the stark contrast of This-Ole-house to the brilliance of its surrounding landscape.

Once upon a time, this house knew a lot of fun and laughter. There was an ambience of simple but resolute camaraderie, a feeling of togetherness. The aroma of the afternoon family-meal was the essence of its existence. A sense of peace and calm always pervaded. The porch was the focal point where the family gathered in the evenings to join in the chorus of the local rhythms. The portly Senhor would be ensconced in his rocking chair, sipping the local brewed liquor while the Dona’s dulcet voice wafted across the evening calm. Those were halcyon days, where living was simple, living was fun, and this ole house was a vibrant bastion of warmth and security.

Sauntering along, passing by This-Ole-House I heard a twelve-year-old tyro strumming his guitar and singing “Those were the days my friend, we thought they’d never end….” And I wondered “Yes, where has it all gone? What has happened to all the vivaciousness I once knew, every time I passed this way?” I stopped by to make a few enquiries only to find the same tale repeating. The children of This-Ole-House have migrated to foreign lands. Their parents have breathed their last in an old-age-home and This-Ole-House is now for sale. Waiting for a prospective buyer, who wouldn’t hesitate to pay a hefty sum for this old and priceless mansion. The spoils are then to be distributed among the three siblings, who are finding it difficult to make ends meet.

It is another of those sorry tales that we so frequently get to hear in Goa. It has always disturbed and puzzled me as to why do we leave this beautiful land of ours for the lure of a few extra gold nuggets. Why are we tolerant to bear the indignity of racial prejudice? Why do we accept being treated as second-class citizens, when in our own land we can live with dignity and self respect?. We live in tenements abroad and let our own palatial houses weather inclement storms. It is disconcerting to know that we have sold ourselves. We have traded with the devil and sold the spirit of the ole house, only to be replaced with the spirit of money and greed.

Wake up my brothers, this slumber of unconcern should not last long, for it will hold you in no good stead. Let us realize that the respect and dignity we enjoy, toiling our land, money cannot buy. Let us carry on the torch entrusted to us by our ancestors, so that we create a special niche, an unique identity in society at large. Let us work together to preserve this goan individuality and perpetuate the spirited resilience of This-Ole-House.

By   Dr. Joaquim Proenca