Lord Ganesha

When you think of the attributes of Lord Ganesha, also known as Vinayaka, you are filled with awe. He is the elephant-headed Hindu god of wisdom, literature, worldly success and peace. The Lord is invoked before any sort of venture, be it marriages, jobs, business deals, yes nothing is undertaken without the blessings of Lord Ganesha. It is he who decides between success and failure, and it is left to him to remove obstacles or create them if and when deemed necessary.

Ganapati is not only the God of Beginnings; he is the true God of Learning and Wisdom, as befits his elephant head. The better attributes of the elephant are that it lives long, forgets nothing and is brave, loyal, kind, strong and gentle. Ganesha represents the unity of the Small Being the rat, with the Great Being, the elephant. It is the blending of the microcosm with the macrocosm, of a drop of water with the vast ocean and of the individual soul with divinity. The vehicle of Ganesha is a rat or mouse. As rats generally succeed in gnawing their way through every obstruction, the rat symbolizes this god's nature of destroying every obstacle.

But what makes Ganesha lovable and everyone’s favourite are the beautiful legends woven around him.

Ganesha and Kubera

Kubera, the god of wealth, was very proud of his boundless fortune. He was terribly proud of his wondrous palace, of his garden filled with the sweet smell of a profusion of roses and jasmine, the jewels his wife wore were the envy of every goddess, and his cooks were renowned for the food that made everyone drool. Oh yes, Kubera felt he knew how to live, and to live well, he even went to the extent of looking down on Lord Shiva who lived a simple austere life in the open mountains.

Now Kubera was not happy just to be wealthy, he wanted the other Gods and Goddesses to see and admire his wealth. He organised lavish parties, he organized gorgeous dinners, and although the Gods and Goddesses were full of praise, Kubera was not happy, oh no! The more parties he gave the emptier he felt, until his beautiful wife trying out her latest necklace of emeralds and pearls said, 

‘Kuby dear, there is one way to jolt everyone, make you the talk of Kailash, let us throw a huge party, a lavish one, with flowers, fireworks, decorations, she breathed deeply, arching her deep black brows. And…. let us invite among other famous guests, the divine couple, Shiva and Pârvatî.’

Kubera was thunderstruck, ‘oh, oh oh’ he did a little jig, most wondrous idea’; he gave her a hug and dashed off to get ready to visit the divine couple, Shiva and Pârvatî. He entered Shiva and Pârvatî’s abode with deep reverence and such humility although his mind was churning feverishly, ‘What is wrong here, what is this place, is this the palace of the divine couple, Shiva and Pârvatî?  Such wasteland, brrrr the cold wind slicing through my body. Can Shiva not even provide a better home for his family....

Shiva and Pârvatî were having a nice chat sipping a warm cup of ginger tea when they were interrupted by Kubera.

‘Oh Kubera, good to see you but what brings you here?’

Kubera was lost for words. He had come in a rush. He could not possibly tell Shiva and Pârvatî that he wanted them to admire his house, his jewels, his garden or his food. In a burst he said 

'I wanted to invite you for a party’

‘Party?’ they both said, what’s the occasion?

Kubera was lost for words. He said ‘Nothing just that I am so blessed…’

In a flash, both Shiva and Pârvatî realised that there was no occasion, Kubera just wanted to show off.

Very politely, Pârvatî declined the invitation, ‘Kubera, thank you but we will not be able to come’

Then Pârvatî saw the despair in Kubera’s eyes, his desire to show off and she said ‘’But Ganesha our son would love to go, wouldn’t you like it Ganesh’

‘Oooh yes said little Ganesha, will there be sweets? He asked

‘You bet the best of sweets here in Kailash’ muttered Kubera

After a while a clean little Ganesha walked into Kubera’s sumptuous palace. Although Ganesha was well dressed, his red silk dhoti freshly pressed, his broad flat feet carried a trail of wet sticky mud which left prints all over the pristine marble floor. Kubera’s wife looked at her floor in utter disgust. Had Ganesha not been the son of Shiva and Pârvatî she would have pulled his broad ears and flung him out. He sniffed food and smiled broadly, ‘food he said, Ganesha loved food and sweets his mouth watered, his little trunk quivered in anticipation.

Very politely Kubera and his wife served him. Hardly had they turned their backs, Ganesha had finished a heaped thali of puris, vegetables, ghee rice, lentil curry, papads, pickles and a bowl of kheer. One happy little burp and little Ganesha said very politely ‘Oh that was lovely’ Kubera and his wife beamed broadly…. ‘But I am still hungry…’ Another huge thali, this time with additional helpings of modaks, kheer. Burp…  ‘ I am still hungry…’ large tears brimmed in little Ganesha’s deep brown eyes threatening to roll down his cheeks. More food. Little Ganesha still hungry, still unhappy. This went on for a long time, little Ganesha was still hungry, and very unhappy. Kubera and his wife screaming at the servants cook more, cook more. Servants running to the market, buying whatever was available, no way could they please little Ganesha. He was still hungry, and very unhappy.

Hasty consultation, Kubera and his wife, ‘What are we going to do?’ ‘He is unhappy’

‘And whose wonderful idea was it?’ asked Kubera sarcastically

‘And who was so happy, and rushed off to Shiva and Pârvatîs abode immediately’ retorted Kubera’s wife equally sarcastically.

But when they looked into their vast hall, there was Little Ganesha reclining on a mound of cushions, not resting happily as they thought he would after a huge meal, replete and satiated, but weeping silently, huge tears rolling down his plump cheeks, his trunk curled into a tight loop. Oh yes, Little Ganesha was truly an unhappy little God and he was their guest, they had invited him. Kubera rushed to Shiva and Pârvatî’s abode and entered meekly. There were Shiva and Pârvatî happily chatting and playing cards.

Kubera rushed to Shiva and Pârvatî and threw himself at their feet; Shiva bent down and picked him up. Shiva looked deep into Kubera’s eyes, no words were spoken, there was no need.  Kubera understood that it was his pride, his vanity, his desire to show off his beautiful house, his jewellery and his possessions that was at the root of Little Ganesha’s unhappiness. Kubera felt so small, so miserable, so unworthy. Pârvatî went inside and got a handful of roasted rice. Kubera realised that when he had served Little Ganesha a huge, sumptuous meal, he wanted to show off, there was no love, there was no desire to please a guest, there was only a desire to show-off his enormous wealth.

Humbly he took the handful of puffed rice and knelt down besides Little Ganesha and said full of sorrow and deep love and consideration, ‘Eat Little Ganesha, eat my honoured guest’

Ganesha opened his tear filled eyes, rubbed them, looked deep into Kubera’s eyes and popped the puffed rice in his mouth, savoured the rice, chewed it slowly, then he smiled at Kubera a huge radiant smile of love and tenderness patted his head his head with his curly trunk, ‘What a wonderful meal Kubera, truly a beautiful repast, thank you ever so much’

Little Ganesha got up slowly bowed to Kubera and his wife and happily bouncing his plump body and swinging his little trunk went home. 

Thanking the inputs from http://mailerindia.com/god/hindu/index.php?ganesha

http://hindumythologyforgennext.blogspot.in/2012/02/ganesha-and-kubera.html

The Khmer Rouge trials; Justice late, better than never

The Khmer Rouge trials

Justice late, better than never

Aug 7th 2014, 13:34 by L.H. | PHNOM PENH

For Cambodians it has been a long wait. Almost 35 years after the Khmer Rouge were driven from power by a Vietnamese invasion, the movement’s last surviving senior leaders have been found guilty of crimes against humanity and sentenced to jail for life.

Or whatever is left of their lives. Nuon Chea, chief ideologue for the Khmer Rouge and “Brother No. 2” after Pol Pot, is 88 years old. Khieu Samphan, once the head of state in Democratic Kampuchea as the country had been renamed, is 83. When they were taken away from the purpose-built courthouse on August 7th, a palpable sense of relief descended on the room.

Hundreds of Cambodians had been brought from far and wide to pack the public gallery for the historic decision. Many of them hugged, smiled and bowed in a show of respect to the tribunal that saw the case through, the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC). Bou Meng, a survivor of the S-21 torture and extermination camp, smiled broadly and expressed his approval simply: “good, good”.

In passing their final sentence, the judge Nil Nonn said that these two leaders had stripped Cambodians of their fundamental rights in the course of perpetrating a joint criminal enterprise to “suppress and subjugate the human population”. They were found guilty of conducting a systematic attack on civilians.

“The attack took many forms, including forced transfer, murder, extermination, enforced disappearances, attacks against human dignity and political persecution,” Mr Nil Nonn said. “This attack victimised millions of Cambodians.” He cited one testimony according to which witnesses saw “a Khmer Rouge soldier tear apart a crying baby who was crawling on his dead mother's body.”

As many as 2.2m people perished between April 1975 and January 1979. At that point the Vietnamese-led Communist takeover marked the end of one civil conflict but also the beginning of another, as Pol Pot led his loyalists into the jungle to fight a rearguard war against the new regime in the capital.

While the Khmer Rouge were still in Phnom Penh, the institution of money itself was abolished—along with all semblances of traditional Khmer life—as the cities and towns were emptied and millions of civilians forced into the remote countryside. There they were worked under wretched conditions, desperately lacking food, water and medicine.

In a way, there were too many crimes with which Nuon Chea, Khieu Samphan and many of their cohorts should have been charged. The fraction of their guilt that was decided in this hearing, Case 002/01 it is called, focused on the forced evacuation of Phnom Penh, the forced movement of people up until late 1977 and the persecution of former soldiers, civil servants and their families from the regime of Lon Nol, the American-backed nationalist who preceded them.

Nuon Chea wore his characteristic grimace and black sunglasses and remained seated in his wheelchair. Khieu Samphan stood as their verdicts and sentences were read. Neither man flinched.

Both had insisted they were innocent of the specific charges against them. At its heart their justification was that the evacuation of Phnom Penh had been deemed necessary to save the Cambodian people; they had reason to believe that the Americans were intending to bomb the capital. Mr Nil Nonn said the bench of international and Cambodian justices had decided their defence deserved no credence.

Nuon Chea had also claimed evidence used against him was “littered with doubts and full of lies”, in particular the testimony given by Kaing Guek Eav. “Duch”, as he is also known, is already serving a life sentence, for the role he played in killing thousands of detainees processed under his command at a prison complex called S-21.

Khieu Samphan’s judgment was less severe. The court found that he had never held sufficient authority to issue orders to commit the crimes in question. He had however “justified, defended and praised the common purpose and policies” of the Khmer Rouge that resulted in the atrocities.

The ECCC, which is backed by the UN, has been criticised sharply during its nine years in operation. Its critics fault it for lengthy delays; its susceptibility to interference by Cambodia’s current prime minister, Hun Sen; and for kickbacks to local staff, when it was being established.

It has also been costly. More than $200m has been spent on its proceedings already. The tribunal’s supporters justify the high cost by arguing that the total sum works out to equal about $100 for each person who died under the reign of the Khmer Rouge. It makes for a macabre accounting of the ultra-Maoists’ dream of moulding Cambodia into an agrarian utopia.

Youk Chhang is the executive director of an NGO called the Documentation Centre of Cambodia, which has been dedicated to collecting evidence from the Khmer Rouge period that could be used in a prosecution. He is among those who thinks that the court’s search for justice was better late than never, even if its legal processes were flawed.

Its accomplishment is more significant, Mr Youk Chhang says, in light of the fact that the world has done so little to change its ways in the decades since the Cambodian nightmare. Indeed, in his view “since the UN signed the Genocide Convention in 1948, not one genocide has been prevented. A court of law is only established after millions have already died. We need to search for a means to prevent such crimes from happening again,” he said.

Nuon Chea and Khieu Samphan know now where they will be spending the rest of their days, as they did long before this verdict. Whether this will be their final conviction is another question. Both men are facing additional charges of genocide in Case 002/02; it was launched last week and is expected to take another two years.

http://www.economist.com/blogs/banyan/2014/08/khmer-rouge-trials

O dia de anos……. José Luis Peixoto

Every evening after every chore is complete, after I have locked the hen coop for the night, after the rabbits are shut away from the marauding fox I sit on the step of the rear door, which leads to our backyard, I usually say my prayers all the while distracted by the last rays of the sun playing with the leaves of the peach tree, here a shadow, there a darkened patch, the variations never cease to amaze me.

It was the last week of April, the sun had been hot throughout the day, the evenings however were quite pleasant and I realise with a jerk of my heart, that my birthday is just a week away, what a pleasant feeling. Now all these years, my birthday has never been celebrated, no one has baked me an oozy, full of cream cake, no one has sung Parabens for me, it is after all just another day. But nevertheless it is a pleasant feeling, besides my birthday is on the date of the Feira de Maio, which makes it even more special. A party for free. I will be seventy two years old.

In a rush my husband comes out the backdoor, rushes into the hen coop agitating them tremendously, into the enclosure for the rabbits, pulls out one by its ears, makes a fist, measures a wee distance and swings it, I hear the contact with flesh, a tiny sound from the rabbit, the sound of killing the sound of dying. We had twenty four rabbits and he swung his fist twenty four times. After that he sits on a step below me whilst I bustle getting a sac for the dead rabbits, one after another I load the already cooling bodies, all the while I think of my birthday, I will be seventy two, the pregnant rabbits look so tired, but it was the pregnant rabbits who had brought the runny eyes illness from other ill rabbits.

The day of the Feira de Maio dawns and of course my birthday, I awake with the dawn, my heart singing, I am seventy two years old, I warm water for my bath and warm a bucket for my husband too. I wear the skirt with flowers and the white blouse that I had bought at the Feira de Maio, ten years ago. I carefully pour out the ensopado I have prepared the previous day into a container I use just for these very occasions, all the while my heart sings, I am seventy two years old. I hear the sound of the motor bike and imagine my husband young and handsome as he was when he first came to me on his bicycle. I hug him tightly, savouring the morning freshness. I am seventy two years old.

When we reach the gypsies are just setting out their wares.

‘Come’ they say, in the familiar way they have, but I feel a bit shy, my husband walks some steps ahead of me.

We go to the row of tents selling shoes, my husband asks, ‘how much are these?’ and moves,  he buys without thinking. I smile.  I ask ‘how much are these?’ But I do not buy; I want to savour the moment, I am seventy two years old. I move back and forth, try out a pair. My husband says ‘surely you are not going to work the orchard in those’. But I buy a pair with beautiful buckles. After all I am seventy two years old.  We move to the cattle fair, ‘how much? how much’ asks my husband and we both know we cannot afford to buy cattle.

Time for lunch, it is unbearably hot, we move to the garden, sit in the shade of a huge tree enjoying the ensopado I had prepared, with the two spoons I had packed the previous day. We smile at each other often. Eat an orange and decide to have a nap, it is after all so very hot. I dream such sweetness.

It is time for the sale, a swarthy gypsy walks to the mike, takes a handkerchief waves it around and shouts, ‘my beautiful ladies, how much do you think this beautiful set of towels costs?’

‘Five hundred, no no, …… four hundred, no not at all, ……. three hundred, of course not, ….. two hundred, no no……  Just one hundred escudos!!  Just imagine just one hundred escudos!! Come my dear beautiful ladies, this is once in a lifetime offer, run, run’

And I run, how  I run, pushing and shoving to the head of the crowd, waving a hundred escudos note, triumphantly I return with a pack of towels, a beautiful rose, two hand towels, three face towels and a huge bath towel. These are a gift for my daughter when she comes visiting. Just as the evening gets cooler, I buy a doughnut, with cinnamon and sugar liberally sprinkled all over it, I eat it oh so slowly….when two men approach my husband, they all shake hands. The three move off. I quickly follow, with my handbag, the shoe box, the package of towels as well as the basket in which I had brought the food. I follow quickly all the while savouring the doughnut.

Without even glancing at me they enter a shop full of men. The door closes, I finish my doughnut ever so slowly, I lower my bundles to the ground. I wait, sometimes the door swings open and I can see my husband leaning on the counter a half filled glass of tinto in his hand, laughing. Night descends on the makeshift shops. The gypsies start packing up, the tiny lights at fair blink beautifully; the fair now a skeleton of iron rods and planks. Suddenly with a clang the gypsies shut their wagons, roars of exhaust, all that remains are empty shoe boxes and mounds of paper. How suddenly it has turned dark, so dark. Every time the door swings open, I can see my husband leaning on the counter a half filled glass of tinto in his hand, is it the same glass or a fresh one? I look at the blackness of the night. I have turned seventy two.

Everybody has gone to their homes, maybe eating their dinner, surely talking about the fair. Laughing, sharing the food bought at the fair, trying out their new clothes, shoes.

Then I pick my handbag, the shoe box, the package of towels as well as the basket in which I had brought the food and start walking home. Pitch darkness. On the road, cars whizz past me their lights shining brightly. Night. I had turned seventy two. 

José Luis Peixoto was born in a small village in the Portuguese region of Alentejo. He has a degree in Modern English and German Literature from the Universidade Nova de Lisboa.

He has published poetry and fiction and received the Prize, Jovens Criadores in 1997, 1998 and 2000.

In 2001, his novel Nenhum Olhar received the José Saramago Literary Award. José Luis Peixoto is represented in a great number of Portuguese and international anthologies.

In 2003, in a totally unprecedented project, Peixoto joined forces with the Gothic metal band Moonspell and together they produced a book and record The Antidote.

As far as drama is concerned, José Luís Peixoto wrote Anathema, which premiered in Théâtre de la Bastille in Paris), À Manhã, and "Quando o Inverno Chegar" both of which premiered in Teatro São Luiz, Lisbon.  

In 2007, "The Piano Cemetery" was awarded the Spanish Calamo Literary Award for the best novel published in Spanish translation.

His works have been published all over the world, translated in a total of 20 languages.

Really this F word creeps everywhere.........

De facto, este "F" é das letras muito fortes do nosso léxico...Todos
já o sabíamos.

Mas que desse para uma ementa tão abundante, certamente que poucos o
imaginariam...!


Um homem chega ao restaurante, senta-se e, acenando com o braço, diz:
- Faz favor: frango frito, favas, farinheira.. .
- Acompanhado com quê?
- Feijão.
- Deseja beber alguma coisa?
- Fanta fresca.
- Um pãozinho antes da refeição?
- Fatias fininhas.
O empregado anota o pedido, já meio intrigado: "o tipo fala tudo com F"s!"
Depois do homem terminar a refeição, o empregado pergunta-lhe:
- Vai querer sobremesa?
- Fruta.
- Tem alguma preferência?
- Figos.
Depois da sobremesa, o empregado:
- Deseja um café?
- Forte. Fervendo.
Quando o cliente termina o café:
- Então, como estava o cafézinho?
- Frio, fraco. Faltou filtrar formiguinha flutuando.
Aí o empregado pensa: "Vamos ver até aonde é que ele vai".
- Como é que o senhor se chama?
- Fernando Fagundes Faria Filho.
- De onde vem?
- Faro.
- Trabalha?
- Fui ferreiro.
- Deixou o emprego?
- Fui forçado.
- Por quê?
- Faltou ferro.
- E o que é que fazia?
- Ferrolhos, ferraduras, facas... ferragens.
- Tem um clube favorito?
- Fui Famalicense.
- E deixou de ser porquê?
- Futebol feio , farta.
- Qual é o seu clube, agora?
- Farense.
- O senhor é casado?
- Fui.
- E sua esposa?
- Faleceu.
- De quê?
- Foram furúnculos, frieiras... ficou fraquinha... finou-se.
O empregado de mesa perde a calma:
- Olhe! Se você disser mais 10 palavras começadas com a letra F... não
paga a conta. Pronto!
- Formidável, fantástico. Foi fácil ficar freguês falando frases fixes.
O homem levanta-se e dirige-se para a saída, enquanto o empregado ainda lança:
- Espere aí! Ainda falta uma!
O homem responde, sem se virar:
- Faltava.

Inputs by Celio Lume Pereira

The Sting of Peppercorns…….Antonio Gomes

What relief that António Gomes has strayed far away from the favourite themes of the Indo-Portuguese writers, Devdasis, muscular sadhus reclining on tiger skins. Or the other genre, the batkar-shetkar with kashti, pez, hunger and poverty thrown in. Sadly he could not resist the most favourite of all the themes an inter caste marriage, but this aspect is just a part of a beautiful book.

Eschewing these time tested themes, António Gomes boldly writes about a landowning Brahmin Catholic family from Loutolim in Goa. Set a little before the Liberation of Goa in 1961 and ending a little after the Opinion Poll in 1967, the story describes the joys and sorrows, the mistakes made by the Albuquerque Family, the repercussions but most of all he dwells on those heady days when the hippies found magical Goa.

Paulo, returns to Goa after completing his Degree in Law at the prestigious University of Coimbra, but this is also the story of so many young men from ‘Boas Familias’ who moved to Coimbra to finish a Law Degree, bleeding their parents dry; some did extremely well but a great number, whiled away their lives, spending money in bars, visiting prostitutes, the Law degree hanging somewhere out there. Most stayed as paying guests with impoverished landladies who took in students to supplement their income. The landladies doted on these well to do students who in turn abused their hospitality. Life for some of these aspiring lawyers was a never ending carousel of fun until the loan sharks caught up with them, as they did with Paul.

Amanda the daughter falls in love with Winnie a college professor, the eternal route taken by Indo-Portuguese writers, rich girl from Brahmin Family falls in love with poor but highly educated man of lower class. Tears, recriminations, threats follow but here António Gomes gives it a twist, Amanda the highly romantic woman does marry Winnie, despite the fact that he is practically on death bed, makes love to him on her Wedding Night, and in the manner of most romantic heroines commits suicide, although saved in the nick of time.

You see both Amanda and Maria are brought up as fragile creatures, nurtured on Romance, they dream beautiful clothes, serenatas, the highlight of their lives Baile de Escola Médica where they would dance the night away in the arms of their loved one, envied by the less fortunate girls. Once married, life turns drab, hardly any balls, the husband perpetually busy. With no training whatsoever they have no clue how to run a house, cooking? That’s for the maids, but in Europe or America where are the maids? How to spend those endless hours? No desire to improve their life, because their life in their opinion, is already perfect, how they long for Goa, the chatter, the clothes, the maids at their beck and call. Life is a mass of depression, mothers and ayahs to their rescue, but for how long? So long holidays back home…….The Mothers, Aunts and ayahs all shield the ‘delicate’ Baie.

Roberto, nobody thought of him as a genius just an ordinary hardworking boy, everybody thinks of him as mediocre, not to be confused with Paulo the Mother’s pet. But sometimes surprises spring from nowhere. He achieves much just by dint of sheer hard work.

You get a catch in your throat when António Gomes describes the dinner for the return of Paulo, the typical mix of Goan and Portuguese food, the wines; Dona Isabel’s  flower arrangements. The soiree plans made by this very musical family. And when Dona Isabel says ‘Roberto water my Begonias’ you are yanked back in time with violence; for you realise those joyful, heady times have made way for a different set of variations in etiquette and all that was dear.

Roberto is no angel, he has his whisky-sodas, he mixes with the hippie crowd in Baga and Anjuna, samples drugs, experiences the highs and lows of hash, has his liaisons but unlike his wayward brother keeps his wits about and graduates a brilliant Doctor.

The scariest aspect however is will those stately mansions go the way Roberto’s house with only an old, trembling Carmina to take care of them?  

A Society Wedding in Goa

Oh the joy, the utter joy of it. Maria Luisa touches the piano tenderly, no, no, the piano no longer plays a tune, but it makes a great repository for the piles upon piles of invitations resting on it. Invitations to Weddings brought to select invitees by a member of the family.

‘Won’t you sit down for a cup of coffee?’

‘No, no, thank you ever so much, I have to go to so very many places. Do come ahm’  

‘Yes of course.’

Invitations so lovingly and chronologically arranged, every Saturday accounted for until the end of next month.

Suddenly a very distraught Maria Luisa realises that they have no invitation for the Pinto Carvalho Marriage, the Pinto Carvalho-Rocha Melo was the Society Marriage of the year, not being invited to this Marriage was being totally ignored by Society. These two families were considered Royalty in Goa.

As soon as Jose steps in the house, he hears a strident disturbed cry

‘Jose, Jose, querido, do you by any chance have the Pinto Carvalho-Rocha Melo Marriage invitation card.

With his heart sinking deeply, Jose knows what is expected of him.

‘Jose everyone else has received it….’tears stand in Maria Luisa’s deep brown eyes.

As anticipated a trip to Dr Fremiot Pinto Carvalho is arranged.

‘Boa tarde, Senhor Doutor, how are you? Busy hmm’

‘Yes, yes Jose what a pleasant surprise....’

Jose disliked the pompous old buffoon immensely, a small time advocate, immensely rich, he had an opinion about everything, from Law to gardening. Jose knew that this insufferable man was taking advantage of the situation. People visiting him for Invitations for his son’s Marriage. The dolt of a son, who was in ‘real estate’ which consisted in selling ancestral land to sustain a lavish life style.  

He really wished he could strangle Maria Luisa.

Maria Luisa took a deep breath, ‘Just wanted to tell you, Doutor, that if there is anything you need, any help at all, my Jose is always at your service’ gushed Maria Luisa with fervour born out of desperation.

Dr Fremiot Pinto Carvalho, loved the power he wielded on such occasions, should he invite this cretin or not, look at this gushing woman, she just sickened him. He had received many such unexpected visits, all of these social climbers with just one thing on their minds. The Invitation to his son’s Marriage. He really despised such people but absolutely loved the Power he had over them, to invite or not to invite. That is the question. 

 ‘Dona Maria Luisa, how kind, how thoughtful of you, such good friends.’

 ‘Emilia, Emilia, Sr. Jose and Dona Maria Luisa are here’

‘How nice of you, Maria Luisa, what is this packet? 

‘Nada, nada mesmo Dona Emilia, just a piece of cheese and cod our Sara brought from Portugal’. 

Dr Fremiot Pinto Carvalho, smiled a delicious smile thinking, ‘my breakfast for tomorrow, you simpering creature.

‘Tontinho was just about to come to your house with the Invitation, but now that you are here…’ murmured D. Emilia, sick to her gills of all these visits, these people simply lacked self respect.

‘Of course, of course, Tontinho need worry no more, he must be so busy’.

Ahh what utter relief she had the precious Invitation Card to the Society Marriage, the ugly - Jose’s opinion of course – red, gold and green invitation card to the Pinto Carvalho-Rocha Melo Marriage. Bless my soul, thought the naïve Maria Luisa; they even have their Family Crest embossed on it.

Maria Luisa breathes a deep sigh of pure relief; it was now in her hand. …..She places the Invitation card right in front, patting it delicately, in her heart she has to agree with Jose, it is really a jarring colour.

Invitation cards piled high, all shapes and colours, white and ivory, passé my dear, the colours of the Season are blue, violet or maybe ink blue. And as in the case of the Pinto Carvalho-Rocha Melo, their own family colours, which of course are the colours of Portugal and a Crest dating back to those times when there had been a Viscount in the Family.

Never mind that the Viscount’s grandchildren had turned out to be a bunch of illiterate, lazy, rabble of bums, molesting  young girls in their village.

A Viscount is a Viscount, whatever you may say.

Jose the man, who works very hard as a doctor, laughs heartily, at home at last, with a drink in his hand and the precious Card, he in fact just cannot stop laughing.

‘Maria, querida this card beats any card in Switzerland or even Quebec, those are bilingual, but this elite card is trilingual.’ Oh, my God a card in three languages,whatever for?

‘ Maria where is this Capela de San Roque das Doenças Infecciosas e Contagiosas?’ 

 ‘Oh my God it is in Loliem, Canacona, let us skip the nuptials?’

‘Skip the nuptials; are you out of your mind? No, Jose, no, you know how particular Dona Emilia is about such things; they always go for every nuptial mass’

‘But Loliem? Maria’…

‘No Jose, no, you know how difficult it was to be invited’. Please Jose, please, for my sake’.

‘Look Jose there is even a little map, with directions of how to get there, how nice, how clever, Dr. Fremiot has always been so particular, so precise.

‘That miserable, wretched, pompous couple’, growls Jose.

Tired and disheveled Maria and Jose reach the Capela de San Roque das Doenças Infecciosas e Contagiosas in Loliem, after the driver had missed the turning, thrice.

Nowhere to freshen up, there is no toilet, the chapel has never seen a Wedding, the local people prefer their Church. The chapel is used only if there is an outbreak of a pestilence in the village as the very name suggests. Is there something wrong with the Bride the local people wonder? Is she pregnant? Is that a pestilence? 

            Jose, a man of few pretensions, peers as a band of young girls all clad in vivid cherry red enter the small Chapel,

‘Who are those eight girls all dressed in cherry red, Maria?’

‘Jose, you daft, silly man, those are the Bridesmaids of course’

‘But our Sara had just one?’

‘Shsss Jose times have changed, all the friends of the Bride want to partake of this joyous occasion, and you cannot leave the First cousins out can you?’

’Sshh Jose, Dona Emiia just glanced in our direction ’. 

 Jose had a fine taste for clothes and food, he disliked badly dressed women intensely.

‘Maria who is that dumpy, short Bridesmaid, she looks terrible in that off shoulder dress’

‘Jose she is Advocate Pinto’s daughter, remember how he helped Dr. Fremiot when he was just starting out’.

 ‘Maria what are those eight vapid looking young men doing with those Bridesmaids?’

 Huge sigh ‘Jose those are the Ushers, accompanying the Bridesmaids, surely you did not think that the Bridesmaids would walk down the aisle, alone and unaccompanied’

 ‘But Maria, I thought Ushers showed the Guests to their places in the pews’

‘Jose here in Goa Ushers accompany the Bridesmaids, they do not usher you to your place in the pew. Maria Luisa was clearly extremely irritated at this no-frills husband of hers, spoiling her fun.

At long last the ceremony is at an end, the Choir has outdone itself, the Bride’s family was very musical. They had all sung with zest and enthusiasm. So many hymns, the entire ceremony had lasted around two hours.

Everyone moves out of the dank chapel, tired and thirsty. Poor Maria Luisa trying to wish everyone, smiling and smiling, desperately trying to make her presence felt, worried that the elite would overlook her, would be unaware of her presence.

Jose on the other hand wondering why he had allowed himself to be dragged into this, to this end of the world……….to this Cus de Judas.....

Everyone follows the Bridal Couple to the venue of the reception, most go home for a hearty snack, Jose the man of basic needs that cannot be ignored goes home for bowl of thick soup, for as he says ‘who knows when food will be served’.

Jose would really love to spend this beautiful evening at home with his wife, chatting or even watching a film but…

‘Maria shall we skip the Reception and listen to some music, or watch a nice film? ’ Maria Luisa so very horrified glances at Jose, who winks at her.

‘Come on let us go’.

Jose hates the cold, the dew makes him wheeze, he makes his way to a comfortable tent like structure at the venue of the Reception, there are two of these tent like structures. As he hastens towards one of these, Maria Luisa ever vigilant, wants to make sure her husband does not commit any gaffes, especially here at this almost royal wedding, taps him on his shoulder.

 ‘Where do you think you are going Jose?’

‘That tent like contraption does look comfortable’

‘Jose that is for the Bridal Entourage’

‘Let me understand this Maria, the Bridal Entourage sits comfortably away from the dew, the cold, while we the invitees brave the weather?’

‘Don’t be annoyed Jose, you should get a cap like Senhor Dantas’

‘Maria, if I wanted to play Golf I would get such a cap. Oh no, no, no dear God there goes that buffoon MC with his stupid and crass jokes.’ ’I have such a headache Maria’

 ‘And what is so special and breathtaking about opening a champagne bottle, the pop? I know Maria the champagne is only for the Bridal Entourage because it is expensive.’

 ‘Why have it then, the Bridal Entourage could have and should have a Champagne party at their own home with all their family members. What are we Maria? Guests or Beggars?

Jose was tired of Maria buzzing around like a tired restless butterfly wanting to be seen by everyone. He was definitely not going around trying to meet everyone, always the same conversation, ‘Jose how is business?’, ‘Is your son studying in Bombay? And then questions about their piles or varicose veins.

At last the Grand Opening of the Buffet is announced.

 ‘Maria get me some arroz refugado and some sorpotel, maybe a little balchão. No, no I am fine, just a little tired’

 ‘No absolutely no Bebinca, I cannot bear the sight of a shredded Bebinca, like confetti, the art of a good Bebinca lies in its layers baked to perfection, like my Aunt Teresa’s Bebinca.’

‘I warn you Maria, I do not want you carrying that stupid Gold fish in a plastic bag to our home; I  have already discarded those other take-aways.’ Maria Luisa keeps silent, she knows her husband is tired, hates the artificial gaiety.

Every time Jose thinks he will stop going for Weddings, but relents because he knows Maria, otherwise the nicest person, craves to be seen and to feel a part of High Society. After all Marriage is give and take.

O Primo Basilio...........Eça de Queiroz

What a pleasant breakfast, Luísa stretched her arms indolently; she could see Jorge watching her cleavage where her robe had fallen open. Jorge liked her looks, although not beautiful in a conventional way, her masses of beautiful brown hair and her wide brown eyes were good to look at, her curvaceous figure was delicious add to it a pleasant nature and Luísa was what every man would dream and want in a wife.

But Luísa was bored, her day yawned before her, what to do? How to get the day to move faster? Go to the milliner, she had dozens of hats of every hue. Dresses by the dozens to match her numerous hats, so a visit to the dressmaker was really unnecessary.  

Library, that again tedious, she had read piles of those milk-and-water romances, they were turning to be oh so predictable, the lovers most of the times from nobility, feigning dislike for each other only to marry ultimately, the settings always opulent, the situations decadent, tea parties, balls, hunts everything catered for a life of hedonism, which only royalty and nobility could afford. Luísa smiled, when had she gone for a hunt, those novels were a far cry from her life.

As for sex, the novels ignored it, sex just did not happen, if the couples so much as exchanged a kiss that was bold.

Now what Luísa really liked were her conversations with her friend Leopoldina, that woman was something, dozens of lovers and such erotic stories. You make me blush Leopoldina, no, no how can one do such things. Angel, my angel, Leopoldina would laugh with a superior air born of experience and knowledge. Of course Luísa had to pretend that such eroticism  scandalised her, horrified her, but they both knew that was a façade, of course Luísa had to pretend not to like those racy stories, act as though sex was not for her, didn’t you know a lady of society never likes sex? Just grins and bears it. Come now we know better, who in their right mind can resist sex?

And then one fine day in conversation with that stick-in-the-mud Sebastião, Jorge decides that she, Luísa was not to talk to Leopoldina, was to stop her from visiting, a total embargo on Leopoldina. In their opinion Leopoldina was destroying her innocence, Luísa had no problems if her innocence was in tatters, she wanted her purity to be sullied, she was a full blooded woman after all. Of course Jorge wanted her to be the perfect, demure wife, but what Luísa really wanted was excitement, romance and most of all to experience what Leopoldina did, oh yes that was a thrilling prospect. She sighed, what a bleak existence she really led. What was she to do? Vaguely she heard Jorge blabbing, oh how he would miss her, his little treasure, his little heart. Jorge was going on a field trip. Luísa would miss him too but she knew that Jorge would not be sad for too long, he would find women, he would have his flings.

She breathed in deeply, and then a snippet in the corner of the newspaper caught her eye. Her cousin Basilio was visiting the country.  She was excited, went red and warm, remembering those moments of awakening when Basilio visited her so often and they would go on those long, long walks stealing kisses and caresses whilst Mama broke her duties as a chaperone to have little naps. Oh how she had loved Basilio. Loved him intensely with all he passion of a young girl. And then all of a sudden he had gone away to make his fortune. Had he? She wondered made his fortune? Would he visit her? Suddenly her day did not seem endless, in fact it seemed shorter and she had so much to do. A hat for instance.

Of course Basilio would visit her; he could never resist a woman besides he already knew her, those walks, those luscious kisses all under Mama’s very nose. He was sure she had turned delectable, a red plum waiting to be picked.  Basilio thought of women as fruit to be nurtured, to be picked when ripe and savoured. Plums, peaches, nectarines he loved them all, just waiting for him. Visit her he did and was not surprised that she was not at all averse to his attentions, she was coy, she flirted with him and yes as Basilio had foreseen she was ready to fall in his arms much like a ripe peach.

On suggesting that they rent a room for more privacy, Luísa never balks, never even bats an eyelid, oh to experience everything that Leopoldina was talking about, she imagines the setting for the idyll to be congenial, opulent perhaps, but to her surprise it is just a shabby little room in a derelict area. Despite the sadness of the room the affair continues.

Although Luísa has to travel a long distance to get to the shabby room, which now seems home, she does not pull back. She is feverish at the thought of not meeting Basilio.

Even when Juliana, the wretched servant catches hold of some of Luísa’s letters and blackmails her, Luísa hangs on to the sordid liaison.

Then Juliana not only blackmails Luísa but treats her with utter disdain, wears Luísa’s clothes, lazes around not doing a jot of work whilst Luísa slaves the entire day, except when she escapes for her rendezvous. Juliana lords over Luísa, how sweet can revenge be? Does Luisa stop her affair? Oh no, it only increases her passion for Basilio.

Despite the fact that Luísa now realises that to Basilio she is just a toy, is not even courteous, treats her badly, but she hangs in there.

Jorge prolongs his stay; he is away for so long that we wonder, does he have a relationship of his own?

Then Jorge returns and Basilio flies the coop, no more promises of Paris, no more endearments, it’s too murky a situation for Basilio, why tangle with Jorge over a piece of skirt, anyway there were no more surprises to be had from Luísa, he was done with her.

Things go from bad to worse for Luísa; her guilt weighs on her so heavily that she falls ill. Just when she is about to recover Jorge shows her a letter that Basilio has written, accuses her, but Luísa so traumatised falls apart, never recovers  and dies of an unnamed illness.

Now questions arise.

Why did Eça de Queiroz who was writing a novel of realism ‘kill’ Luísa?

What was he afraid of?

Did he want to show that the sin of ‘adultery’ in a woman, can never be forgiven, can never be condoned, a woman can never go scot free; so did Eça punish Luísa by killing her?

Or was Eça afraid of a much more devastating situation, was he terrified that women would begin to like their sexual freedom? Had Luísa lived would she have taken more lovers, much like the wanton Leopoldina? Did he fear was that he had created a monster, much like Frankenstein which he did not know how to rein in?

Oh Eça you opened a can of worms which was very difficult to close……….