Escape from Nowhere
Certain things that don't catch your attention, later on, are very much visible when they become crucial to your existence. We learnt that when we looked around desperately.
A little way behind the road was a big compound with a small house, slightly elevated, in the center. DT started banging on the gates and called out loud. No response.
Out came a black dog, which jumped on the fence and started barking ferociously. DT backed off a little. An old lady put her head out of the door, glared at us with suspicion and asked what happened. We expressed our plight in whatever ways we could. "Car. Tyre in the field. Help!"
She finally understood and scolded us for putting the car in. Well, that was needed... maybe.
"Aaj Gaanesh hai na?"
Athinu...
As per her theory, we should have known better than to put the car in the field during Ganesh Chathurthi. Enthonnu...? Because it was nearly impossible to get help now. In short, we should have checked her convenience and put the car in.
We asked if anyone else was nearby. She said her next door neighbour was a car driver. Aha! Very good. Ayaale villikku...
She explained, all the while not leaving far from her door, why she couldn't call him because, well... they weren't on speaking terms.
Right then and there it dawned on us - Ee ammachiyude gate inde front il, ee weekend theerum alle? In the middle of nowhere. Listening to why she would not speak to her neighbour. And how he would not mow his lawn so that she could not walk over to his house. Talk about building fences with grass.
In between all her nonsense, we kept begging her to help us.
She finally remembered somebody and called him. He came.
The guy's first question was, "How on earth did you put it in?" It was a completely calculated move. If you have a board and chalk, I can draw and explain.
Before we could say anything (not that we wanted to), his next question was, "Why on earth did you come this way?"
The guy called for extra hands. 4-5 people came to our aid.
The dude found a wooden lever, tried lifting one side, while the others, the other. I tried lifting the front just to be a part of the action. Then, I felt the tension on my back and I knew it was that moment just before one hears the back snap. So, I quickly moved away holding my back.
The guys finally put the car back on road.
Well, what do you know? There was not an extra scratch on it.
We thanked the people and paid a small amount as a reward.
As we thanked the Ammachi, she said she wouldn't ride a car after it's been through what ours went through. And she advised us to be safe, especially at night. And that there were so many people settled in Goa. So now, no one could be trusted in Goa. After a while, nothing she said made any sense.
Before driving off, we asked the way to Basilica of Bom Jesus.
She opened her eyes wide in horror and said, "Woh toh Old Goa mein hai. You need to go via Chogam Road. Why did you come here?"
Ente ponnu Ammachi, not again - the same old questions! Shogam road enkil... Shogam road.
We had enough of Google Maps. So, we did what we should have done a long time ago. We closed the maps and decided to ask where Chogam Road was.
"Where is it?"
This was a good decision because my phone died and DT's was low on charge. And DT's power bank? The one DT picked out of our 3 power banks was also low on charge, too. There was a misunderstanding while getting out of the hotel, DT thought I said I was taking an extra power bank though I didn't recall making any statement as such.
We retraced our path out of the narrow lane, asked around once more and got onto Chogam Road.
Next place to reach was Panjim. We slowed or stopped every 5-10 minutes and asked every passerby, "Bhayya, Panjim?" To which, we got the responses - "Straaaaight. 8 km."
"5 km..."
"3 km!"
Finally, we reached Panjim and crossed the bridge. Then came the question. Next, where to?
We saw a car parked in front. DT wondered out loud that maybe these weren't people from here.
I parked the car and walked over to this car. There, I saw a family with the dad, spectacles on his forehead, looking closely at his mobile. I asked him where Panjim was. He looked around and said, "This is Panjim."
Aiming to get his sympathy, I said we were lost.
He said he also was. Nice.
I asked if he knew where Basilica of Bom Jesus was. Hoping against hope, that they were also headed there. If that would be the case, I could just blindly tail their car.
They had already visited it the previous day. So, they gave us the directions.
God knows how we reached the place. No wonder they had a big church here. Anyone would walk into the church praising the Lord after such a long journey.
Thinking all this, I took the car into the parking lot. As I turned, I heard a noise. By now I was so exhausted, I thought it best to ignore.
We got out and walked towards the Basilica. The rain had stopped and it was a bit sunny. Looking at the big structure, my left leg fell into a puddle. Dirt splashed across my right leg. It's okay. I did not dare to look down and kept walking. Some people were looking at my legs. Be cool. Be cool.
This was the last pic of us over there because DT's phone and mine were out of charge. DT frantically took some pics of the church just before her phone breathed its last.
Right then and there, when we had just started our tour, our phones had died. Nature seemed to understand us better. She joined us in our sorrow, as she rained a shower of tears drenching us. Again.
A little way behind the road was a big compound with a small house, slightly elevated, in the center. DT started banging on the gates and called out loud. No response.
 |
I, CID of the India. No take pen. Menon. Menon come.
Aa avide vannu. Ente neck pidichu. Pidichu. Veenu.
Pena pocket il kayari. Kandilla.
|
She finally understood and scolded us for putting the car in. Well, that was needed... maybe.
"Aaj Gaanesh hai na?"
Athinu...
As per her theory, we should have known better than to put the car in the field during Ganesh Chathurthi. Enthonnu...? Because it was nearly impossible to get help now. In short, we should have checked her convenience and put the car in.
We asked if anyone else was nearby. She said her next door neighbour was a car driver. Aha! Very good. Ayaale villikku...
She explained, all the while not leaving far from her door, why she couldn't call him because, well... they weren't on speaking terms.
Right then and there it dawned on us - Ee ammachiyude gate inde front il, ee weekend theerum alle? In the middle of nowhere. Listening to why she would not speak to her neighbour. And how he would not mow his lawn so that she could not walk over to his house. Talk about building fences with grass.
In between all her nonsense, we kept begging her to help us.
She finally remembered somebody and called him. He came.
The guy's first question was, "How on earth did you put it in?" It was a completely calculated move. If you have a board and chalk, I can draw and explain.
Before we could say anything (not that we wanted to), his next question was, "Why on earth did you come this way?"
The guy called for extra hands. 4-5 people came to our aid.
The dude found a wooden lever, tried lifting one side, while the others, the other. I tried lifting the front just to be a part of the action. Then, I felt the tension on my back and I knew it was that moment just before one hears the back snap. So, I quickly moved away holding my back.
The guys finally put the car back on road.
Well, what do you know? There was not an extra scratch on it.
We thanked the people and paid a small amount as a reward.
As we thanked the Ammachi, she said she wouldn't ride a car after it's been through what ours went through. And she advised us to be safe, especially at night. And that there were so many people settled in Goa. So now, no one could be trusted in Goa. After a while, nothing she said made any sense.
 |
| This entire conversation ran completely in my head. |
She opened her eyes wide in horror and said, "Woh toh Old Goa mein hai. You need to go via Chogam Road. Why did you come here?"
Ente ponnu Ammachi, not again - the same old questions! Shogam road enkil... Shogam road.
We had enough of Google Maps. So, we did what we should have done a long time ago. We closed the maps and decided to ask where Chogam Road was.
"Where is it?"
This was a good decision because my phone died and DT's was low on charge. And DT's power bank? The one DT picked out of our 3 power banks was also low on charge, too. There was a misunderstanding while getting out of the hotel, DT thought I said I was taking an extra power bank though I didn't recall making any statement as such.
We retraced our path out of the narrow lane, asked around once more and got onto Chogam Road.
Next place to reach was Panjim. We slowed or stopped every 5-10 minutes and asked every passerby, "Bhayya, Panjim?" To which, we got the responses - "Straaaaight. 8 km."
"5 km..."
"3 km!"
Finally, we reached Panjim and crossed the bridge. Then came the question. Next, where to?
We saw a car parked in front. DT wondered out loud that maybe these weren't people from here.
I parked the car and walked over to this car. There, I saw a family with the dad, spectacles on his forehead, looking closely at his mobile. I asked him where Panjim was. He looked around and said, "This is Panjim."
 |
| Ente bhagathum thettundu... Njan angane chodhikaan paadillayirunnu. |
He said he also was. Nice.
I asked if he knew where Basilica of Bom Jesus was. Hoping against hope, that they were also headed there. If that would be the case, I could just blindly tail their car.
They had already visited it the previous day. So, they gave us the directions.
God knows how we reached the place. No wonder they had a big church here. Anyone would walk into the church praising the Lord after such a long journey.
 |
| Outside the church. A couple was happy to click a pic of us in return for a pic of theirs. |
Thinking all this, I took the car into the parking lot. As I turned, I heard a noise. By now I was so exhausted, I thought it best to ignore.
We got out and walked towards the Basilica. The rain had stopped and it was a bit sunny. Looking at the big structure, my left leg fell into a puddle. Dirt splashed across my right leg. It's okay. I did not dare to look down and kept walking. Some people were looking at my legs. Be cool. Be cool.
This was the last pic of us over there because DT's phone and mine were out of charge. DT frantically took some pics of the church just before her phone breathed its last.
Right then and there, when we had just started our tour, our phones had died. Nature seemed to understand us better. She joined us in our sorrow, as she rained a shower of tears drenching us. Again.
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