The Year Of The Dog

Came across a horrifying news item today. Dogs are eaten in China. They are brutally butchered, most of them subjected to a slow and agonising death which supposedly tenderises the flesh and enhances the flavour of the meat.

As of now, the French SPA is crying out against this heinous crime. In fact, newspapers and magazines refused to publish pictures of the severed bloodied body parts of dogs as they were too shocking. It is speculated that thousands of dogs are consumed annually. Even Koreans eat cats and dogs. Dog meat is believed to have aphrodisiac and other beneficial qualities. Which weirdo would subscribe to this line of thought? And this practice is centuries old.

The mere thought of eating dog dumplings is enough to make me throw up. As if killings goats, cows, pigs and birds weren't bad enough, even those furry affectionate darlings have to come under the knife.

New Year At The Cross

I could not have imagined a more glorious way of welcoming the new year.

The five of us stood on a desolate cliff that overlooked the ocean. At a place called The Cross. And indeed, a pale white cross does stand out from the overgrown heather covering the hilltop. Known only to the locals, The Cross is the favourite haunt of couples. No wonder, Goa police keep patrolling the area.

We shivered in the wintry breeze. Nonetheless, we were glad to be away from the noisy carousing and come to this quiet spot that afforded such a breathtaking view. It’s a sheer drop from the cliff. There are rocks below, and then an endless stretch of the sea. Only faintly can you make out the horizon, the sky and the sea seem to merge. Like someone remarked, the night sky really looked like a blanket of stars.

And in the distance, were the lights of Dona Paul, then there was Vasco up left and a tiny row of lights lining the private beach at Cidade de Goa on the right. The landmass before us spreadout like an arc, and hundreds of fireworks erupted along that semi-circle.

Oh, the fireworks! I have never seen a more spectacular display! One after another, rockets burst into the dark midnight sky shimmering brightly in all the colours of the rainbow. Some glowed silver and golden for many seconds together. The sky became a riot of colours. Every time a rocket appeared, it would be like daylight. Some rockets flew high up and shone brilliantly before dying out, while others were not so luminous. And with each firework that exploded, we could hear a loud crackle up above.

If one rocket went off at the far right, another would appear in the centre and more would go off towards the left. Our heads turned and our faces shone in the light every time a firework hit the sky.

This went on for a full ten minutes. Afterwards, as everything turnded peaceful again, it was the sea that appeared to glow. A deep mysterious orange colour started to spread on the dark waters near our cliff. Actually, the water was reflecting the lights from the shoreline.

We sat down carefully and tried to dangle our feet over the edges of the cliff. The wind was bitingly cold. Now, we could only hear the waves. And even they seemed serene.

Time Stops

A million specks of sunlight
Fresh mountain air
Bramble and cherries
Rustling of leaves
The whistling wind

Twilight followed by sundown
A forest filled with crickets
Faces dappled with moonlight
Under a starry night sky

Walking Into The Past

I could not tear my eyes away from it. A solitary relic, it was incredibly beautiful—derelict and ruined yet regal. How could so many people pass it by without even a glance?

In spite of being in the midst of the busy thoroughfare, the area was strangely peaceful. I glanced up at the towering building. At first, I just stood still gazing at it. Inscribed on the arch of the front gate were the letters “THE ROYAL OPERA HOUSE”. Around it were empty sockets that must have shone with bright lights in better times. I felt as if I had entered another era. I conjured images of the past—when this place must have been alive and full of activity. Men, women and children, all dressed in their Sunday best, to enjoy the evening matinee. The Royal Opera House in Mumbai ever since it was built only screened films. Had any soprano ever stepped here? I think not.

It was interesting to note the figures in the frieze right at the top of the structure. Each holding one musical instrument—the harpsichord, the violin and the cello amongst others. The figure in the centre appeared to be wearing an ugly black crown of thorns. I scrutinised it further and realised that it was just bramble. Further right, a Roman guard remained sentinel. They were beautifully sculpted.

I walked to and fro trying to absorb every brick, every angle and even the creepers around that encircled the struture. I wanted to feel every inch of the building with my fingers. There were hawks circling the hot afternoon sky. The withered ivy leaves around the wrought iron trellis of disfigured balconies fluttered gently in the wind.

The building looked onto the main road. Within its premises there was a small compound that was empty except for an old dusty vehicle and a dingy eatery. An incredibly long four-wheeler, it was parked in the centre of the compound and covered with a muddy cloth and layers of dust and dry leaves. I was tempted to lift off the cover to see the make of the vehicle. Must be another vintage oddity. And the makeshift restaurant was painted in yellow. The board said ‘Italian Mama Mia—Mama knows best’. It had a huge drawing of the Little Mermaid on one wall. So much for evoking the Italian ambience!

The only person I spoke to was the gurkha, who sat on a chair in the courtyard. He appeared to be in his sixties, had a crop of white hair and was of scrawny built—even he seemed ancient. He said he had been the watchman ever since this place showed the latest films released. He was very hesitant to talk. And somehow I did not want to persuade him any further.

The building was locked, there was no way I could get in. The sole occupant seemed to be a stray dog who lay asleep within the grilled portico. What would it feel like to be inside the cool, musty and dark interiors? Would there be a Phantom who haunts the lonely corridors?

There were some baniya stores built into its ground floor selling raddi and other scrap. An utter decadence of a once majestic edifice. I gave the Royal Opera House one last look and hailed a cab.