Pinky the bull, his son Limca ‘n’ the “aam” admi of Loutolim

He emergesfrom the foliage, languorous and susegad and trudges down the village roads ofLoutolim. The dogs make way; the alley cat stirs from her slumber and opens oneeye to take a look.The crows, the brave ones hover over giving him air cover.He moves on with an air of a lazy prince in his comfort zone. And if he washuman, Pinky the bull would have taken an immense umbrage at being called‘Pinky’.

Anyway,since Pinky doesn’t know, peace prevails in Loutolim, a village I embraced in2004, when I came to Goa, and in many merry ways, a village that has adoptedme. Its cast of characters, in their perennial life’s journey is the stuff thatfolklore is made of. Loutolim is a seamless landscape where people and theirsurroundings -- animals, birds and other creatures of the universe, blend inmyriad joyful relationships.

So movingon, the breaking news is, that the feminine sounding Pinky the bull, hasrecently fathered an offspring, who shares his name with a refreshing beverage.“Limca” was born to this world, much to the joy of Loutolikars, includingfellow animal beings with a few notable exceptions. Credible information, (whichin Loutolim can also be a rumour that has made many many rounds), is that oneof Pinky’s best friends Albertina is a tad jealous with the new found attentionthat the new born Limca has been getting.

Albertina, came to this tucked away village,as a tiny pup, about six monsoons ago, in the arms of Albert, a customsofficer, one of Loutolim’s proudest sons. No marks for guessing why Albertinawas called so. Albert has done well, holding prestigious postings in the Mumbaicustoms department. In his village though, Albert achieved fame much before hewould make his first high profile goods seizure. In the nineties, Albert heldthe christening ceremony of his child, not in the village hall but on board theSanta Monica, Goa’s proudest river cruise boat, which bobbed on theMandovi. 

Many fondlyrecall that day. A bus load left Loutolim for the long long journey to the“other” river Mandovi, in Panjim. According to one 82 year old who was there, it was a rocking party withimported Scotch (no less) flowing like water. The post alcohol equilibrium ofmany drinkers obviously caused the great SantaMonica boat to wobble, but everyone lived to tell the tale.

Sonaturally, Albertina, now a grown up dog has something to be proud of and herfirst class status doesn’t take too kindly to villagers mollycoddling this newentrant to the cattle class - Limca, son of Pinky the bull. For those outsideLoutolim, all this may be just tomfoolery, but the bonds between man, fellowman and animal is serious business here.

These arethe simple joys of a Goa that we are losing, to concrete and bad planning, tocongestion and traffic. Which is why an oasis like Loutolim takes us back to aGoa that has probably never left and it is up to us to find it. Bothmetaphorically and really, you find it here, in what I can call my village.

This quainttale of Pinky, Limca and Albertina is an ode to things simple, where folksstill have the time to go that extra mile to make themselves and others happy.Here’s one story before I end. Jaya, the semi toothless and omnipresent super cookin my adopted Loutolim home, realised that the mangoes in the orchard were overand she didn’t have any for my favorite breakfast mango fritters. (Mangoesfried and laced with sugar). Worried stiff, she rushed at midnight to CaetanoVaz, the resident mango man who buys and sells mangoes and informed him of thisimpending food calamity. Vaz- who is Albertina’s neighbor, by the way - askedJaya to return at six the next morning which Jaya did in pouring rain andbrought back a dozen mangoes to make the most delicious mango fritters, which Igreedily consumed before heading off to work. Phew! The aam admi (mango-man)still rules in some parts of Goa.