Independent Goa Observer

LANCELOT GOMES

Fifty plus and Lancelot is still going strong. He is getting married again. He is loaded and she is young, very young. MANOHAR SHETTY weaves a delicate story on the ripples this created in the otherwise conservative Goan society.

IT WAS Filomena Rodrigues who first broke the news at the Panjim fish market. She ran into her neighbour Maravilha da Gama, who was haggling over the price of a glassy-eyed mullet with a large fisherwoman bedecked in gold necklaces which rested in serpentine spirals on her hillocky bosom. ‘Did you know,’ Filomena said in a breathless undertone, stuffing silver-black mackerels into a plastic bag, ‘Lancelot Gomes has married again?’

Maravilha almost dropped the mullet and gasped, ‘What? Again?’

‘You just won’t believe,’ hissed Filomena, eyes coruscating like a cat’s. ‘It’s his own secretary this time and she’s only twenty-two. And he must be at least fifty plus! And just you guess what, and this will shock you, she’s a Hindu!’

Maravilha pressed her crucifix into her chest involuntarily. ‘Oh Lord’, she exclaimed. ‘A twenty-two-year-old Hindu girl? What is the world coming to? And to that senile old rake?’

After some more haggling by Maravilha, the two parted company, promising to ‘put their heads together’ over the ‘scandalous business’ later at home in Merces.

Maravilha posted a chain-letter and crossed herself at a wayside shrine as she trudged towards the bus-stand.

‘What is the world coming to?’ she repeated to her husband Mussolini da Gama that same afternoon. ‘This must be his third or fourth marriage and the girl is only twenty-one! And he must be at least fifty-five, the scoundrel!’

Mussolini, a tall, mongoose-faced school-teacher, said, ‘It’s shameful. Shameful! We must do something. Morals have gone down the drain these days. This is bad for the children.’

‘But what can we do?’ said Maravilha, dropping a block of dried pig’s blood into the sorpotel simmering in a clay pot. ‘Everyone is so loose nowadays. Too many dances and carnivals! And see what shameful things they are showing on the TV these days. It is corrupting our youth!’

Montgomery, the youngest of her eight children, heard the entire conversation.

That evening, he met his friend Auduth Camotim at the ‘Three Cheers’ taverna. After three stiff pegs, he said, ‘You know something, Camot - the old fellow who lives in the old bungalow near the church? He got married again, to a twenty year-old dame, a Hindu chick.’

‘Lucky bugger, that Lancelot Gomes. His first conquest was a Muslim broad, Ghulam Xec’s daughter, I think, from Vasco.’

‘Yah, man’, Montgomery said expansively.

‘Whadda heck - variety is the spice of life. But why you not geddin’ married, man? Already you’re geddin’ grey hair.’

‘What to do, Monty. Apply, apply, but no reply’, said Camotim, mournfully sipping his fourth Old Monk.

The following day Camotim met his bank office colleague Naguesh Vencatexa Naique at a football match between Pele’s XI and Eusebio’s XI at a shorn paddy field in Caranzalem.

At the half-time break, in between gulps of canned beer, Camotim said, ‘ Arre Naguesh, you know that old bugger Lancy Gomes?’

‘The one who lives in the new bungalow near the post office?’

‘Correct, correct. He has tied the wedding knot yet again, For the third time. A Hindu dame this time, only nineteen years old, I have heard. The ceremony was top secret.’

‘Third time? What stamina, man. More than even Eusebio’s centre forward.’

‘More than even Maradona. He must be sixty year old, a real budda.’

‘What stamina he must be having’, Naguesh told his girlfriend Teresa, at a secret tryst with her at a hill-top cross in Dona Paula. ‘Must be like a marathon runner.’

Teresa, plump and giggly, said, ‘I saw his first wife once. Very fair she was. A Parsee, I think, from Bombay. I think he is doing some real estate business.’

‘No no. Not real estate. He is a printer, I think, printing visiting and greeting cards. I think his first wife was a Muslim from Vasco. Some Muslims are very fair. But what stamina!’

‘Definitely not Muslim. Her name was Nilofer, I think. But I’ll ask my friend Belvinda tomorrow. She used to work for this Gomes. Made advances to her also, I think.’

‘Three dames - bloody hat-trick’.

‘You’re jealous or what! Don’t try any hat-trick-fat-trick with me!’

The following afternoon Teresa went with Belvinda to see a Hindi movie at the EI Dorado theatre. After the movie, her eyes still puffed from the tear-jerker, Teresa said, ‘Nice movie, no. Life also is like a movie only. Do you remember your former boss, Lancelot Gomes? You know, you know, he got married again!’

‘0 gosh!’ said Belvinda, ‘The creep! He must be at least sixty-two years old.’

‘And you know, you know the girl is only eighteen and that too a Hindu!’

What a scandal! His first wife was an Anglo, I think. Nellie something. From Bangalore.’

‘You knew her, no?’

‘Little bit. But just last week I saw this girl in his car. She was wearing a red salwar khameez and I was wondering and wondering who she was. I thought she was his daughter.’

‘She is good looking?’

‘OK. Fair she is. Fast she must be to marry a zantto. I’ll phone up Maria tomorrow. She’s working in his office only.’

‘But he’s filthy rich, no?’

‘Pots and pots he has, men.’

The next day, during a long and leisurely lunch break, Belvinda called up Maria.

‘Hello, Maria,’ she said. ‘You must be knowing why I’m phoning.’

‘Oh, so you have heard the news? So fast it is spreading,’ said Maria, interrupted from her pork chops.

‘You can talk?’

‘Yah men. Only Joe is here.’

‘Joe?’

‘Joe men. The peon.’

‘Oh. What about Lancy’s latest catch? Give us the juicy news. You know her?’

‘Lid’lbit only. She worked in the other office mostly, in Margao. Quiet she is, like a mouse.’

‘Mouse? Must be a big gold-digger. She is only eighteen?’ ‘Can’t say, Be1. Must be more.’

‘Twenty?’

‘Must be twenty-two, twenty-three. Rogue he is.’

‘Yah. Just yesterday I saw her in his car. She was wearing a blue salwar kameez and I was wondering and wondering who she was. I thought she was his daughter.’

‘Looks like.’

‘She is Hindu, no? His PA?’

‘I tinksomen. But sometimes she is wearing jeans and T - shirt,’

‘Modern she is. So what. These days many Hindus are wearing hotpants. What’s her name?’

‘Tahira Zahira something. Nice name.’

‘Muslim name, no?’

‘Yes men. But she’s Hindu. Dessai something.’

‘This is third or fourth?’

‘Fourth, I think.’

‘Fourth! Horse he must be, no Maria?’

‘Rabbit he is. Five six kids he must be having.’

‘Must be more. Hockey team I think. What you eating for lunch?’

‘Pork chop.’

‘You’ll get fat like me, men. I’m having small rice curry.’ ‘Coming to “Rock Round the Clock”?’

‘Yah. With Subodh.’

‘Why men? You know how people will gossip. Mad you are, Be1.’

‘He’s ‘indu, but nice. Good business also he has. So many people are marrying like that. Lancy also. She’s his P A?’

‘Never. Who told to you?’ She’s doing some computers.’

‘Where they are living now? Same bungalow where a lot of foreign people are staying? I can hear them talking every time.’

‘No foreign people are there, Bel. You mus’ be hearing BCC, TNT TV or something.’

‘You can hear somebody breathing, Maria?’ ‘Somebody is breathing. Cross-connection I think.’ ‘Someone is coming. I’m putting the phone down, OK?’ ‘OK. I’m putting the phone down.’

‘OK.’

Courtesy:Govapuri, Bulletin of Institute Menezes Braganza

Back

ARCHIVES --------------------------------------------------

LANCELOT GOMES

ARCHIVES
--------------------------------------------------