The Guava Tree Chronicles: Growing Up "Baba" in Ponda
By John Aguiar
In the quiet locality of Ponda, I wasn't known by my name. To the neighbors, I was simply "Baba." To my paternal cousins, I was "Nanu." As an only child, I was the sun around which my parents’ world orbited—a position that granted me an abundance of love, but also meant their eyes were rarely off me. This was a challenge, because, by all local accounts, I was the naughtiest boy in the neighborhood.
My home was a melting pot of Goan identity, a blend of two distinct cultures and religions. With a Roman Catholic father and a Hindu GSB mother, my upbringing was as rich as it was disciplined. However, as I grew, my parents quickly realized that my spirit couldn't be contained within four walls. I was a child of the outdoors.
The Ladder and the Louse
If I wasn't hanging from the branches of the guava tree behind our house, I was likely on the roof. My parents tried everything to hide the household ladder, but I possessed a supernatural instinct for its location. I could smell that ladder from a distance, much like a dog sniffs out a buried bone.
Naturally, coming home covered in scrapes and bruises was a daily ritual. My parents' worry eventually turned into a unique form of psychological warfare. One afternoon, my mother took me on her lap. Instead of a lecture, she took a louse, pressed it between her fingernails, and showed me the result.
"See," she said solemnly, "what happens to the louse when its blood comes out? It becomes empty. We will also become empty if we aren't careful."
The terrifying image of "becoming empty" haunted me. Suddenly, I wasn't just a daredevil; I was a boy carefully avoiding broken glass and jagged stones, terrified of a leak that might deflate my very existence.
A Lesson in Literalism
Despite my newfound caution, my tongue remained as sharp as ever. Whenever my mischief pushed my mother to her limit, she would resort to a classic Konkani ultimatum:
"Tum masti kelear have tond gheun vatli" (If you keep misbehaving, I will depart with my face intact—meaning, I will leave in shame).
My innocent, albeit cheeky, rebuttal was always the same: "Tond ghevn vachunaka, tondd dovrun voch" (Don't go away with your face; leave your face here and go.)
The world outside my home was equally daunting. I vividly remember a pregnant teacher who once pointed to her burgeoning belly and told our class of toddlers that she would put the naughtiest student inside there. The prospect was so frightening that I staged a one-boy strike, staying away from school for an entire week.
The Slender Stick
While my mother used folk tales and metaphors, my father believed in a more direct approach: discipline and devotion. He spent his evenings trying to mold me into a man of "pleasant manners," bringing me sweets and taking me for alternate-day bicycle rides. But he did not spare the rod.
The most enduring memory of my childhood involves that same guava tree I loved to climb. After a particular mistake—the details of which have faded into the mists of time—my father marched to the tree and broke off a supple branch.
Because I was shirtless, the slender stick left marks across my skin that looked like they had been made by a blade. It is a cruel irony of physics: the more slender the stick, the more durable the evidence of its use.
Seeing those marks on my tender skin broke something in my father. He was visibly disturbed by his own handiwork and vowed never to beat me again. In return, moved by his remorse, I vowed to finally be a "good boy."
We both kept our promises, but the memories of that guava tree, the fear of "emptiness," and the literal interpretations of a Ponda childhood remain as vivid today as they were decades ago.
म्हजें पेराच्या झाडाचें भुरगेपण
लेखक: जॉन आगियार
फोंडेंचया शांत वाठारांत, कोणाकच म्हजें खरें नांव खबर नाशिल्लें. शेजारी-पाजारीं खातीर हांव फकत ‘बाबा’ आशिल्लो आनी आतेभावां खातीर ‘नानु’. घरांतलो एकलोच चलो आशिल्ल्यान म्हज्या आवय-बापायचें सगळें विश्व म्हज्या भोंवतणीच भोंवतालें. तांचो मोग अफाट आशिल्लो, पूण ताची एक आडमेळ्ळी बाजूय आशिल्ली—तांची नदर सदांच म्हजेर आसताली. आनी देखूनच, त्या वाठारांतलो सगळ्यांत ‘खोडकर’ भुरगो म्हूण गाजिल्ल्या म्हज्या सारक्या भुरग्याक तें कठीण जातालें.
म्हजें घर म्हळ्यार गोंयकारपणाचो एक सुंदर मेळ आशिल्लो. कॅथलिक बापूय आनी हिंदू (जीएसबी) आवय, अशा दोन वेगळ्या संस्कृतींच्या संस्कारांत हांव वाडलो. पूण हांव घरांत बसून उरपी भुरगो नाशिल्लोच; म्हजें खरें राज्य घराभायर, सैमाच्या सान्निध्यांत आशिल्लें.
शिडी आनी उवांचो धाक
घरा फाटल्यान आशिल्ल्या पेराच्या झाडाच्या खांदयेर हांव लोंबकळ्ळो ना, असो एकूय दीस वचनासलो. झाडाचेर ना जाल्यार पाख्याचेर (roof). म्हज्या आवय-बापायन घरांतली शिडी लपवून दवरपाचे खूब प्रयत्न केले, पूण त्या शिडीचो वास घेवपाची मजकडेन विलक्षण शक्त आशिल्ली. खंयच्याय कोपऱ्यांत शिडी आसली तरी हांव ती सोदून काडटालोच.
सदांच आंगार घांय आनी रगत घेवन घरा येवप हो म्हजो नित्यनेम जाल्लो. निमाणें म्हज्या आवयन एक वेगळीच युक्ती काडली. एके दनपारा तिणें म्हाका माथ्येचेर बसयलो आनी एक उं (louse) धरून आपल्या नखां मदीं चिरून दाखयली.
"पळे बाबा," ती गंभीरपणान म्हणाली, "जेन्ना उंवेतलें रगत भायर येता, तेन्ना ती पोकळ जाता. आपणेंय जर शिटूकसाण पाळ्ळी ना, तर आपणूय अशेच पोकळ जातले."
त्या ‘पोकळ’ जावपाच्या भयान म्हज्या मनांत घर केलें. उपरांत कितले तरी दीस हांव फातर वा काच लागून रगत येवपाच्या भयान शिटूक रांवक लागलो.
उतर पाळपाची सवय
हाता-पायांची हालचाल उणी जाली, तरी म्हजी जीब मात थंयच आशिल्ली. जेन्ना म्हजी मस्ती आवयच्या सहनशक्ती भायर वताली, तेन्ना ती कोंकणींत एक गाजिल्लें वाक्य म्हण्टाली:
"तूं मस्ती केल्यार हांव तोंड घेवन वतली!" (म्हळ्यार हांव अपमानित जावन घर सोडून वतली).
त्या वेळार हांव ल्हान आशिल्ल्यान तिचें उत्तर तितल्याच निरागसपणान दितालो: "तोंड घेवन वचूं नका, तोंड हांगाच दवरून वच!"
शाळेचो तो भंय
घरा भायले विश्वूय म्हाका तितलेंच भिराकुळ दिसतालें. म्हाका आजून याद आसा, आमच्या शाळेतली एक गुरवार (pregnant) शिक्षिका म्हाका म्हण्टाली की, जर हांवें मस्ती केली तर ती म्हाका आपल्या पोटांत घालून दवरतली. हो विचार इतलो भयानक आशिल्लो की हांवें सलग एक सप्तक शाळेत वचपाचें बंद केलें!
पेराची ती लवचीक बडी
म्हजी आवय म्हाका काणी आनी म्हणी सांगून सुदारपाचो प्रयत्न करताली, पूण बापायचो मार्ग मात रोखडो आनी रोकडो आशिल्लो. तांकां हांव एक शिस्तीचो आनी बरो मनीस जावंचो अशें मनांतल्यान दिसतालें. ते म्हाका खावपाचें हाडटाले, सायकलचेर भोंवडावंक व्हरताले, पूण शिस्त मोडली की तांचो हातय सुटटालो.
एकदां म्हज्या हातांतल्यान अशीच एक चूक जाली (जी आतां याद ना). त्या दिसा बापूय थेट त्या पेराच्या झाडा कडेन गेलो आनी ताणें एक लवचीक बडी तोडून हाडली. हांव त्या वेळार उघड्या आंगान आशिल्लो. बापायन जेन्ना म्हाका मारलो, तेन्ना त्या बारीक बडयेचे वळ म्हज्या आंगार सुरी मारिल्ल्या वरी उमटले. भौतिकशास्त्राचो (physics) तो एक विचित्र नेम आसूं येता—बडी जितली बारीक, तितलो तिचो मार चड बसता आनी वळूय चड काळ उरतात.
म्हज्या नाजूक आंगार ते रगतमय वळ पळोवन बापायच्या काळजाक पीळ पडलो. तांकां आपल्याच करणीचो पश्चात्ताप जालो आनी तांणी शपथ घेतली की ते परतून म्हजेर कदीच हात उखलचे नात. बापायचें तें रूप पळोवन हांवेंय तांकां उतर दिलें की हांव आतां एक ‘बरो भुरगो’ जावन दाखयतालो.
आमी दोगांनीय आपआपलीं उतरां पाळ्ळीं. आज कितलीं तरी वर्सां जालीं, पूण फोंड्यांतलें तें भुरगेपण, पेराचें झाड आनी रगत भायर येवन ‘रिकामें’ जावपाची ती ओली भीती आजून म्हज्या मनांत ताजी आसा.
