Mackerels in the Capital and hearts anchored in Mandovi

 Mackerels in the Capital and hearts anchored in Mandovi

John Aguiar

It was Sunday, July 26, 1987—the feast day of the Ponda church—when my life took a turn I never expected. While the town was in a celebratory mood, a Protocol Department vehicle pulled up at my house. An officer named Mr. Tari stepped out with a message that felt like a bolt from the blue: I had been chosen as the second PA to the Union Minister, Mr. Eduardo Faleiro, and was expected in Delhi.

The meeting at the Panjim circuit house was brief but life-changing. Mr. Faleiro’s instructions were clear: "Join me from August 1st. Come by air; the cost will be reimbursed."

 Price of a Dream

In 1987, a flight to Delhi was not just a journey; it was an event. My parents were caught in a whirlwind of emotions—proud that their son would be working for a Union Minister, yet heartbroken that I was leaving.

The logistics were a challenge. My mother, showing the quiet strength Goan mothers are known for, borrowed ₹1,400 from Anant Bhau to cover the Indian Airlines ticket. I purchased it from Aero Mundial and, two days later, boarded my very first flight.

Luck was on my side even then; my co-passenger was Dr. Kashinath Jalmi, then an MLA, who later become a Minister in State Government. We ended up sharing a room at Goa Sadan, easing my transition into the sprawling, busy landscape of the capital.

Corridors of Power and Mandos at Night

My professional life began in the Ministry of External Affairs before we shifted to the Ministry of Finance (Economic Affairs & Banking). I was surrounded by familiar faces: Anil Tendulkar and Shri Gurunath Pai.

Despite the high-stakes environment of Delhi, the "Goan soul" remained restless. A small, tight-knit group of us—including Zito Braganza, Roque Dias, and Hector D’Souza—would gather in the evenings. Amidst the heavy Delhi air, we would sing Mandos and Goan songs, nursing a drink and a deep longing for the red soil of home.

"We were serving the country at the highest level, but our hearts were still anchored in the Mandovi."

The Legend of the Flying Bangddas

One evening, the craving for home became unbearable. My friends expressed a collective, desperate desire for Bangdda Rava Fry (Mackerel).

I made a trunk call to Ponda. As fate would have it, Narayan Athavle, the Editor of Gomantak, was flying to Delhi that same evening. My mother prepared the fish, the message was relayed, and the parcel was handed over. When that parcel arrived in Delhi, the mackerels didn't last ten minutes. For one glorious evening, the smell of Goa filled our Delhi quarters, and the homesickness was kept at bay.

A Career of Two Halves

Life eventually brought me back to Goa. My wife, Savita, joined me in our government accommodation on Baba Kharag Singh Marg, but health reasons during her pregnancy brought her back to  Goa, where we were blessed with a baby boy. I soon followed, transitioning into journalism as the Chief Reporter for Goencho Avaz and the Herald, before joining the Department of Information and Publicity in 1990.

However, the "Delhi Chapter" wasn't over. I joined Mr. Faleiro for a second term as Assistant Private Secretary, navigating the ministries of Chemicals & Fertilizers, Ocean Development, and Electronics.

Reflecting on the Journey

Looking back, my career was a bridge between the quiet lanes of Ponda and the power structures of New Delhi. It was a journey fueled by a mother's sacrifice, sustained by the camaraderie of the Goan diaspora, and occasionally—thankfully—flavored by a well-timed delivery of fried fish.