Travelling Trunks

Rosie with the beautifully pierced ears. I counted 11 although she told me there were 8. Orphaned at 10 years somewhere near Hubli, home for Rosie ever since has been the beaches of Goa where she peddles her wares. Necklaces of strung beads, bracelets of thread and metal ornaments. She’ll even braid your hair for you now. Or give you a massage. Anything to earn some income during these times which, she says, have been very tough. In normal times, she would earn up to Rs 1200/* or even Rs 1500/ a day. Today, she’s lucky if she gets even Rs 100/. The English and Russian language she’s picked up along the way have come to naught now with no customers in sight. There’s a certain listlessness in her face as she plonks herself near my beach hammock, perhaps knowing all too well that today will be just as bad as yesterday, as bad as the day before. Yet her day must run its course and soon she will be joined by other women who will also walk the empty stretch of beach, waiting, watching and wanting.

Originally from Hyderabad, Guru is not sure how much longer he will remain with the beach shack he has worked at as a waiter for several years now. The shack needs a minimum revenue of Rs 20,000/ a day to survive. They now average Rs 6000/ – Rs 7000/ a day, woefully inadequate to sustain the place. His salary has been reduced. He is quite sure that his owner will shut down the shack and so he plans to have a conversation with his Manager soon to discuss moving out. He will return to Hyderabad with no idea of what he will do next.

For now, colleagues from Guru’s previous workplace in Bangalore have landed up in Goa and are staying in North Goa but have made their way to the South and Guru’s shack to spend the day. It’s additional revenue and he’s happy to have them. In fact, he says he will wait for them to be done with their holidays and then have the Manager discussion as he knows they will want to visit him every day and it will be good business. Guru’s main source of income was not his salary, but the tips which, thanks to the foreign tourists that Goa and his shack catered to, used to be very generous. He tells me the kind of treatment he receives now from tourists. Of a solo tourist who had a long conversation into the evening with Guru who gave him several tips on where to go in Goa, hidden attractions and so on. “When he left, he placed a note in my hands. I was expecting something decent,” said Guru. “Not the 50 US$ or 100 US$ foreigners sometimes give me but at least Rs 50/. Instead in my hand was a torn Rs 10/ note. It would have been better had he not given me anything instead of treating me like this.” He speaks of another customer who, after he was done with his drinks and meal and paid up, handed Guru’s Manager the bill folder and told him to give it to Guru. “When someone says that, there is an expectation of something. Yet when I opened the folder, there was nothing inside. Not even a rupee. I cannot understand why a customer could do something like this,” he says. He feels upset that their problems are little publicised or addressed. “The papers write about people in big companies losing jobs and tell their stories,” says Guru. “But what about our stories and lives right now. Why are we getting no attention? Why do we not matter?”  

And yet, Guru’s heart is one of kindness and compassion. I saw that on a day when we spotted a dog on the beach with a plastic jar around his head, terrified and refusing to let us go anywhere near. I found that Guru and the other waiters had been trying to help the dog for a few days but had no luck due to the dog’s fear. When we managed to find an NGO who said they would send a team to rescue the dog, it was Guru who was our key point of contact for the NGO. And it was him who sent us pictures and kept us updated on the rescue mission. When we met him that evening, he thanked us profusely for what we had done and told us of life with the dogs around them on the beach. You could tell there was care and a very special connection. 

Guru’s colleague, Mishra, is also planning to go back. To Jharkhand. He had come to Goa two years ago with friends, but today’s hard life has put paid to his plans and dreams of a future in Goa. At least for the time being. “But come back again next year and we will see you here. You must,” he says to me in Hindi when I go to bid him and Guru farewell after a two-week workcation in Goa of which we spent many evenings at their beach shack because it was empty, both the shack and the beach, and offered us the most gorgeous sunset views. “Oh and I have found you on Instagram and am now following you,” he says before I leave. I return to our apartment and find he has indeed followed me and left a message. “Hi,” his message reads. Digital is the only trace I have of him for now. Maybe even forever if life does not improve for him and Guru and Rosie.

Note: The last year has been tough for everyone and writing about travel was not something I could bring myself to do. But travel has its COVID-19 stories, and they need to be told. Names of those featured have been changed to protect their identities.

*Rs 73/ equals roughly US$ 1