Lens #939

I am back here not sure what I will find. Like an explorer in my geography textbooks in grade school looking looking for something that the world forgot about a long time ago.

Panaji is a beautiful city built on a river. We are not by the river and the river is not beautiful anymore covered as it is with casino paddle boats moving up and down stream with its cargo of rich foreign tourists. We are told we are by the river but we are actually by a small stream. It is dark and suddenly it is impossible to know what time we are in as in what era. We gaze at the cross. It has been standing here since the Goa Inquisition. I look to see if there is any sign of blood on the cross. There is none. A motorcycle goes by and I am reminded of the present. We walk up the night street along the stream and come to a night performance. It is being staged right on the street under the dull yellow street lights. It is a sad story about a Rajasthani camel who is lost in the desert. The camel has been looking for his mate for many years now and now he is about to give up and rest. A large tour bus suddenly rushes down our street and we jump and run away to the edge, the very edgo of the dark road and we know that a few inches off to the wrong side is a sharp drop down to the stream and the right side if there is one is close very close to the approaching diesel monsterbus.

The bus passes us leaving us coughing. The performers are gone. We are standing all alone on the street.