Under a Mango-Pink Sky, where Time Stands Still!

As the sun casts its golden light over the terracotta tiled roofs of a sleepy Bardez village, the first rays of dawn filter through oyster shell windows. I pedal my way through its lush tree-lined narrow lanes, where century-old houses wear their pastel hues proudly. Before long, a whiff of freshly baked poi draws me towards an old mansion with freshly painted shutters and a vividly textured stucco exterior.

Maria Aunty relaxes on the sopo of her arched balcão, flanked by ornamental pillars adorned with creeping vines, as she greets her neighbors. She catches the curiosity in my eyes and waves me in, inviting me into her ancestral home : a treasure chest of Goan history hidden behind carved wooden doors.

Cross the threshold of any Goan home, and the first thing you’ll notice isn’t the Indo-Portuguese tiles or the lofty ceilings, it’s the aroma. The deep, comforting notes of bubbling xacuti on the stove, salty tang of dried bombil hanging in the backyard, and the warm, buttery goodness from the oven. As I mention this to Maria, her eyes gleam with nostalgia when she says, “Homes here aren’t just built with bricks; they’re built with flavors, memories, and time.”

I had seen pictures of Goa’s colorful homes, but nothing prepared me for the experience of stepping into one. The earthy presence of aged wood, the velvety coolness of red oxide beneath my bare feet, the distant hum of church bells, and the sunlight pirouetting through the windows, every inch of this place felt alive, speaking a language I was only beginning to understand.

As I wandered in, my fingers brushed the cool, pigmented laterite walls, quiet witnesses to generations of siestas, Sunday feasts, and monsoon melodies.

Sepia-toned photographs, keepers of a bygone era, led me through the tastefully curated hallway into a sitting area wrapped in the warmth of rosewood furniture. As I settled into a comfortable seat, my eyes absorbed the space, the exposed wooden beams, elaborate consoles, chandeliers, and cherished artifacts, while my fingers traced the intricate carvings on the timber.  

Whilst the high ceilings, and courtyards offered a welcome escape from the heat, Maria went a step further, serving me sol kadhi to combat Konkan's humidity.  

“Stories are the best way to get through hot forenoons”, she said. And so, that’s exactly what we relished alongside our pois. I soon came to understand that the societal churn and cultural amalgamation over centuries of Portuguese rule stand as a testament to the remarkable ability of Goans to adapt and transform influences into something uniquely their own. How else would one conceive the magical Azulejos art, elaborate railings, bright facades, and the rich culinary heritage - from indulgent vindaloo, Fiery Balchão to heady notes of Urrak and Feni? And the list is endless!

The breeze moved through the house, carrying the gentle rustle of leaves from the Rajangan as it swept in through an arched doorway, momentarily interrupting our conversation. It was invitation enough to pull us deeper into the heart of the home. Life seemed to unfold with an unhurried grace in this central space framed by a colonnaded veranda, their bases resting on weathered moss-kissed stone plinths. The eave boards, intricately cut with floral and geometric patterns, cast playful shadows on the ground as the sun shifted through the day. The thick, twisting branches of a frangipani tree, earthen pots overflowed with jasmine, hibiscus, and marigold, the wooden charpoys, and an old bench within the cracked clay tiled courtyard bore witness to countless conversations over cups of hot chai. 

It's a space of shared meals, of childhood games played under the watchful eye of elders, of the rhythmic pounding of a stone mortar that signaled the day’s masala preparation, of a quiet retreat bathed in the glow of natural light. A place where time seemed to linger, embracing the past and present in its shaded embrace.

It revealed all the secrets of the house, from the kitchen, the neatly tucked storage, the well-worn bedrooms, the narrow, winding stairway, to the ornate, candle-lit altar, all at once.

Stepping into Maria’s kitchen felt like entering a space where time stood still: a perfect blend of aged practicality and rustic charm, with every element whispering stories of generations past. A deep stone sink, carved from a single slab of granite, stood against one wall, its brass spout supplying water from an overhead clay storage pot. To keep the space from becoming stifling, the clerestory - a row of small, rectangular openings just below the roofline, was strategically placed. Darkened by years of kitchen smoke, some had louvers, while others were covered with brass mesh to keep pests out. The hand-plastered niches, terracotta vessels treasured as heirlooms - her kitchen was more than just a place for cooking.

As I prepared to bid her goodbye, my heart had never felt so content, perhaps this is what Goan hospitality is all about. Maria’s strong-willed, resilient spirit left a mark on me that will always linger in my conscience. She knows her house breathes with age, yet she also knows it is alive. She wouldn’t trade watching the sky turn mango pink from her balcao for anything, and to me, that is a complete existence.

While the bones of the house were sound, it still took a bit of imagination to see its true potential. But I’m certain, homes like these captivate the imagination of anyone whose feet meet Goa’s sands. Goan homes are more than architectural structures; they are cultural landmarks that capture the essence of its history, climate, and way of life. Interestingly, this concept of Goanness is still being evolved; we will 'know' what constitutes Goan architecture only when we see it expressed in temporal forms.

Perhaps the true essence of Goa isn’t just found in its sun-kissed beaches or vibrant markets, but in the quiet magic of homes like these. While the Japanese concept of Ikigai is about purpose and longevity, the Danish Hygge embraces coziness, the Goan Susegad is not a pursuit of happiness, it is a state of being.