My fascination with Pondicherry began many years ago when I saw it in the movie Life of Pi. It’s an incredible film, and while most of it takes place at sea, the beginning of the film, as well as the narration throughout, is all set in this idyllic French colonial town in India. Of course I was curious about this place, so I looked it up, and there it was: Pondicherry! It had been sitting on a quiet part of South Indian coast this whole time, but there weren’t many major cities around it so my eyes had never lingered on this particular part of the map. I remember thinking that this far-flung place seemed a bit surreal… it looked like France… but it was in India? I knew very little about South India at the time, and I’d probably never go there… but the way it was represented in the film was absolutely intoxicating!
So, what exactly is Goa? Because it’s so tiny, I was surprised to learn that it is actually a stand-alone state in India, on the same administrative level as Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, or Maharashtra! Indeed, it is the smallest state in India, and its modern-day borders correspond to the legacy boundaries of Portugal’s once-upon-a-time colony on the Indian Subcontinent.
We mostly associate India’s colonial period with Great Britain, but France and Portugal both had small carve-outs in South India too. When the British finally left India shortly after WWII, the newly independent Indian government had expected Portugal to pull out of Goa as well, but Salazar (dictator of Portugal at the time) had other ideas. Long story short, India reclaimed Goa from Portugal via military force in 1961. The story of Goan identity as it relates to India and Portugal is quite complex, so I won’t delve into it fully here; hopefully in a future article. But I will tell you that Portuguese culture is still part of Goa’s DNA. It’s even got a large catholic population, which is quite out of place in India.
Waking up in Dhaka I hear the ringing of bells on rickshaws, people yelling, and dogs barking. I am staying on the 9th floor of an office building that rises high over the slums on Dhaka’s southwestern outskirts. I look out the window, and I can see a rainstorm blowing in from the south. The Muslim call to prayer eerily wafts over the half-finished buildings all around me from the local mosques.
