Pondra Rupea

    It was a comfortably warm day in Candolim, Goa.  What a day to go out and enjoy busy Mapuca.  In my enthusiasm, I asked my wife whether she would be willing to go with me and do a spot of shopping.

“Sorry dear,” she responded with a touch of sympathy.

“I’ve decided to catch up with a number of things right here at home, so you might want to go to Mapuca on your own.  Don’t worry, I will give you a list of things that you could buy,” she suggested in an apologetic tone.

    I became rather despondent about this response but I was not going to be discouraged.  It was too good a day to be at home.  In a short time, a short list of three items was stuffed into my shirt pocket which my wife usually used to deposit all her change while she shopped. This provided her with easy access to change should she need money at short notice but did not do my shirt any good.   Digging into her purse for anything was like looking for a flea on a German shepherd.

    I jumped on a crowded bus which fortunately still had one seat vacant, and off I went to busy Mapusa.  I reminded myself that men (unlike most women) were more focused when it came to shopping.  I flipped out my shopping list and to my surprise before I knew it, I had already bagged the first item on the list.    After a short walk, item two was tucked away as well.  The last item on the list was ‘sweet potatoes’.  My eyes locked up with an old, old painfully thin woman who was selling some of the most edible sweet potatoes.  Since I knew no Hindi or Konkoni, I asked the little old woman in English how much a bunch of potatoes, which were placed strategically on a weighing scale, might cost.  Her response was firm and immediate.

“Viss rupea”, she yelled out.

She was, however, not able to translate it into English.  I therefore asked her in sign language to wait for a bit.  I quickly entered Xavier’s Restaurant directly opposite and asked a waiter how much viss rupea was.

“You don’t know what ‘Viss rupea’ is? admonished the waiter.

“No!” I said looking contritely at him.

“You Goan no???! came his reprimand.

“Yes, I am a foreign Goan.  I know no Indian language.  What is Viss Rupea?” I coaxed.

“Twenty rupees”, said the waiter with obvious apprehensions of his own, and visible disappointment written all over his face.

“Thank you,” I stressed and quickly made my way to the little old lady with the delicious sweet potatoes.

    No sooner had I shown her the twenty rupees, she looked at me as only a grandmother would, and said:

“Pondra Rupea.”

“What the heck was ‘pondra rupea’, and why had she now raised her price?” I thought.  My mind raced to the many newspaper articles that I kept reading day in and day out about the corruption that existed in Goa, and here was I being taken by a little old lady in Mapusa market.  She was not going to get the better of me.

I became quite irate with her and not being able to converse in a language that both of us understood, I shouted at her waving the twenty rupees in front of her face.

“Viss rupea,” you said.

“Viss rupea,” I stressed.

“Viss rupea,” I threatened.

The little old lady looked at me as though I might be retarded and promptly continued to pour the sweet potatoes into my bag, shaking her head from side to side and saying to herself what might have been, “Thank God, he is not my son.”

She then stretched out her hand and cautiously took the money as though I might impulsively snatch it away from her.

    When I got home, I told my wife about how firm I was with the sweet potato woman and how I managed such a good deal.

“Honey, Pondra Rupea is fifteen rupees,” said my wife with her tongue in cheek, wearing her usual conceited women-are-better-shoppers-than-men look.

I quickly poured myself a strong feni…….something I do best!