Houses. Beautiful houses

When we drove through a village which looked particularly full of nice Indo-Portuguese bungalows, we stopped and walked back to look at them. “It’s very colourful, isn’t it?” The Family asked. The bright blue paint and the red and yellow tiles in the yard were non-traditional, although the building itself was built in the usual style. Two women were sitting in the verandah, perhaps mother and daughter. I complimented them on the house and asked for permission to take photos. They were happy, and asked us where we came from. I could see the painted ends of the wooden beams which held up the sloping roof: so much better in the rain than the perpetually leaky roofs that you see in Mumbai. The round pillars supported the main cross beams, and I liked the cheerful design painted on them. After a bit of chit-chat we moved on down the road.

Nowadays I find it strange that everyone in India with the slightest interest in looking at architecture goes on about the Indo-Portuguese houses of Goa without stopping to look at every Indo-Anglian house in the rest of the country. Neither did I remark on the colonial styling of most urban houses elsewhere in India, until I visited Nepal where they keep talking about British-style houses as opposed to the local style. Part of this has to do with how common a style is. The next house that caught my eye was this one on the verge of falling down. It was built in almost the same style as the previous, except that its verandah did not go all the way across the front. The garden was overgrown and the wire that connected it to the nearest electrical pole was sagging dangerously. I could see a lock on the door, and the latch seemed to be pretty rusty.

The next house was again on the other side of the road. It was a wonderful symmetrical bungalow, with five doors opening on to the verandah. There was no railing in front, but there was a porch above the central door. It had simple rooflines, a higher one above the rooms, a lower one above the verandah, and a pediment above the porch. I was sure there were going to be ventilators between the upper and lower roofs. The garden was overgrown, but the house seemed to be in use, and in decent repair. In these parts of Goa, often children move away, and an older generation remains in the ancestral home in the village. Eventually maintaining a large garden becomes hard.

We crossed the road again to look at the next house. Crossing these narrow roads in Goa is no mean feat. Cars and motorbikes come barrelling down the narrow twisty road. There are no zebras of course, and no speed breakers as in the rest of India. You have to keep your eyes and ears open as you nimbly step across the puddles. This was worth it, if for nothing else than the fancy gate in front of it. The garden was being maintained, the yard and the colours of the house were traditional. It was the perfect end to our little walk along the main road of the village.