Four days of bird watching in a jungle in Goa made me forget the date. So, on the last day when we emerged and made our way to a large but shallow lake, I had completely forgotten that it was a Sunday. A small church in the Indo-Portuguese style was built on a slight rise on one side of the lake. It was the perfect vantage point for watching the large numbers of migratory ducks which had arrived for winter. As we admired the migrants, three ladies with baskets of flowers seated themselves near us and started stringing them together into garlands. Someone came by and opened the doors of the church. Even then I hadn’t switched to tourist mode, and had no thought of taking their photos.
It was only after I’d finished with the birds that I turned around and saw the crowds arriving for the Sunday service. Two girls in frilly skirts skipped up the steps. We were still talking about the birds when a truck came to a halt outside the church and a whole lot of women dressed in their Sunday best began to descend. Finally something clicked in my head, and I realized “Oh, a Mario Miranda scene.” I managed to take a single photo to salvage my Sunday morning. As we walked away the first voices were raised together in a choir.
Don't hold your breath 