I left a letter for you, said a stranger at the gate. I come from that house he said pointing in the direction of a lovingly done up house in pinks and browns. His name, Antonio D’souza, and he brought us a map of the village incase we were unaware of what belonged to us. We don’t, but it’s better to pretend that you do! Meeting another neighbour in the village is fun, because it’s nice to know who your fellow Pilenkars are. They will keep an eye out for your house when you are not around.

His family consists of five brothers and sisters and they put money into a common fund just like we do, to maintain the house and pay the caretaker. Since he lives in Goa – in Santa Cruz, he comes every week to check on his home.

Ofcourse one gets to know a lot of info on who owns what when you talk to old timers. The strip of land along our house on which there were teak and a mango tree which was the bane of my Dad and us because of the mangoes falling and crashing our kitchen tiles, every single year, does not belong to the woman claiming it from Dads time. Did you know Marangel your Dads and your nemesis does not own the land at all. Infact the land belongs to the Comunidade he exclaims. No wonder she cut down the teak trees at full speed when she was confronted by Antonio, with the survey documents. So much for me imagining she wanted to help us.

You do know you Furtados were the original settlers here in this village and the area was called Furtavaddo? He asks wondering if we were totally ignorant of our ancestors Yes Dad had mentioned that but we thought it was wishful thinking on his part. Since there are very few Furtados left in the village it is now called Volvaddo. It’s a heritage of over 300 years – how many families can boast of that?

He stood and chatted at the gate, saying he knew Dad well. And talked about how he saw him struggle and come to Goa to repair and keep the house going. Single handed I too marveled at Dad, handling the extra burden of this house, and bringing up 5 kids. He could not afford the comforts of flying in or driving down, so once I ran my own business I gave him a large cheque each time so at least he could look after his creature comforts.

Antonio’s girls live in the UK and don’t plan to ever return. Sounds familiar cause my sons are the same, so one wonders what will happen after we are gone. Keeping the house going is hard work. The monsoons destroy all we do every single year. What the rains leave the white ants devour. We keep a caretaker to open the house once a week when he comes in and sweeps and cleans the place and is instructed to open every window. The air coming in is good to freshen the house and according to hearsay the white ants do not do as much damage.

You should rent out the house to foreigners who will love staying in it he advises. Why not we say, find us some renters. We have heard these stories and never had anyone concrete approach us.

Indians don’t like living in old houses and we have no contact with the foreigner. Give me a months rent he says and I will bring you someone. First bring them, then we can discuss it we say. And we have our fingers crossed.