The room was flooded with white radiance from the sun outside —it was in the middle of the afternoon after all — substantial, sparkling and all-encompassing.

He shifted from one foot to the other by the door, not sure of what to do next. The shabby wooden table with a thick layer of dust bore a cheap ceramic vase full of dried flowers that had prevailed for this long without withering and drooping down. 

The cot was not extravagant either, just a double mattress on a steel frame with powdered coating and no headboard. The unmade bed with an old crumpled bedsheet, cigarette stubs on the floor and an orphan, half-filled mineral water bottle all told of another occupant who must have either left in a hurry or had plans of coming back but was held up for unknown reasons. He then resolutely stepped into the room, taking it all in, covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief.

Other than the obnoxious condition of the interiors, what caught Filip's eyes was the fresco like painting on the wall. When he looked closely, it was of a person with long hair and curves. He just about decided it could be a woman. He never got into gender matters if need be. He strongly felt all world languages had to be rejigged to exclude gender-related pronouns and common nouns instead of creating new words to describe all the people around —language was the root cause for all problems. However, he never uttered these words aloud. As long as, he kept to himself, he could go on with his life and aspire for things within his reach. He had fine-tuned his mind to accept everyone willingly as mere human forms, but this painting alluded very much to a woman.

She lay on a bed, naked but for the gleaming nose stud, her arms crossed over, with her dainty palms barely covering her moderate-sized breasts. As Filip scanned further down — far from the norm of such paintings where the maidens had narrow waists and curvy hips from thence the painter's strokes flowed freely to sketch long, slender legs— here her belly was fleshy and round followed by thick thighs, thick calves and her ankles awkwardly placed one over another. 

She didn't look like a model posing with grace and confidence or even with make-believe shyness. When he looked at her face, he was struck again. Instead of the narrow, delicate arches, he found straightforward, rough brushstrokes — her eyebrows hadn't been plucked. The woman in the painting was far from pretty, but he couldn't quite get the right word to describe her —elegant perhaps? He could easily say, she was a living and breathing person somewhere out there in this over-populated world.

He shook his head and turned to another wall, furthest from the small balcony overlooking the sea —the room was sea-facing without a doubt. He found a gigantic double door that must have been removed from some great palace. It looked as if it was part of the wall, but he thought he knew better —out of context here in a let-out room —still incredibly beautiful with its ornate calligraphy bands and glazed tilework on dark brown wood. 

When he lay his hand on it, all he caressed was the rough bumps of the wall. His eyes bulged out —it wasn't a door at all but was indeed another painting. He stood frozen on the spot for a few seconds marveling at the wonder before him but slowly recovered to turn around to find another door, which was very much in accord with the rest of the room. He assumed it to be the toilet.

Filip had complaints all right and a room full of them, right from showing him this hole, which was very much in use to the dust coating on all surfaces, but he couldn't wrap around his thoughts about these spectacles. He didn't know if he could ever fall asleep looking at the shy woman on that wall. He sighed and looked up the ceiling only to find it crammed up with drawings of trees bent to the force of strong gale, streetlights, and people —some talking, some arguing and some making love. It made him dizzy, just to look at it, but everything was interconnected in some crazy, comical way.

His mind was too small to comprehend this mélange of draughts, to fill all of it without bursting like an overblown balloon.

For a moment there, he was transported into another person's universe. Nah, he couldn't spend another minute here. Every second he spent here, he was getting sucked into the it's vortex.  He was getting threaded into somebody else's mind like the tendons attaching the muscle to the bones.

He immediately rushed out from the space, taking in much-needed air free from the filth and most importantly free from the most intimate place he had ever been in his life and climbed down the stairs to the very secular reception only to find no one there.

The register was left in abandon; Filip flipped through its pages and found a cell phone number under Memsaab. He removed his phone from the back pocket of his shorts and dialled it. 

After a few rings, a bass voice answered the phone, hearing which Filip shortly felt it the Mr De Souza instead.

"Hello?"

"Mrs De Souza? I'm Filip here."

"Oh! How did you get my number? Did Tony share it?"

When Filip didn't respond, she quickly recovered and continued, "Never mind. Welcome to Goa, Mr Almeida. I hope you are comfortably settling in. How can I help you?"

"Mrs De Souza, I'm not sure which unit you've arranged for me, but I don't think it's the one Tony showed me. I strongly feel somebody else is still using it. I request you to please switch the room immediately."

"Oh is it? Which room did Tony show you, Mr Almeida? I instructed him clearly to take you to room number 202."

"It is the same number alright, but it is very dirty. Somebody is staying in it. I can see all their things around."

"Oh so you mean, it was not clean and tidy when you had a look at it. That's a fair point. But nobody occupies it, Mr Almeida. Some artist was staying in it until last month, but that person left without a word. Your booking was very much at the last minute, so we couldn't  find something more up to your taste. Now that the carnival is around, I'm sure you understand."

Filip didn't understand at all, did she mean, they broke into the room to let it out during carnival. Was the room worth the kind of money they took from him? Was it too late to look for accommodations elsewhere? With such questions swirling in his mind, he didn't pay attention to Mrs De Souza.

"....Mr Almeida, are you there?" When he grunted in response, she continued, "As I was saying, cleaning isn't a problem. Tony should've done it in the first place. I'll call him and ensure it is done at once. But I'm afraid we don't have any more rooms left. That's the only one," she tried to smoothen it out as much as she could.

All the while, he heard Mrs De Souza, he made up his mind to check out the nearby locations as well. He might pay a visit to all the places he had called from London just to see if he had more options. Even if the room was cleaned — they would probably change the bedspread, dust it, perhaps sweep and mop it, but nothing could be done about the paintings. A lick of water paint to hide the mural was a little too much to demand too.

"Alright, Mrs De Souza, I'll be out to get some food and be back in a couple of hours. If the room is not ready by then, I need my money back. I'll get the police involved if necessary. I don't mind sleeping on the streets, but I did not pay to sleep in filth," he warned in a firm tone.

He knew he took the threat to the next level by mentioning the cops, but who could blame him. The cops could be on his side, nobody would guess he was an Indian by birth unless they checked his passport. Even then, he could easily pass for a Portuguese descendent than an Indian. His innate Indianess was as alien to him as was the land he was standing in right then.

"Now, now Mr Almeida, no need to involve the cops. This is a small communication lapse, that's it. A couple of hours is good enough to transform the room as close to brand new. You'll see. I apologize for the inconvenience caused. I truly am sorry. Thanks for understanding. This is a busy time of the year. To tell you the truth, I make the most of my income in these few days. Goa is not the same anymore."

She stopped her rant short and changed the tone again, "Your room will be ready by the time you return. Is there anything else I could help you with? Arrange transport for the entirety of your trip?"

"Will that be a free service, a compensation types for the inconvenience caused, Mrs De Souza?" Filip interrupted sarcastically only to hear a light laugh and a chirpy, "You have a great sense of humour Mr Almeida. Anyway, is that all then?"

Filip sighed and after a few more  the(s) from the Memsaab, he hung up.

He flipped his backpack over his shoulder and moved out from the RAYAL HOSE to begin his most dreaded quest that he had wanted to avoid all along.  

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WC - 1642