Having ousted the Israelis and Europeans, they finally invaded Goa, and feel free and at home there. Hindus have nothing against it: Russians are brothers in spirit and a good source of income. They like that even the latest downshifter manages to look great for its hundred rupees.
But Indians, on the contrary, do not have the habit of throwing money away. Having sold a piece of coastal land, a Goan buys gold bars and buries them in the ground. And he walks around in an alcoholic T-shirt and sweatpants, sleeps side by side with his whole family on the floor and eats there, because it’s more convenient. Wealth lies quietly in the ground, without overshadowing the clarity of consciousness of its owner.
They dig up gold only for weddings. A girl in a family is a great grief. A dowry must be given for a girl, which goes with her to someone else’s house. The boy brings his wife and money. But in any case, a wedding is sacred, and it should eclipse all previous weddings over the past couple of centuries. Any Goan will tear the alcoholic T-shirt on his chest, but will celebrate the wedding in such a way that all nearby villages will be blinded by its splendor, remembering the event for the rest of their lives. Russians also love luxurious weddings, but they don’t remember anything the next morning. Considering the number of equally violent divorces, it’s a sin not to get confused in our weddings.
Hindus marry once and for all. Especially in Goa with its rural way of life and puritanical view of gender relations. Young people meet in churches. Girls walk around wrapped in saris, like pupated caterpillars. In contrast, Russian girls in Goa wear skirts that barely cover their lower chakras and sunbathe topless on the beaches, believing that they are in San Francisco.
Another category of Russian-Goan girls is yogini. They are the most enlightened, three-eyed and esoterically advanced people in the world. They are actively involved in spiritual practices and understand matters of karma much better than the Hindus. Their yogi boyfriends love to discuss controversial chapters from the Bhagavad Gita over a joint; they take ketamine exclusively orally, and everything else is taken by muscle and with prayer. And then they walk along the shore with their eyes glassy from enlightenment. By the end of the season, they usually collect money for a return ticket by selling the last good thing: a brochure with a summary of the Bhagavad Gita and socks for one foot.
Indians are also friendly and responsive to such people. They love everyone: children, drunks, and crazy people. The main thing is not to encroach on their shrines. I know a case when one Russian yogi, after eating pizza filled with psilocybin, decided to ring the bell in a local temple. The Hindus immediately gathered in a huge crowd and gave him a high-quality and absolutely free “bamboo massage.”
Another of our compatriots was hit in the face by a cow with its tail. He got angry and punched her right in the udder. For which he received rain of selected stones in response and spent a couple of months in the hospital. Goan cafes have long served cows as steak, but to publicly insult its dignity is a terrible crime.
Despite the conflicts that occur, Russians and Indians get along well with each other. India is hospitable to any wanderer (from the word strange) and has a gift for everyone. I took mine in both hands and already miss my little homeland.
