There is something about Goan etiquette which bothers me. Like for instance the etiquette regarding a good host and his dog.

There have been countless occasions when I've sat in reception rooms, nearly epileptic with uncontrollable spasm of fear, as these huge canine demons from hell, growling that guttural growl which would put any Arab to shame and baring their teeth at me as if inviting me to canine Hades, leap onto me to sniff my hair, while the owner sits demurely nibbling at bolinas and smiles, "oh he won't do anything."

Oh really? Is that why you named him Hitler? Or is that just his pet-name, no puns or punches intended. Maybe Jack the Ripper is his real name. Anyway, as precious as your dog maybe to you, whatever first-rate European dictator you chose to name him after, that big slobbering animal or the small fuzz ball does nothing for me. Mojo, Jojo or Cujo, it is best to keep your dogs tied, chained or even nailed to some pillar while you have guests instead of unleashing them onto unsuspecting, innocent victims like me who are very afraid of getting rabies or being snuffed to death by fur.

The other thing that really bothers me is this incessant need to feed guests once they arrive at a Goan house. The Goan hostess is obviously under the impression that a recent famine has left her guests in dire need of food and hence it is her incumbent duty to make them eat until they feel like puking. I'm not quite sure where this tradition started, perhaps it started when famines, cholera epidemic and all those other nasty things that generally happened in the 18th century, meant that guests appreciated eating a whole suckling pig with their bare hands. Those days are long past, all of us can afford three square meals a day and judging by the size of some of us, obviously at least five square meals a day.

Lastly but perhaps most importantly, we must get rid of this tradition of forcing our guests, to "have one for the road." First of all this tradition and the phrase, I'm sure started somewhere in the tundra region where having one last shot of bourbon or maybe melted seal fat made it possible to endure the homeward journey in an open-sleigh driven by reindeers. How this tradition found its way to Goa, given our scorching temperatures is beyond me, where one shot of feni or whiskey just before leaving can only result in profuse sweating, loss of bladder control and suddenly finding your wife very attractive. Considering the number of accidents on the road, it's really not a good idea to have one for the road, unless you're riding a sleigh like Santa.

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