Every Child Has Its Day

By Gulam Mustafa Faia

In the early 40’s my friend’s father purchased a huge plot of land on the outskirts of Mapusa, for an amount equivalent to the cost of a good quality bicycle with it’s optional fittings, in today’s inflation ridden times. Then, greedy builders had not made this presence felt. Goans lived in spacious houses breathed the fresh air, and grew their own vegetables.

Sometime back a few crafty relatives anxious to buy land in Goa, descended on this friend of mine, with the purpose of (they said) keeping alive their relationship. Trouble began when these relatives, who had certainly arrived with ulterior motives, made known their desire in purchasing part of my friend’s land for the purpose of constructing apartments. My friend’s mother made it perfectly clear that she was unwilling to part with her land, as it held a sentimental value, after the demise of her husband.

The relatives quoted a fantastic price, per square foot, hastely calculating the amount of land required and the price they would pay.

My friend’s mother, unaware of the ever increasing prices of of real estate, shook her head in disbelief at the mention of the rate per square foot. In less than 5 seconds of this offer, the sentimental value of the land had flown from her mind. The idea that the land bought by her late husband for a measly sum, by the acre, could now be sold by the square foot, had decided her. She viewed this transaction as a means of bettering their lot. She could buy an apartment for her other son, besides stashing a tidy sum in the bank. She expressed her desire in selling.

My friend was furious. He berated his mother for her hasty decision, reminding her of the peace and quiet they have been enjoying all these years; further apprising her of the unhygienic conditions prevailing in cities due to the sprouting of concrete monstrosities. His mother would have non of it; greed had taken hold of her.

The relatives were smug in the thought that they had won the battle. It was apparent on their faces.

Their hopes vanished when my friend’s young son – a 12 year old – spoke from the corner where he was seated, tuned to the discussion all along. “Granny” he said, “in 50 years we are able to sell a portion of our land by the square foot, why don’t we wait for another 50 years? Perhaps then we may sell it for an astronomical sum that too by the square inch.”

The relatives have since departed without a deal. My friend and his mother still grow vegetables in the patch besides their house, and they still breathe fresh unpolluted air, without a high-rise building breathing down their necks. Thanks to a 12-year old’s tact in countering greed.