See essay below submitted for the GOA SUDHAROP GOAN SENIORS E-BOOK. Please send your submission to [EMAIL PROTECTED] For further details, see www.goasudharop.org
Thank you for your support. Goa Sudharop ***************************************************** REMINISCENCES OF MY GOAN YOUTH By Electra Maria Karandikar Youth is such a period of time when the Sun seems to shine on every action and activity that one undertakes. The glow never fades. I remember Goa as a place one could live with open doors, no grills and a bunchful of helpful people who had no barriers or mental blocks that have been created over the years. People lived with one common bond and that was I am a Goan. Kindness was the culture of society. This was the scenario of my upbringing in the town of Vasco-da-Gama during the Portuguese Colonial rule. The day started with the bakers horn in our ears, he was the first person who greeted us with a Dev boro dis diunk (May God give you a good day). Then came school days. My teachers were adorable. The Portuguese primary school was a full-filling attraction as on every Wednesday & Saturday we were doled out sopa grossa (a thick soup that contained vegetables, rice, macaroni, etc.) a taste that still lingers in my mouth. Saturday was jam, bread and a huge banana day. There was no need to coax us to learn! Later English school was like a small family with very few students and by the time I passed out Std VII (that was SSC in those days) we were only five left. Holidays were a special time to look forward to as most of it I spent with my regal maternal grandmother an epitome of grace and wisdom. She lived in the capital and the journey by the Brass bus was exciting with its wooden seats and shining exterior. Granny was in her eighties, yet she made mutlim a Goan sweet for me, a rarity nowadays. Years later when I was married, she was there to hold the hands of my newborn daughter and to pamper my husband with bojim. Goa then moved at a very slow pace, the population was less, people had time for each other, the demands were less and the ambitions although ambitious were restricted. And for the young this was certainly Paradise. People went to work in a leisurely fashion, but there was honesty and commitment. Sunday mass was like a meeting place, where people came in with great devotion. Come Sunday I would worry my mother to visit the hospital near the church in of Dr Roldao Henriques to see the new born babies, till today babies still fascinate me. Festivals, marriages and other occasions were much looked forward too. They formed part of entertainment. A Catholic wedding was an elaborate affair of more than one week. At an Aunts wedding there was 'bicarachem jevon' for the poor of the village, the 'janteachem jevon' for the elders of the village who would not be able to attend the wedding, then the previous day was 'ros' (an application of coconut milk and turmeric paste, a substitute for the beauty parlour today) which was applied to the bride by the elders in rotation accompanied by special songs called zoti wishing her good luck for the future, then came the actual wedding day. From the Church ceremony to the reception hall there as always Johnson and his Jolly Boys entertaining everyone with a range of melodies to suit the crowd. I remember in particular the only toastmaster in town for all the Catholic weddings, Dr Camotim who was completely western in his attitude, dress and speech. Almost all the wedding toasts were alike except for a change in names. He extolled the virtues of the groom, bride and their families with such bravado that one failed to realize the version was same. Dancing and singing came naturally. It was an era of jive and rock & roll, my brother Dr. Noel and me were the only ones who attempted it with great zeal and action at every function and there was always an encore from the people around who surrounded us as we gyrated across the floor. Carnival was another occasion for fun and laughter. It had an innocent flavour. Cocottes, (coloured chalk powder) well wrapped was the soft target for friends and neighbours. There was no rowdism or malice. Year after year our fancy dress costumes grew more creative but with the least expenditure. Funerals on the other hand depended on the type of social ladder one belonged to. I remember poorer people were hired to cry at one of the Uncles funerals and the procession was led by a brass band. The meal on that day was just as exotic as a wedding; one could drown ones sorrow with the liquor available! At the end of it all a garrafao of local brewed liquor was served outside the cemetery to the gravedigger and his assistants. 81 Christmas time was another occasion to remember where my mother made a variety of sweets. Making sweets and distributing them to our neighbours and friends was another lovely tradition that created a bond of love. Then came college days and I had to travel across the border with a Portuguese passport. The journey was a myriad of events, most of the students from Goa travelled together by bus. The Portuguese outpost on the Goa side was a pleasant experience, the customs officials were really nice & kind to us teenagers, then came the long & tiring walk across No mans land till we reached the Indian outpost at Majali. Crossing over to Karwar was first by bus and then by ferry. >From there we took a bus to Hubli. From Hubli bus stand it was a bullock cart >ride to the railway station with our bags and baggage. College days flew, studies, sports and other co-curricular activities took up most of the time. I represented my college for table tennis and it was an exhilarating moment when I donned the colours of the college. Another, moment of surprise was when I was nominated the Deputy Warden of the Ladies Hostel although I was the youngest. The task of supervising 65 girls was not so easy, but I took the challenge. Overall college days are etched with nostalgia of all the innocent fun we all had at someones cost. After college I returned to a changing Goa and met the love of my life, my husband Gopal who is an engineer. He still is the part of my youth for the last 42 years. Goa is growing old like us but still full of hope and young at heart and therefore, the Goan Dulpod will never die. Viva Goa! My beautiful land. _______________________________________________ Goanet mailing list [email protected] http://lists.goanet.org/listinfo.cgi/goanet-goanet.org
