The Alvares - United In Nativity Preparations Melba Mergulhão-Carvalho Antão
The countdown to Christmas Day has begun and every household is engaged in hectic activity to meet deadlines. Everything must be in place - spic and span on December 25 to herald the birth of a little Child born in a manger 2005 years ago.
Scenes from the Alvares family: Papa Salvador instructs his son, "Johnny pour more whitewash quickly into the pail, I've almost finished painting the compound wall. But I still have to paint the balcao." Johnny, 14, dashes to fetch the whitewash mixture. Mama Palmira in the kitchen says to the village sweetmeat connoisseur: "Miguelin, keep the coconut neureos separate and start the moog flour neureos. Do you need more oil? Just taste this dough, I think it needs more sugar." Mama Miguelin turns in the direction of the compound wall and says to husband Salvador: "Have you collected the wine and chocolate cake from Sosa's bakery?" Papa Salvador replies: "Yes, I've kept it in the kitchen." Mama Palmira: "Really? In the cupboard I hope or the rats may get at them. Today's rats smell wine and cake immediately.," she mumbles to no one in particular.
Mama Palmira turns to Miguelin, "Don't forget, tomorrow we have to start with the kulkuls and bulinãs. Time permitting we could also make some mandares. My Bombay brother just loves them - he's arriving tomorrow, y'know." Miguelin merely listens but her hands are busy. Mama Palmira suddenly remembers, "Baigo Miguelin, you'll collect the leitao from João's place on 24th morning, won't you? And along with the leitao, just bring the two bottles of toddy he promised me. It won't be Christmas without sannas - goes well with xacuti, huh. Stay for the festa jevon, okay? Bring little Bosteão, borem?" Miguelin replies with a smile, "Borem bai," as she strains four golden brown neureos from the frying pan.
In the hall, where the crib is being readied, daughter Amelia, 15, says: "Babush, pass the statues one by one. See that you don't drop them!" Babush, 13, has just broken a red bulb and is off colour and as he reaches for the Three Kings Amelia hollers, "Dummy, first give me the angels, then the shepherds, then the cows, sheep, etc. And don't drop them. They are made of clay not iron!" But, Nanush, 10, leans over and hands over the angels though he, the last born, is in charge of the Bethlehem environment, like the blue sky, silver stars, tiny green hillocks, which was the result of planting nachne grains a week ago. Being the oldest and responsible, Amelia looks anxiously at the wall. "The buntings are still to be festooned," she worries. "The X'mas tree is still to be decorated. Clumsy Babush has already broken a red bulb," she fumes. Only when all the decorations are up, will Amelia be able to join the carol singers later at twilight! Busy young lady, this...
Outside the house, Papa Salvador still labours at the compound wall and instructs Johnny conversationally, "This afternoon, go into the bhat across the pond and chop four bamboos; we have to start on the star. Slit the bamboos evenly and chop them into equal parts...Don't mess up with the sizes, have you heard!" Johnny certainly heard and grinned sheepishly remembering last year's mess-up. As Papa Salvador descends from the ladder his paintbrush drops on to the mud below and he shouts out, "Hell!" Mama Miguelin hears the swear word and mildly admonishes, over the aroma of the frying neureos, "It's Christmas time dear, hold your temper and your paint brush firmly!"
And so the preparations will go on until the clock strikes 11.00 pm on December 24th and the entire Alvares family will scurry along the dark village roads toward the beautifully light church to attend the mid-night mass dressed in their Christmas best, together with the entire village community while surreptitiously comparing new clothes, shoes, shawls, jewellery, and what not. And bringing up the rear, Miguelin will be adjusting bob pins to her unruly hair as she breathlessly crosses on to the church road as the first bell rings joyously, "My kusvad work never ends and it's the same every year! Jesus menino, I promise not to be late next year." she vows knowing full well she makes this promise every year on the same tar road.
This is Goan ethos and identity at Christmas time over the centuries. Will it survive down the centuries too? Or will we allow warped sinister plans, in the name of development, germinating in dark corners of our land, to destroy our goankarponn forever? (ENDS)
