Mr. Edgar Silveira, Your description makes for a pretty mental picture! I would love to know some of the Goan folk stories- even scary ghost stories..... as it would be interesting to continue the tradition u mentioned with the present and future generation. I for one, would love to start it..... now all i need are some stories :) Cmon goanetters, bring it on!
Best Regards, Mish ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks Mish and apparently, there exists a book on Goan fairy tales....I was hoping to collect and illustrate tales (for starters, like a personal project) but my current style of drawing did not compliment; ideally, Ralph Steadman'ish stile would suit (http://www.ralphsteadman.com)....I think Steadman's style would do justice to Goan life....fun, gay (as in happy) and prone to an occasional blitz of drunken violence and bloodshed and thoughtless greed! <---nonono, I did not say that? Some of my stuff is here but have removed all my illustrations. http://flickr.com/photos/montrealartist However, since I have had a couple of responses about dusk time stories, here is a minor real one and to me as a young sheltered person, not familiar with the ways of the bad world, was fascinating...and I will relate it as best I can (my talent is goal-keeping: I am a current goalkeeper-hopeful for Chelsea FC but my thick eye glasses and a rounded beer belly are holding them back from slipping me a contract)! So in this village in Salcette, dusk usually arrived in lazily....kids winding up a game of football, the older lot inched towards the tavern and the crows quietly headed to their nests, someone returning from working their fields and the toddy tapper Francis made his rounds. And a few passers by would drop my in my grandmothers balcon for a chat. On those rare occasion, Shankar, a tenant on one of her properties. Shankar was a maar, waver of baskets etc and a very skillful one. He was dark, tall and aging. He always spoke sweetly to me and asked me about my future...will I be a doctor, an engineer. i was dying to tell him I wanted to be a goalkeeper, a football goalkeeper. According to grandmother, Shankar was devious. He only came when he wanted extra land or wanted to cut coconut palms for his basket-making. The arrival of Shankar was an occasion...he would quietly come and sit on the outermost bench...silently surveying rest of the gathering with his bright eyes that contrasted with his dark skin. And he would finally get talking after grandmother would ask after Shankar. "Aw, baatkanni...", and he would complain about the lack of business and the weather. Then out of the blue, he related of what he was a few nights ago...he woke up to 'pass water' he said and saw the devil. Saw the devil? Yes baatkani., around four in the morning.....the devil had a fire-light in his hand 'chool' and was looking for something under the moosrat mango tree. He was going round and round under the mango tree....looked like he was looking for something. He even had a tail. You know this long, he measured with his hand. His fire-light was bright....it shone but I could not see the face clearly, Shankar said. My grandmother would hear none of that, being aware of Shankars ways. But I was interested and wanting to know what happened next. Where did the Devil come from? What was he looking for? To all of this, the basket-weaver would widen his eyes and say he was too scared, did his business and went back into his hut went the devil was behind the mango tree. I wanted to know more and grandmother would dismiss any inquiries, She said, the devil was Shankar looking for fallen mangoes with a chooli. I guess as Catholics, we did not believe in the devil. I wanted to know if the Devil had a family, where did he live. how big was his tail? What did they ear? To my disappointment, granny would bring this to a close with, "there are no devils"! And for all of my summer and winter holidays with grandmother, any occasion to visit her property with Shankar were excitement beyond a Vasco-Dempo-Souza football game. Ofcourse, Shankar was evasive; it did not serve his purpose to talk to me about devils. And till this day, one is not sure if the other mundkaan Rosa-Marie's son Cistodio was out under the Mango tree with a fire-light looking for fallen mangoes or was it Shankar looking to extend his hut. I was convinced the devil and the family lived on the edge of the field, next to the baand (the large field belonged to the church, *wink wink*), where the cacti grew large and wild, where there were a lot of thorns and no one went to that part, even if you paid them. I asked my village friend Praakash.....he said there were devils. There defiantly were devils. They usually roam at night and you don't 'play' with them; they are not nice. Don't know what happened to Shankar........his handsome dark face and the widening bright eyes bring terror in me...and the power of storytelling, of myth, of fantasy...and no one would be more convincing than the waver of stories, Shankar. The mangoes from the moosrat tree were large, the flesh reddish yellow and the sweetness, even the devil would remember!
