A Goa we just don’t see
It’s about a state which lived in its villages, and is now giving way to
urbanisation, says FREDERICK NORONHA
The other day, I learnt that a neighbour had sold off all her buffaloes.
It was increasingly becoming difficult to graze the cattle, and
obviously economic pressures were there too. They just kept one back,
and her young daughter was quite upset by the loss of their domestic
animals.
For the newspaper reading classes, the challenges of maintaining your
buffaloes in today’s Goa is hardly an issue. But things are changing
fast, squeezing different people in differing ways here. The government
boasts that our State is fast urbanising. that the GDP is growing, and
that the economy is expanding at an unprecedented rate (never mind all
the biting inflation).
Many are getting new jobs. Our patterns of growth are even luring in
people from across State borders. But what about the traditional jobs
that are getting lost, in the meanwhile?
An elderly grand-aunt of mine lived an entire life in the Goa of the
late 20th century without ever holding on to a “job.” She did work
alright and lived off it. The village, in those times, was still
bountiful. Villagers planted paddy and coconut groves needed tending too.
Does anyone remember the pigs and chickens, that were part of the homes,
we grew up in? And for one day every week, a villager volunteered to
take the entire vaddo’s flock of goats to the village hill to graze.
(Thanks to the superior wisdom of one politician, part of that hill has
been turned into an industrial estate. The domestic animals no longer
make economic sense, having to compete with the faster returns that
other sectors promise.)
This is not to romanticise the frugal lifestyles of the past.
Romanticising poverty and scarcity is anyway, unfair. Most of us would
not like to go back to those times. Also, while we talk reams about it,
we would like our own children to access better life. And quite rightly so.
But, at the same time, what happens to the significant section in Goa
that is fast losing out their old livelihood, even while they are not
being fully equipped to cope with a transition, to better jobs and
opportunity?
When I walk down the village roads, at least some of those I encounter,
have lived in exactly the same situation that I knew them, three decades
ago. They haven’t benefitted from the statistics industry that Goa has
created so efficiently, in recent decades. Their unfulfilled hopes and
aspirations or dreams don’t show up in glossy brochures and
advertisements on Goa’s achievements, over the past five decades.
Even official statistics give a hint about how traditional occupations
have dwindled. Traditional fishermen once numbered in the tens of
thousands. Today you hardly see them on the shore. Rampons have vanished
for the most. Toddy-tapping was a thriving profession that employed so
many. Where have its workers gone?
Goa was once known for its salt sector, not just across India, but
overseas too. Our governments, regardless of label, have gone about
banning the use of “common” salt. At the same time, researchers like
Reyna Sequeira have attempted to study the current state of this
traditional sector in villages like Arpora, Batim and Agarvaddo. From
their work, it is clear that there are many pressures that have led the
axe to fall on traditional Goa.
Yes, everyone would like to move upwards in life. Our traditional
lifestyles have been caught in a mix of low returns and, what is worse,
low social status. Our caste-ridden society has long given the lowest
position to those, who have been doing the most backbreaking and crucial
work.
But simply destroying these sectors en mass doesn’t make any sense. With
a neglect of our rural areas, and jugglery in terms of definition, Goa
is today being listed as a State with the highest level of urbanisation
nationwide. Yet, to paraphrase Gandhi, Goa still lives in its villages.
In the jumble of such claims, the sustenance of many is simply being
snapped.
At times, when faced with a guilty conscience, the decision-makers and
intellectual leaders of Goa make it seem as if a little charity can
solve the problem. But in changing times, obviously much more is needed.
Goa lacks the mechanisms through which those based here or outside Goa,
could share their knowledge and skills with people whom it could
critically help. We lack the village institutions that could help our
society to self-teach itself the skills, to cope with the challenges of
tomorrow.
Yet, there is need to avoid being unduly pessimistic too. In my own
village, there are institutions from the past — village schools that
have done us proud, clubs built by expat villagers, the church and
temples, sports and youth clubs, and more.
One local school has recently built up a ‘Special Section’ for children
with learning disabilities. Local homes for the elderly have been there
for some time now, and a non-government initiative has also resulted in
part-time medical facilities in the village too — supported by some
non-residents. A children’s library, afternoon extra-classes for weaker
students, and a centre for poor children are among the other initiatives.
But all this still excludes many who are invisible in today’s Goa. A few
villages like Loutolim and Siolim have well-conceived centres for
technical education, especially for boys who might not fit into the
generic mainstream education. There is another such initiative at
Corlim. But even good institutions sometimes suffer from a lack of students.
Technical education cannot be left to government initiatives alone. A
recently-released Church directory shows how vast the social
infrastructure of this institution is. But how much of it gets utilised
to the optimum, and how much just fits into the narrow, if not
restrictive funding-driven schemes of the government? Why do schools,
with the entire physical infrastructure they have, need to be kept
closed for almost half a day? Just because the government pays teachers
grants only going by this formula?
Life-long learning, career guidance and counselling, playgrounds for
children and village libraries are something today’s Goa badly lacks. In
our anger to point to what is wrong with our State, we also fail to see
what is possible.
Where are our village-level appropriate technology centres? Where are
initiatives to make local agriculture more remunerative? We also fail to
see the mismatch between the lack of Goa’s ability to grow the food it
needs, and the inflationary pressures of having to buy vegetables from
neighbouring states. Likewise, isn’t it ironic to have so many
job-seekers unemployed at the same time as when we can’t find the right
people to fit a job?
Unless we get started somewhere, we will be only dreaming!
(ENDS)
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