Kevin Saldanha just informed me that Roland Francis was the author of this article.
Well done Roland! http://www.targetgoa.com/ROLAND-FRANCIS/The-charms-of-Goan-Dhobitalao/170 Tim de Mello ---------------------------------------- > From: [email protected] > To: [email protected]; [email protected] > Subject: RE: [Goanet] Dhobitalao - Bombay India > Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 15:08:03 -0400 > > Dear Ana: > > I found this an excellent piece of writing. > Congratulations to the author. > > I do not know Dhobitalao though it may have been pointed out to me during one > of my trips to Mumbai. > > The term "aunty" was only recently defined to me. Women who brewed "hooch". > > The writing drew beautiful pictures in my mind of what life was like in > Dhobitalao and I can only imagine how comforting it must have been for the > Goans living in that area at that time. > > "Khomeini must have learnt his state-craft from the Sonapur priests." :-) > > Thanks for sharing. > > Tim de Mello > > ---------------------------------------- >> From: [email protected] >> To: [email protected] >> Date: Mon, 23 Sep 2013 07:46:20 +0530 >> Subject: [Goanet] Dhobitalao - Bombay India >> >> In a certain generation not too long ago, if you said Dhobitalao, you meant >> Little Goa. >> >> In Toronto, Canada where I live, there is little Italy, little Greece, >> little Portugal, little India and even, just outside of Toronto, an entire >> suburb (officially called Brampton) known as Khalistan, where all the >> Sardars live. >> >> Brampton used to be a farming area populated by whites, until the Sardars >> moved in. Now it is a place which abounds in Punjabi samosas, sarson-ka-saag >> and 'lawyers' who 'help' you with settling personal injury car accident >> claims. But you will not find any little Goa. >> >> Now, to get back to Dhobitalao. >> >> That area of Bombay was home to a large dhobi migrant community from UP that >> worked from a pond that was originally built by the Parsis to supply their >> Agiaries. Over time, as the water got stagnated, they turned it over to the >> dhobis who needed exactly such a spot to base their trade in the city. >> Eventually, the pond was cemented over and the Parsis built residential >> buildings which they gave over as rentals to newcomers in Bombay. >> >> It was exactly in such a condition that the first Goans started moving in. >> Soon the area was overflowing with Goan migrants who chose to live together, >> God knows why, given the crab mentality for which the community is famed. >> Not only did they live in harmony, but also in relative peace, although a >> typical large family of seven or eight lived in one room no bigger than 300 >> to 500 sq feet. >> >> In that space they hatched, matched and were dispatched. >> >> Dhobitalao, as I knew it, was Goan enough to be known to the rest of Bombay >> and even outside and the Middle East, as the Goan hub outside Goa. Among >> well known features of the area were oasis of large rooms of about 1,500 sq >> feet or more in very old dilapidated buildings that became the homes of Goan >> Village Clubs about which much has been written. What I will add is, that >> the living conditions there were absolutely pathetic. But then, living in >> Portuguese Goa of the time was equally so, despite the large village spaces. >> >> If this description has put in your mind a decrepit neighborhood you would >> not be entirely wrong, but I have not yet made a reference to the vibrancy >> of the place. Dhobitalao was the Bronx of the 1930s. People hung out their >> washed clothing to dry and sat on their building terraces. The terraces were >> the community arenas where every social celebration took place. A birthday, >> a dance and even movie shows. Everyone was invited, both from the building >> and everywhere else. Prohibition was in force and Aunty's famous rotgut was >> served. >> >> On one occasion, while learning German from a Saligao resident of Indra >> Bhuvan , I was called to watch a movie on the terrace. The boys running the >> projector sat precariously with their equipment on a small patch on the >> roof, the white painted wall was the screen and the bar was lined along one >> side. >> >> There were all kinds of home cooked snacks on a table and everybody sat >> hunched on the floor in the dark of an 8 pm evening. I don't remember the >> name of the movie, but it was smuggled in by the Goan usher of the nearby >> Metro cinema. There >> was dancing after the movie but by then I had left as I had a long hike back >> home to Byculla. >> >> Dhobitalao's Main Street extended from the Sonapur Church (Dolours) to >> Crawford market, a distance of about 1 km. Along the way were butcher shops >> selling fresh pork, and the famous C D'Souza's and Vienna restaurants which >> were frequented by lonely sailors between trips. >> >> They served excellent Goan-Bombay fusion food at ridiculously low prices. In >> 1965, you could get a plate of sorpotel, a loaf of bread and Crumb Chops >> (pork chops fried with batter and bread crumbs) followed by a plate of rice >> with fish curry and a fried mackerel on the side. It was excellent value. >> >> On Dhobitalao streets, other restaurants abounded. Along Main Street were >> also a couple of wax candle shops. Thinking about it now, I >> wonder what kept them in business. Perhaps it was the yearly fairs at which >> body parts made of wax were sold. Main Street was the show-piece of >> Dhobitalao. Other side streets were not so clean nor as spacious. >> >> There were the Wellington Terraces, a group of four buildings within a rough >> stony compound that was a village all by itself. Everybody in Dhobitalao had >> a relative or villager in Wellington. Outside Wellington were all sorts of >> trades-people - tailors, darners, cobblers and others. All were excellent >> craftsmen and I remember my dad taking me to a >> cobbler there to custom make my leather shoes even though we lived in >> Byculla. Perhaps part of the reason might have been the opportunity to visit >> one of his friends where a glass of hooch was assured. >> >> Within Dhobitalao on the southern and eastern ends, were the Irani >> restaurants about which the Canadian-Goan writer Marcos Catao has recently >> written. Two of them were Sassanian and Bastani. They made the best bread >> puddings and the most flaky and light meat patties that melted on your >> tongue. The pani-kum chai was a great chaser to these snacks. >> >> A little beyond Bastanis was the standing place of the 'Dhobitalao >> Bandsters'. These were not band members but individual musicians who waited >> to be hired for any wedding or other occasion. They were not a cohesive unit >> and may never have played with the others, but once they were selected, >> without practice, they performed as if they were an accomplished orchestra. >> >> That is a great thing about Goans. They make awesome musicians. Partly in >> the genes and partly due to their village choir-master training, playing is >> across the spectrum. In all the great Bombay swing bands of the sixties and >> seventies, like Micky Correia, Johnny Baptist, Maurice Concessio, Goody >> Seervai, Nelly, Ken Mac and Hal Green, the majority of the musicians were >> Goans. Nowhere could this be seen better than in Dhobitalao. >> >> A walk down the street of any neighborhood, especially after sunset, would >> produce harmonious wafting sounds of lilting Portuguese marches and sambas, >> tangos, classical mandos, and even Louisana blues and Hollywood music >> scores. It was truly a music fest per gratis. >> >> At the heart of Dhobitalao was the Sonapur (or officially, Dolours) Church. >> Women with sleeveless dresses were sent away from the Communion railing >> without the host and the ones without veils or scarves on their heads were >> publicly berated. Khomeini must have learnt his state-craft from the Sonapur >> priests. >> >> But these same priests did not bother the men folk. These they considered >> to be without redemption. As soon as the priest stepped to the pulpit to >> start the preaching, the men made off to C. D'Souza's next door for coffee >> and cigarettes. What they didn't hear, they didn't care about. >> >> The vicar even attempted to put a loudspeaker inside C D'Souza's so as to >> disturb all conversation there during sermon time, but that only resulted in >> coffee-talk rising many decibels higher. Eventually their volumes outdid the >> loudspeaker, permeated the church and disturbed the semonizing priest >> himself. The vicar conceded defeat and removed the loudspeaker. >> >> Religious feast processions winding through the streets of Dhobitalao were >> very unruly. There would be a massive crowd of people setting out from the >> church but as each Aunty's speakeasy was passed along the way, the numbers >> of men would get less and less until at the door of the church on returning, >> the only males in the procession were either below fifteen or those banned >> from their favorite Aunty's bars due to non-payment or the very frail who >> wanted nothing but peace with their God whom they were due to meet soon. >> >> The boys and girls of Dhobitalao were indoctrinated in the value of >> education by their parents, whether they went to the nearby Jesuit school of >> St Xavier's or to Little Flower, St Sebastian, St Thresa's or Dolours. They >> might have had no place to study except under the dim lights of the >> passageways or during late nights with their parents' snores for company, >> but they learned their lessons well. Here in Toronto, there are many of >> those once-Dhobitalao-youngsters. They are 'solid buggers' now and their >> children go for the best higher education there is in Canada. >> >> When my children were young kids growing up in Canada, we told them to eat >> their vegetables and not leave them. My wife used to tell them, "Think of >> the starving children in India and finish the dinner." And now they tell >> their children, "Finish your homework. Think of the children in India who >> would make you starve if you don't!" >> Author unknown >> >> >> Ana Maria de Souza-Goswami >> >> >> >> >> >>
