[Goanet-News] Sheela Jaywant: They've Come
"THEY'VE come, Aaji-Bai,” Alka-akka's yell welcomed us. We had reached our 'ancestral house' in our 'native place', Palolem, Canacona, mid-1960s. Aaji was my maternal grandmother. Bai was my grandfather's sister, married at the age of six, maybe, widowed soon after, and subsequently banished to her parental home; she had spent her life wearing the inauspicious scarlet kaapad, unadorned, devoted to slogging. They shared an identity: Aaji-Bai. They had grown together, shared joys, suffered grief, and were now bedridden together. Thin necks, drooping shoulders, hunched backs, hollow chests. Wrapped in nau-vari (nine-yard) saris, no blouse. The loose padar covered their bosoms and midriffs. If they itched, young Alka-akka scratched for them, guided by their instructions. She fed them pez-kodi (rice gruel and curry), bathed them. I don't remember any foul smells, which means Alka-akka looked after them well. Their sparse hair was tightly tied into little knots behind their heads. We cousins did the customary feet-touching namaskar to Aaji-Bai. No hugging or kissing. Bai lay in a corner, upon neatly folded layers of clean sheets, her frail frame, possibly arthritic, curled up like a shrivelled, shelled prawn. Aaji sat upon a bed, legs dangling lifelessly post-stroke, resting against a thin pillow propped against the wall behind her. Bald gums. Incessantly moving chins. Drooling. Incomprehensibly lisping. "Ayka, aaa the children afyaid? We yook ugly, yike wisches." "Afraid nothing. They are your grandchildren; see you every year." Bai: "My eyes aaa yed and hoyyible." Aaji: "Oyd peop'ye look sca'y." "I shouldn't have held the mirror for you," Alka-akka sounded exasperated as she scurried to help with our luggage, wiping her hands on the back of her frayed, once-colourful parkar. My maternal uncle, Sudan-mama, the only offspring who did not 'settle' outside Goa, lived in Vasco and monitored their care. He had fetched us from the harbour at Panaji five hours away by bus-ferry-taxi. We'd had a long journey. My parents had shifted to Bombay in the 'fifties, for education or earning a living. The longing to keep 'in touch with one's roots' was strong. My summer or Christmas vacations began and ended on a Chowgule steamship. We took a best-bus from Shivaji Park to the docks at dawn, with our 'hold-alls' and packed 'chapati-bhaji'. Glass bottles covered with damp cloths kept the drinking-water cool. Luggage included Bata shoes, Champion oats, Brown and Polson's custard powder, Horlicks, even peas, carrots and apples and for the travel-sickness prone, an empty tin of Dalda... just in case. On board, we spotted faces from the previous year who, like us, were doing a temporary migration, flats locked, school-books in tow, to villages along the Konkan coast. On the return, we carried dried fish, jackfruits, clusters of coconuts, sacks of rice, dabbas of homemade laddoos and chivdas, sun-dried saaths and saanndges. No wine. We middle-decker children ran up and down the steps from the swank, uninteresting cabin-area to the crowded, exciting lower-deck which had fowl, pressure-cookers, furniture, cages, plastic buckets, etc. By day, mats and sheets were moved on the deck, to keep in the shade. At night, off Ratnagiri, a dangerously swaying rope ladder was lowered to a bobbing row-boat. Children went first, then the baggage, then adults, by the light of a lantern; efficiently, but with much yelling. Strong hands and a sense of balance were the safety measures. And an old truck tyre. None feared accidents. No lights twinkled on-shore. Undiluted darkness, salty smells, strong breezes. Everybody spoke in Konkani. Even the Catholics who normally spoke English and the Hindus who preferred Marathi at home. There were unexpected treats, like the passing by of a huge naval ship or the lunar eclipse we saw once. Ferry rides across the Mandovi and the Zuari were hot and sweaty. By the time we reached Chaudi, by a carreira (old-style bus) from the jetty, and then home in a taxi, we de-urbanised. The bulb-less rooms, the giant sentinel banyan in the aangan (courtyard), the high tiled roof and Aaji-Bai did the trick. On the beach, there were times when ours were the only footprints on the sand. A million-shell carpet-on-sand, the rapponn to choose the next meal from, the coir smouldering 'neath our bathwater and the buffaloes in the yard. Forays to the toilet were with escort, lest a snorting pig chomp off a slice of our bums. The slide upon which excreta fell still exists. The tin-shed that stood above it has collapsed into ruin. The pigs are gone, gone. As taught, we kept the tulshi-vrindavan to our right and our vaans (footwear) outside when we entered or exited the aangann. We learnt from the servants how to weave, with our fingers, toes,
[Goanet] Sheela Jaywant: They've Come
"THEY'VE come, Aaji-Bai,” Alka-akka's yell welcomed us. We had reached our 'ancestral house' in our 'native place', Palolem, Canacona, mid-1960s. Aaji was my maternal grandmother. Bai was my grandfather's sister, married at the age of six, maybe, widowed soon after, and subsequently banished to her parental home; she had spent her life wearing the inauspicious scarlet kaapad, unadorned, devoted to slogging. They shared an identity: Aaji-Bai. They had grown together, shared joys, suffered grief, and were now bedridden together. Thin necks, drooping shoulders, hunched backs, hollow chests. Wrapped in nau-vari (nine-yard) saris, no blouse. The loose padar covered their bosoms and midriffs. If they itched, young Alka-akka scratched for them, guided by their instructions. She fed them pez-kodi (rice gruel and curry), bathed them. I don't remember any foul smells, which means Alka-akka looked after them well. Their sparse hair was tightly tied into little knots behind their heads. We cousins did the customary feet-touching namaskar to Aaji-Bai. No hugging or kissing. Bai lay in a corner, upon neatly folded layers of clean sheets, her frail frame, possibly arthritic, curled up like a shrivelled, shelled prawn. Aaji sat upon a bed, legs dangling lifelessly post-stroke, resting against a thin pillow propped against the wall behind her. Bald gums. Incessantly moving chins. Drooling. Incomprehensibly lisping. "Ayka, aaa the children afyaid? We yook ugly, yike wisches." "Afraid nothing. They are your grandchildren; see you every year." Bai: "My eyes aaa yed and hoyyible." Aaji: "Oyd peop'ye look sca'y." "I shouldn't have held the mirror for you," Alka-akka sounded exasperated as she scurried to help with our luggage, wiping her hands on the back of her frayed, once-colourful parkar. My maternal uncle, Sudan-mama, the only offspring who did not 'settle' outside Goa, lived in Vasco and monitored their care. He had fetched us from the harbour at Panaji five hours away by bus-ferry-taxi. We'd had a long journey. My parents had shifted to Bombay in the 'fifties, for education or earning a living. The longing to keep 'in touch with one's roots' was strong. My summer or Christmas vacations began and ended on a Chowgule steamship. We took a best-bus from Shivaji Park to the docks at dawn, with our 'hold-alls' and packed 'chapati-bhaji'. Glass bottles covered with damp cloths kept the drinking-water cool. Luggage included Bata shoes, Champion oats, Brown and Polson's custard powder, Horlicks, even peas, carrots and apples and for the travel-sickness prone, an empty tin of Dalda... just in case. On board, we spotted faces from the previous year who, like us, were doing a temporary migration, flats locked, school-books in tow, to villages along the Konkan coast. On the return, we carried dried fish, jackfruits, clusters of coconuts, sacks of rice, dabbas of homemade laddoos and chivdas, sun-dried saaths and saanndges. No wine. We middle-decker children ran up and down the steps from the swank, uninteresting cabin-area to the crowded, exciting lower-deck which had fowl, pressure-cookers, furniture, cages, plastic buckets, etc. By day, mats and sheets were moved on the deck, to keep in the shade. At night, off Ratnagiri, a dangerously swaying rope ladder was lowered to a bobbing row-boat. Children went first, then the baggage, then adults, by the light of a lantern; efficiently, but with much yelling. Strong hands and a sense of balance were the safety measures. And an old truck tyre. None feared accidents. No lights twinkled on-shore. Undiluted darkness, salty smells, strong breezes. Everybody spoke in Konkani. Even the Catholics who normally spoke English and the Hindus who preferred Marathi at home. There were unexpected treats, like the passing by of a huge naval ship or the lunar eclipse we saw once. Ferry rides across the Mandovi and the Zuari were hot and sweaty. By the time we reached Chaudi, by a carreira (old-style bus) from the jetty, and then home in a taxi, we de-urbanised. The bulb-less rooms, the giant sentinel banyan in the aangan (courtyard), the high tiled roof and Aaji-Bai did the trick. On the beach, there were times when ours were the only footprints on the sand. A million-shell carpet-on-sand, the rapponn to choose the next meal from, the coir smouldering 'neath our bathwater and the buffaloes in the yard. Forays to the toilet were with escort, lest a snorting pig chomp off a slice of our bums. The slide upon which excreta fell still exists. The tin-shed that stood above it has collapsed into ruin. The pigs are gone, gone. As taught, we kept the tulshi-vrindavan to our right and our vaans (footwear) outside when we entered or exited the aangann. We learnt from the servants how to weave, with our fingers, toes,
[Goanet] Team India all set to shine at WPC in Dellas Texas.
Team India all set to shine at the World Photographic Cup 2024 Awards Presentation in Dallas, Texas.The World Photographic Cup (WPC) 2024 Awards Presentation is set to captivate Dallas, Texas, USA, from the 27th to the 29th of April 2024. This prestigious event not only celebrates individual medallists, finalists, and Best of Nation winners but also crowns the winning national team with the coveted World Photographic Cup.At the helm of Team India is the dedicated Mr. Rohan Austin Goes, serving as the captain and organizer for the talented local photographers constituting this formidable team. The diverse and skilled lineup includes Christopher Fernandes, Royce Fernandes, Sara Joshica Cardozo, Manuel Clement, Flitto Oliveira, Austrio Rahul Vaz, Ashton Medeira, Synthia Pereira, Amit Naik, Brito Fernandes, Semy Fernandes, Angelina Fernandes, Milton Esteve Fernandes, Aaron Desmond Domingos, Mackniven Eudes Pereira, Blancy Severina Fernandes, Amanda Kemmy Mendes, Jesly Vaz, and Ambika Agrawal she’s based in America.The World Photographic Cup stands as the sole Olympic-style photographic competition, where teams proudly represent their respective countries. This global event, held in different parts of the world each year, aims to showcase winning images, promote excellence in photography, and encourage artists to push the boundaries of their craft.More than a mere competition, the WPC serves as a platform for photographers to exhibit their work, gain international recognition, and forge connections with fellow artists and industry professionals. As Team India prepares to shine on this esteemed stage, the World Photographic Cup continues to be a beacon for the global photography community, fostering creativity and excellence in every frame.About Team India CaptainWPC TEAM INDIA is headed by Rohan Goes, Goa India, and Administrated by Milroy Goes, USA. Rohan Goes, Getty Images® Photographer, a Goan origin Author from Goa, India, is famously known as Travel Photographer. He is the Founder of Record Label "Buenos Muzik ® " and founder of the Cafe Brand "Café Bom Gosto". He has been to 58 Nations and 6 Continents, along his journey he has captured stunning photographs. He speaks German, English, Konkani, little Portuguese & Spanish.He strongly believes that travelling is the best education one can get. He learned the German language while traveling and he is a great influencer for solo travellers - Instagram as @GoesAroundMyWorld.Website: https://worldphotographiccup.org/teams/Team India: http://wpcteamindia.com/Team Admin: Milroy Goes Milroy GoesFilmmaker | Publicist +17479660583
[Goanet] Schedule for Friday 19th January 2024
CCR TV GOA Channel of God's love You can also watch CCR TV live on your smartphone via the CCR TV App Available on Google PlayStore for Android Platform. Click the link below. https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=ccr.tv4 Email ID: ccrgoame...@gmail.com Schedule for Friday 19th January 2024 12:00 AM Rosary - Sorrowful Mysteries 12:27 AM Hymn - Jezu Jezu - Stanley Severes 12:31 AM Marriage and Family - Fr Diogo Fernandes msfs 1:00 AM Mass in Konkani 1:45 AM Daily Fash/ Jivitacho Prokas 1:48 AM Mandos - Orlando D'Souza and troupe - 3rd Annniv 2:02 AM Saibinnichi Ruzai - Dukhiche Mister 2:28 AM Law and Order - Community Policing 2:56 AM My Music Videos - Martyrinchi Rani - Ivor Dcunha 3:04 AM Ximpientlim Motiam - Bhag 308 Veglli Nodor - Fr Pratap Naik sj 3:12 AM Literally Goa - Michelle Mendonca Bambawala interviewed by Frederick Noronha 3:43 AM Kolakarachi bhett - Jerson Fernandes interviewed by Meena Goes 4:07 AM Skit by YU4C 4:32 AM Catholic Church Understanding of Suicide - a talk by Fr Melito D Costa 4:39 AM Reaching out to the Sick - Talk by Fr Denis D'Souza 4:58 AM Bhagiancher Niyall VII - Br Malvino Alfonso ocd 5:09 AM Golden Brigade - Peter and Alcina D'Cunha 5:42 AM Bhurgeanchem magnnem aplea avoi-bapaik 5:44 AM Agree or Disagree - Enemy Property hosted by Ashley do Rosario 6:33 AM Devachem Utor Samballunk Vavurtolim Subhagi - Fr Edson Fernandes 6:49 AM Nimano Axirvad 7:00 AM Praise and Worship - Glenn Nunes 7:31 AM Music - Stuthi 2 followed by Povitr Atmeak Dispottem Magnnem 8:01 AM Devachem Utor -Izaias Avesor 12 -Vachpi Orlando D'Souza 8:05 AM Angelus - English 8:07 AM Compassion - A talk by Fr Norbert D'Silva SJVRC 8:50 AM Bhurgeanlem Angonn - Bhag 16 8:53 AM Santam-Bhoktanchim Ladainh 9:04 AM Khursachi Vatt - Br Malvino 9:37 AM Ankvar Mariecho Nixkollonk Gorbh Sombhov mhonnlear kitem? - Rev. Clive Deniz 9:42 AM Patkache Kumsar - Talk by Victor Mascarenhas 10:10 AM Wisdom Reflections -13 - Rachol Professors 10:33 AM Song - He stood in the way - Song by Alfwold Silveira 10:39 AM Bhagevont Zuze Vazacho Ters 11:03 AM Vocation - Society of Pilar - Fr. Diogo 11:11 AM Ximpientlim Motiam - Bhag 308 Veglli Nodor - Fr Pratap Naik sj 11:20 AM Can Catholics Practice Yoga? - a talk by Fr Melito D Costa 11.30 AM Mass in English 12:15 PM Daily Fash/ Jivitacho Prokas 12:18 PM What's Cooking - Episode 12 12:47 PM Kuznantlim Zogddim Eps 9 -Xit - Meena Goes and Julius Mesquita 12:59 PM Talk - How to deal with Persecution - Fr Aaron 1:44 PM Hymn - St Therese's H.S. Vasco 1:50 PM Ximpientlim Motiam - Bhag 49 - Chepekar - Fr Pratap Naik sj 1:59 PM Wisdom Reflections -14 - Rachol Professors 2:24 PM Special Prayer over the Sick - Joseph Vaz 2:26 PM Kumsar zaunk lozonakai ani vaumtem udok addaunk thokos gheinakaim - Orlando D'Souza 3:00 PM Divine Mercy Chaplet - English 3:09 PM Devacho Mog Ani Kaklut - Lindinha Albuquerque 3:30 PM Prayer to the Holy Trinity - Prof. Nicholas D'Souza 3:32 PM Abundant Life -Sin is worth leaving - Prof Nicholas D'Souza 3:54 PM Hymn - Magnnem - Denzil Rodrigues 4:00 PM Rosary - Sorrowful Mysteries 4:27 PM Psalms 23 - Read by Alfwold Silveira 4:30 PM Senior Citizens Exercises - 9 4:58 PM Pope's Intercessions 5:03 PM Tell me a story - Moses 5:18 PM Prayer for Healing from Cancer 5:23 PM Meaning of Suffering - Dr Brenda Nazareth Menezes 6:00 PM Mass in Konkani 6:45 PM Saint Claire of Assisi - Quote 6:46 PM Our Father - Oraon 6:50 PM Concert - Vem Cantar 8 to 11 yrs 7:26 PM Mando on Aldona - Nelson and Daneca Da Cruz 7:30 PM Saibinnichi Ruzai - Dukhiche Mister 7:56 PM Aimorechen Magnnem 8:00 PM Mental health- Dr. Ajoy Estibeiro interviewed by Jovito Lopes 8:45 PM Faith Magic of Heart - Talk by Sr Shilpa 8:57 PM Psalm 146 9:00 PM Adoration - Padre Pio Friary 9:38 PM Ratchem Magnem 9:53 PM Devachem Utor -Izaias Avesor 13 -Vachpi Orlando D'Souza 10:02 PM A Dialogoe of Differences - Radharao Gracias and Subhash Velingkar 11:12 PM Song - With Jesus I rock - Avalon Lobo 11:17 PM Bhagiancher Niyall VIII - Br Malvino Alfonso ocd 11:33 PM Literally Goa - Interview of Shivangi Reja by Alfie Donations may be made to: Beneficiary name : CCR GOA MEDIA. Name of Bank : ICICI Bank Branch Name: Panaji Branch RTGS/NEFT Code : ICIC015 Savings Bank Account No : 262401000183
[Goanet] Make Vivek Great Again (Mint, 18/1/2024)
https://www.livemint.com/opinion/online-views/vivek-ramaswamy-s-best-shot-at-power-is-as-trump-s-campaign-partner-11705508835333.html An absurdist scenario has played out for months in the bizarrely binary racial politics of the US, with one Indian-American identifying as “Black” in the vice-president’s office (Kamala Harris generally downplays her mother’s Tamil heritage) and another passing for “White” (Nikki Haley’s parents are Punjabi Sikhs) in her quest for the Republican party’s presidential nomination amidst a tight field of candidates that included Vivek Ramaswamy, the only undisguised Indian-American among the three, till he withdrew from the race this week. This mercurial 38-year-old entrepreneur splashed out $17 million of his own money to garner only about 8,000 votes in Monday’s Iowa caucuses, a moment of truth that led him to drop out in support of Donald Trump, with the controversial ex-president hinting of an extended relationship: “It’s an honour to have his endorsement. He’s gonna be working with us... for a long time.” Ramaswamy rocketed to attention with an unconventional internet-first strategy, relentless hard work on the campaign trail and an eagerness to break with Republican orthodoxy. In the first televised debate last September, he channelled former president Barack Obama—who remains anathema to Republicans—by introducing himself as another “skinny guy with a funny last name” and quickly pivoted to slam his fellow candidates: “I’m the only person on this stage who isn’t bought and paid for.” Two months later, he complained, “We’ve become a party of losers. It’s a cancer in the Republican establishment,” then called for the party chairperson to resign on live television, and attacked Haley as “Dick Cheney in high heels” (referring to George Bush’s vice-president from 2000 to 2009). Such outlandish tactics would have been unacceptable in any previous era of American politics, but Trump upturned all prevailing norms in the course of his own wrecking-ball campaign of 2016. The first former president in US history to be criminally indicted—he is currently charged with 91 criminal offences in 4 major cases—continues to rewrite the rules of politics by ignoring debates, and dominates opinion polls despite barely ever getting off social media to tour the country. Yet, he is favoured to win against President Joe Biden if the two face each other again, which means that Haley, Florida governor Ron DeSantis and Ramaswamy are left jockeying for a chance to be his running mate. Will it happen for one of the Indian-Americans? At this point, it seems more likely for Haley, who stays away from overtly attacking Trump while keeping the Republican establishment in her corner, including mega-funders like the Koch brothers. The former South Carolina governor could help soften Trump’s image to win over women voters (on account of whom he had lost to Biden). She has also worked to project an indeterminate “White-adjacent” ethnicity, even listing her own race as “white” in voting records, and emphasizing her conversion to Methodist Christianity. As a newcomer, Ramaswamy has learned hard lessons in Iowa about these basic requirements to win national elections in the US. Earlier this week, one voter told his wife Apoorva there’s resistance “because of his dark skin, and they think he’s Muslim.” Is there a glass ceiling for Indian-Americans in politics, even for those who have played to the establishment as assiduously as Ramaswamy (a high-school valedictorian and Harvard graduate who attended Yale Law School)? I asked Vikram Patel, the Paul Farmer professor and chair of the department of global health and social medicine at Harvard, who told me: “I haven’t heard much talk about his Indian heritage being an asset, but it is notable that two of the four Republican candidates going into Iowa were full-blooded desis. This is, of course, at odds with the political leanings of Indian-Americans at large, who are heavily Democratic in orientation.” He thinks Ramaswamy’s run ended “because he is so far off the spectrum of acceptability even in a party which heavily supports Trump,” adding, “I don’t think we have seen the end of the race for Indian- Americans. Let’s not forget that the US has had two Indian governors in recent years, both Republican. If anything, I think the star of Indian-Americans in politics is on the rise precisely because they are seen as a model minority who embrace the core US value of hard work as a route to the American dream.” That perception—and varying degrees of willingness to act out ‘the good immigrant’—is the crux of what Ramaswamy and Haley must navigate in a country that computes race in unhelpful binaries of black and white. The system demands a kind of perverse minstrelsy from them, because they have no political future running as themselves. In this context, it was especially off-putting to watch Ramaswamy bend over backwards to ingratiate himself with potential voters,
