by Electra M. Karandikar
lectra43@yahoo.com
Youth is a period when the sun seems to shine on every action and activity that
one undertakes. The glow never fades. I remember Goa as a place where one could
live with open doors and no grills and where there were helpful people, who
had no barriers or mental blocks. People lived with one common bond and that
was “I am a Goan.” This was the scenario during my upbringing in
the town of Vasco-da-Gama during the Portuguese Colonial rule. Goa then moved
at a very slow pace. The population was less, people had time for each other,
the demands were less and although people were ambitious, their ambitions were
restricted. And for the young, this was certainly Paradise.
The day started with the sound of the baker’s horn - he was the first person who greeted us with a “Dev boro dis dium” (May God give you a good day). Memories of the Portuguese primary school will always linger, as our teachers were adorable. School was a ‘full-filling’ attraction as on every Wednesday and Saturday, ‘sopa grossa‘ (a thick soup that contained vegetables, rice, macaroni, etc) was doled out to us, the taste of which still lingers in my mouth. Saturday was the day for jam, bread and a huge banana. There was no need to coax us to learn! I looked forward to holidays as a special period, since I spent most of the time with my regal maternal grandmother, an epitome of grace and wisdom. She lived in the capital, and the journey by the ‘Brass bus’ was exciting, with its wooden seats and shining exterior. Granny was in her eighties, yet she made ‘mutlim’ a Goan sweet for me, a rarity nowadays.
Festivals, marriages and other occasions were much looked forward
to. A Catholic wedding was an elaborate affair lasting more than one week. At
an Aunt’s wedding there was ‘bikareanchem jevonn’
for the beggars of the village and the ‘zantteanchem jevonn’
for the elders of the village who would not be able to attend the wedding. The
previous day was ‘ros’ (an application of coconut milk
and turmeric paste, substituting for the beauty parlours of today) which was
applied in rotation by the elders to the bride, accompanied by special songs
called ‘zoti’ wishing the bride good luck for the future.
Then came the actual wedding day. After the Church ceremony was the reception,
and the band ‘Johnson and his Jolly Boys’ entertained everyone with
a range of melodies to suit the crowd. I remember in particular the only toastmaster
in town for almost all the Catholic weddings, Dr. Mukunda Camotim, who was completely
western in his attitude, dress and speech. Almost all the wedding toasts raised
by him were alike, except for a change in names. He extolled the virtues of
the groom, bride and their families with such bravado, that one failed to realize
the version was the same!
Funerals, on the other hand, depended on one’s place in the social ladder.
I remember poorer people were hired to cry at an Uncle’s funeral and the
procession was led by a brass band. The meal on that day was just as exotic
as at a wedding and one could drown one’s sorrow with the liquor available.
At the end of it all, a ‘garrafão’ of local brewed
liquor was served outside the cemetery to the gravedigger and his assistants.
Higher education in English meant travelling across the border with a Portuguese
passport. The journey comprised myriad events, with most of the Goan students
travelling together by bus. The Portuguese outpost on the Goa side was a pleasant
experience. The customs officials were really nice and kind to us teenagers,
after which came the long & tiring walk across ‘No Man’s Land’
till we reached the Indian outpost at Majali. There we faced long queues, unending
questions and searches. Crossing over to Karwar was first by bus, then by ferry
and then again by bus to Hubli. From the Hubli bus stand it was a bullock cart
ride to the railway station with our bags and baggage, either to Pune or Bombay.
College days flew by and I remember two exhilarating moments
for me during those days. One was when I represented my college for table tennis
and the other was when, although the youngest, I was nominated as Deputy Warden
of the Ladies Hostel. It was not an easy task to supervise 65 girls, but I took
up the challenge. Overall, my college days are etched with nostalgia as I recall
the innocent fun we all had at someone else’s cost.
After college, I returned to a changing Goa and met the love of my life, my
husband Gopal, who is an engineer and who has been an important part of my life
for the last 42 years. Like us, Goa is growing old, but is still full of hope
and young at heart.Viva Goa! My beautiful land!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Born in Goa, Electra Maria Karandikar studied Portuguese and did her B.A. (Hons) in Pune and her B.Ed & M.Ed from Bombay University. A teacher from 1964, she has presented educational papers at various conferences and continues with educational activities till date. She is currently writing a reference book in geography for teachers. Married to engineer Gopal Rao Karandikar, she has a daughter and son, both computer engineers, working in Australia and USA respectively.