Offtopic: Konkani translators...

[Frederick FN Noronha फ्रेड्रिक नोरोन्या *فريدريك نورونيا‎]

This might be of interest to some of you on the GBC, though the list is old... FN

FN +91-832-2409490 or +91-9822122436 f...@goa-india.org
Audio recordings (mostly from Goa): http://bit.ly/GoaRecordings

Goa,1556 http://www.scribd.com/doc/76671049/Goa1556-Catalogue-Books-from-Goa 

[Margaret Mascarenhas]

Thanks, Fred
Margaret

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.

[augusto pinto]

To be em-paneled on this list one must apply to the Govt. I recall
that recently there was an advertisement to this effect

I also recall that they invited Konkani to English translators. I
mention this because I notice that there are none in this list.

Augusto

--


Augusto Pinto
40, Novo Portugal
Moira, Bardez
Goa, India
E pint...@gmail.com
P 0832-2470336
M 9881126350

[augusto pinto]

Or is it presumed that English - Konkani translators are also
competent at Konkani into English translations?

IMNSHO this is not necessarily the case. Suresh Amonkar is superb
translating English (and indeed a host of other languages) into
Konkani.

I'm willing to bet that I could do a better job translating Konkani
into English than him. I know nobody will take up the offer for
obvious reasons. ;-)

Modestly yours,

Augusto

[Cecil Pinto]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Translation#Translators

Translators

A competent translator shows the following attributes:
- a very good knowledge of the language, written and spoken, from
which he is translating (the source language);
- an excellent command of the language into which he is translating
(the target language);
familiarity with the subject matter of the text being translated;
- a profound understanding of the etymological and idiomatic
correlates between the two languages; and
- a finely tuned sense of when to metaphrase ("translate literally")
and when to paraphrase, so as to assure true rather than spurious
equivalents between the source- and target-language texts.
- A competent translator is not only bilingual but bicultural. A
language is not merely a collection of words and of rules of grammar
and syntax for generating sentences, but also a vast interconnecting
system of connotations and cultural references whose mastery, writes
linguist Mario Pei, "comes close to being a lifetime job.

The complexity of the translator's task cannot be overstated; one
author suggests that becoming an accomplished translator — after
having already acquired a good basic knowledge of both languages and
cultures — may require a minimum of ten years' experience. Viewed in
this light, it is a serious misconception to assume that a person who
has fair fluency in two languages will, by virtue of that fact alone,
be consistently competent to translate between them.

The translator's role in relation to a text has been compared to that
of an artist, e.g., a musician or actor, who interprets a work of art.
Translation, like other arts, inescapably involves choice, and choice
implies interpretation. English-language novelist Joseph Conrad
advised his niece and Polish translator Aniela Zagórska:
[D]on't trouble to be too scrupulous... I may tell you (in French)
that in my opinion "il vaut mieux interpréter que traduire" ["it is
better to interpret than to translate"].... Il s'agit donc de trouver
les équivalents. Et là, ma chère, je vous prie laissez vous guider
plutôt par votre tempérament que par une conscience sévère.... [It is,
then, a question of finding the equivalent expressions. And there, my
dear, I beg you to let yourself be guided more by your temperament
than by a strict conscience....]

A translator may render only parts of the original text, provided he
indicates that this is what he is doing. But a translator should not
assume the role of censor and surreptitiously delete or bowdlerize
passages merely to please a political or moral interest.

Translation has served as a school of writing for many authors.
Translators, including monks who spread Buddhist texts in East Asia,
and the early modern European translators of the Bible, in the course
of their work have shaped the very languages into which they have
translated. They have acted as bridges for conveying knowledge between
cultures; and along with ideas, they have imported from the source
languages, into their own languages, loanwords and calques of
grammatical structures, idioms and vocabulary.

===========

[augusto pinto]

Dear Vidya Pai and Xavier Cota and Damodar Ghanekar and Vincy Quadros
and Ben Antao and other translators on this forum

Cecil's quotation from the wikipedia is quite interesting. What would
you say on this issue? For instance I know that Vidya lives in
Calcutta. Does absence from being in Goa act as a hindrance to you
Vidya?

And Xavier I'm sure that like me you would have certain expressions
and practices that happen only in Hindu households, which you found
difficult to translate. I recently posted a poem by Dr Tanaji
Halarnkar here called I am the flower of a Datura. There was a word
there 'Suhasheenee' English has no such word which has such a concept
embedded in it which refers to a married woman who is thought to be
auspicious as she has the ability to produce children ... hmm even to
explain the concept is difficult ...

Perhaps Dam-bab who probably has done more translations than anyone
else has some experience to share on this issue.

And Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of
your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence
structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit
alien.

The translators of the Konkani Bible (the highest circulated and read
Konkani book) and I think Vincy Quadros was on that panel, can also be
accused of creating a weird Sanskitized sort of Konkani which most
Catholics can barely follow at times. Jason Fernandes pointed this out
at a Seminar at Goa University recently.

Comments and reactions please

Augusto

[vidyapai .]

Augusto,
No one's going to argue about the need for all these attributes but do such bi-lingual, bi-cultural 'accomplished' creatures really exist? Most of us, 'translators' merely bumble along trying to carry something that we've really enjoyed in one language to a wider audience as honestly and competently as we can.
Cecil talks of the need for being 'very good' in the SL, and 'excellent' in the TL --- that I think is where the problem lies. Especially when it comes to translating Konkani creative writing into English. Everyone speaks English these days, but is that enough to produce a translation acceptable to an English readership?
Yes Augusto, I stay in Kolkata far away from any Konkani influence. I was absolutely ignorant when I stumbled into this field back in '93 through the Katha-British Council Translation Contest. The Ferry Crossing, Upheaval days were very, very tough. An urban Calcuttan who spoke a Mangalore/Kerala brand of Konkani,  trying to portray Goan rural traditions .... need I say more?
Today, it doesn't matter. I've lived and I've learnt.
Regards,
Vidya.

[Ben Antao]

 

Augusto: And Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of

your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence

structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit

alien.

 

   Of course, Augusto, my Konkani in Roman script would sound “alien” to you because

you’re used to the Konkani structure from the Devnagri script and its syntax.

 

     When I first sent a story (Xirap)  to Joel D’Souza of Assagao to copy edit it, he told me

over the phone that my Konkani is literary and no one in Goa writes Konkani my way. I was

pleased to hear that because through this project (rendering my English stories into Konknni)

I intended to introduce to Konkani readers another style, a literary style of writing fiction.

 

     I say this (literary style) because when I read a few of your English-translated stories from Konkani,

I found them lacking in sufficient literary depth in terms of characterisation. For example, the characters in the original

Konkani seemed to me were not developed internally in terms of giving them consciousness. By consciousness, I

mean using interior monologue and reflections that add style and character to the characters.

 

    I have read Damodar Mauzo’s stories translated into English by Xavier Cota, and Pundalik Naik’s Upheaval translated

by Vidya Pai. I have found them of human interest. They are good as far as they go. But if they were to use the fiction

techniques of internal monologue and third person reflections on their characters, the characters would come across as fully

bodied, vibrant, deeply emotional and intellectual.   

 

     So, Augusto, I suggest to you, take a paragraph from any of my English stories and translate it into Konkani as you know how.

Then let’s compare your translation with mine. Then I’ll show you what I mean by literary style and adding consciousness to character.

 

     Finally, like English, Konkani is a dynamic, growing and assimilative language. And we should enrich it with every literary device used

by the great writers in the Greek, Roman and the Western world.

 

     How would you like to render into Romi Konkani the famous last 35 pages of interior monologue by Molly Bloom, the stream of consciousness

narrative style introduced by James Joyce in Ulysses?     

 

     If you did it, it would sound “alien.” Anyway, try it. This is the kind of Konkani literature I wish to encourage and pursue myself.

 

Thanks, Augusto, for giving me this opportunity to sound off 

 

Mog asunv.

Ben

[Jose Colaco]

Augusto: Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit alien

 "Ben Antao" <ben....@rogers.com>: Of course, Augusto, my Konkani in Roman script would sound “alien” to you because you’re used to the Konkani structure from the Devnagri script and its syntax.

COMMENT: 

I submit that "we", may wish to look at the following points (in random order):

1: are the books being written solely for storage in libraries or for the general public to read?

2: on the topic of what is alien and what is not, how do we classify Tiatrs?

3: in the long term, how successful is anything that is imposed?

4: are "we" emulating Macauly's imposed Hindi or the imposed Urdu of Pak? There are obvious similarities between what happened to Hindustani  & Urdu and what is happening to Konkani.

5: how many books are now being written (and more importantly read) in Olde English and Latin?

6: is it not easier to just make a translation into Marathi? I offer to translate from English into Devanagri Marathi. Just let me know. Let's stop this imposed 'Konkani is a language' pretense.

Some wonder why the younger generation has shied away from Konkani at public functions and in day to day communications. Others wonder why Bollywood films in Lucknowi Urdu are considered classics while 'Hindi' films are in Hinglish. 

A few others wonder why their books do not sell, worse still - nobody appears to willingly purchase them. 

My understanding is that FEW willingly read a book for which they need a dictionary to start with and Ibuprophen after reading the first page.

for what it is worth.

jc

ps: as one who appreciates the love for writing about Goa and things Goan that Ben Antao has, as well as knows the commendable effort that he put into translation, I can only say "well done Benbab"; besides, in a democracy, who decides what is native and what is foreign - especially when in comes to a living and developing thing called 'language' .... unless we are advocating a straightjacket for dialects.

[augusto pinto]

Dear jc

In random order indeed!!

If you think this is Goenchim Xappottam where your 'Let me put you on
the mat with my 8 great debating points' think again.

Don't be a bore jc and get real.

For what it is worth
Augusto

[augusto pinto]

On Wed, Mar 27, 2013 at 4:36 PM, Ben Antao <ben....@rogers.com> wrote:

 

Augusto: And Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of

your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence

structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit

alien.

 

   Of course, Augusto, my Konkani in Roman script would sound “alien” to you because

you’re used to the Konkani structure from the Devnagri script and its syntax.

No Ben you're wrong. I read more Konknni in the Roman script because it is much easier to me (I get Vavradeancho Ixtt, Goan Review and Gulab at home) I only read Jaag in the Devanagari script fairly regularly. It is true I translate more stuff from the Devanagari but that's because I find the stuff I find there more interesting and challenging to me.

Having said that much of the best Devanagari literature also happens to be transliterated into the Roman script in magazines like Goan Review and Gulab.

Q Why don't I translate more of Romi: Shall I be brutal and why should I not be?

A Too much of the literature in Romi is sub-literary. The writers don't even bother to dot their 'i's and cross their 't's.

 

     When I first sent a story (Xirap)  to Joel D’Souza of Assagao to copy edit it, he told me

over the phone that my Konkani is literary and no one in Goa writes Konkani my way.

Hmm... I think this comment confirms what I said although Joel was trying to be kind to you. Actually what he should have told you is - your Konkani is written in a style that does not conform to "Literary" Konkani standards. Ben, carefully note the large cap L that I have used in the phrase 'Literary Konkani'. Literary Konknni or Konkani if you like, has a syntax structure consisting of sentences which do not on average exceed 9 words (I'm using the figure casually no doubt but it is supposed to indicate that Konkani sentences are short usually.) So if you exceed that length you are likely to be seen as being incongruous.

Having said that, it is quite possible that a new generation of Konkani writers will think that writing long sentences which are full of Sanskritized diction  is kosher so they'll try to copy you and Bible translators. And voila what I mock today will be good literary Konkani prose tomorrow.

I was

pleased to hear that because through this project (rendering my English stories into Konknni)

I intended to introduce to Konkani readers another style, a literary style of writing fiction.

If consciously that was your game, well I guess we cannot complain as such. All we can do is criticize and then go on. And see my previous comment.

 

     I say this (literary style) because when I read a few of your English-translated stories from Konkani,

I found them lacking in sufficient literary depth in terms of characterisation. For example, the characters in the original

Konkani seemed to me were not developed internally in terms of giving them consciousness. By consciousness, I

mean using interior monologue and reflections that add style and character to the characters

Ben I think you need to think out your position here a little more. It is not too coherent. The problem is I think you need to have the ability to read the stories I have translated in the original.

 

    I have read Damodar Mauzo’s stories translated into English by Xavier Cota, and Pundalik Naik’s Upheaval translated

by Vidya Pai. I have found them of human interest. They are good as far as they go. But if they were to use the fiction

techniques of internal monologue and third person reflections on their characters, the characters would come across as fully

bodied, vibrant, deeply emotional and intellectual.

Again my comment above applies. I do not think you are too sure about what you want to say so the comment looks confused.

   

 

     So, Augusto, I suggest to you, take a paragraph from any of my English stories and translate it into Konkani as you know how.

Then let’s compare your translation with mine. Then I’ll show you what I mean by literary style and adding consciousness to character.

I'll find the time and do this Ben. But when? I am a damn lazy person... but I think I will do as you say soon enough - hopefully.

 

     Finally, like English, Konkani is a dynamic, growing and assimilative language. And we should enrich it with every literary device used

by the great writers in the Greek, Roman and the Western world.

That's true. An alien language's use may well be enriched by a translation from a foreign culture. In that sense the Bible is the biggest culprit in this  regard.

 

     How would you like to render into Romi Konkani the famous last 35 pages of interior monologue by Molly Bloom, the stream of consciousness

narrative style introduced by James Joyce in Ulysses?  

Ben-baba I would not like doing what you suggest at all. I don't see the point of doing meaningless exercises.

   

 

     If you did it, it would sound “alien.” Anyway, try it. This is the kind of Konkani literature I wish to encourage and pursue myself.

 

Thanks, Augusto, for giving me this opportunity to sound off 

 

Mog asunv.

Ani fog aslear kitem zata??

Augusto

Ben

Cheers

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[Ben Antao]

Dear Augusto:

 

What a noble name! I appreciate your critical comments, but afraid to disagree with you re Konkani literature.

 

However, see my humble awkward replies in red below.

 

Ben 

 

From: augusto pinto

Sent: Wednesday, March 27, 2013 1:08 PM

To: goa-bo...@googlegroups.com

Subject: Re: [GOABOOKCLUB] Offtopic: Konkani translators...

 

On Wed, Mar 27, 2013 at 4:36 PM, Ben Antao <ben....@rogers.com> wrote:

 

Augusto: And Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of

your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence

structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit

alien.

 

   Of course, Augusto, my Konkani in Roman script would sound “alien” to you because

you’re used to the Konkani structure from the Devnagri script and its syntax.

No Ben you're wrong. I read more Konknni in the Roman script because it is much easier to me (I get Vavradeancho Ixtt, Goan Review and Gulab at home) I only read Jaag in the Devanagari script fairly regularly. It is true I translate more stuff from the Devanagari but that's because I find the stuff I find there more interesting and challenging to me.

  Thanks for educating me! I was guessing.

Having said that much of the best Devanagari literature also happens to be transliterated into the Roman script in magazines like Goan Review and Gulab.

Q Why don't I translate more of Romi: Shall I be brutal and why should I not be?

A Too much of the literature in Romi is sub-literary. The writers don't even bother to dot their 'i's and cross their 't's.

 

     When I first sent a story (Xirap)  to Joel D’Souza of Assagao to copy edit it, he told me

over the phone that my Konkani is literary and no one in Goa writes Konkani my way.

Hmm... I think this comment confirms what I said although Joel was trying to be kind to you. Actually what he should have told you is - your Konkani is written in a style that does not conform to "Literary" Konkani standards. Ben, carefully note the large cap L that I have used in the phrase 'Literary Konkani'. Literary Konknni or Konkani if you like, has a syntax structure consisting of sentences which do not on average exceed 9 words (I'm using the figure casually no doubt but it is supposed to indicate that Konkani sentences are short usually.) So if you exceed that length you are likely to be seen as being incongruous.

I didn`t know that about 9 words in a sentence.

Having said that, it is quite possible that a new generation of Konkani writers will think that writing long sentences which are full of Sanskritized diction  is kosher so they'll try to copy you and Bible translators. And voila what I mock today will be good literary Konkani prose tomorrow.

I was

pleased to hear that because through this project (rendering my English stories into Konknni)

I intended to introduce to Konkani readers another style, a literary style of writing fiction.

If consciously that was your game, well I guess we cannot complain as such. All we can do is criticize and then go on. And see my previous comment.

 

     I say this (literary style) because when I read a few of your English-translated stories from Konkani,

I found them lacking in sufficient literary depth in terms of characterisation. For example, the characters in the original

Konkani seemed to me were not developed internally in terms of giving them consciousness. By consciousness, I

mean using interior monologue and reflections that add style and character to the characters

Ben I think you need to think out your position here a little more. It is not too coherent. The problem is I think you need to have the ability to read the stories I have translated in the original.

 

You`re right. I was guessing about the original, which must have been more than 9 words a sentence. BTW, is Romi Konknni not written in complex sentences, with principal and subordinate clauses?

 

    I have read Damodar Mauzo’s stories translated into English by Xavier Cota, and Pundalik Naik’s Upheaval translated

by Vidya Pai. I have found them of human interest. They are good as far as they go. But if they were to use the fiction

techniques of internal monologue and third person reflections on their characters, the characters would come across as fully

bodied, vibrant, deeply emotional and intellectual.

Again my comment above applies. I do not think you are too sure about what you want to say so the comment looks confused.

   

Yes, confused like a bat in bright sunlight!

 

     So, Augusto, I suggest to you, take a paragraph from any of my English stories and translate it into Konkani as you know how.

Then let’s compare your translation with mine. Then I’ll show you what I mean by literary style and adding consciousness to character.

I'll find the time and do this Ben. But when? I am a damn lazy person... but I think I will do as you say soon enough - hopefully.

 

Hey, don`t bother, I was just joshing!

 

     Finally, like English, Konkani is a dynamic, growing and assimilative language. And we should enrich it with every literary device used

by the great writers in the Greek, Roman and the Western world.

That's true. An alien language's use may well be enriched by a translation from a foreign culture. In that sense the Bible is the biggest culprit in this  regard.

 

     How would you like to render into Romi Konkani the famous last 35 pages of interior monologue by Molly Bloom, the stream of consciousness

narrative style introduced by James Joyce in Ulysses? 

Ben-baba I would not like doing what you suggest at all. I don't see the point of doing meaningless exercises.

   

I agree with you, no point in dreaming like Molly Bloom!

 

     If you did it, it would sound “alien.” Anyway, try it. This is the kind of Konkani literature I wish to encourage and pursue myself.

 

 

Thanks, Augusto, for giving me this opportunity to sound off 

 

Mog asunv.

Ani fog aslear kitem zata??

 

Mog aslear hun vhodde ghanttar pavtat!

Augusto

Ben

Cheers

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--


Augusto Pinto
40, Novo Portugal
Moira, Bardez
Goa, India
E pint...@gmail.com
P 0832-2470336

M 9881126350 --

[augusto pinto]

Mog asunv.

Ani fog aslear kitem zata??

 

Mog aslear hun vhodde ghanttar pavtat!

Dear friends on Goa Book Club - if you have an attitude like Ben's then we can argue and argue until we reach Hell and in Satan's presence we can continue arguing there until Kingdom come.

Cheers
Augusto

[jose fernandes]

Mogall Ben-bab,

 

You have said it.

Today in Goa, whatever that is written in Konknni in Devnagri (divine?) script is projected as superior and standard to Romi script writings. Most of the Konknni writings in Romi script are looked upon as sub-standard, having on literary value. The proof of it is seen on many fields..... stories, poems, essays and other literary forms written in Devnagri script only are seen in the Konknni text books..... only those books written in Devnagri script  are considered for Sahitya Akademi awards..... and the height of foolishness you know what? 

Konknni poet Jess Fernandes 'WAS GIVEN' the 2009 Sahitya Akademi Award for his book of poems 'KIRVONTT'. Interestingly, all poems in 'Kirvontt' were written in Roman script and then transliterated in Devnagri script. 

In the world of Konknni whatever that is produced in 'Devache nagrin' (read as Devnagri) is divine.... that is why even books which are not worthy of the awards are 'GIVEN' Sahitya Akademi Awards. 

Borem magun, 

Jose Salvador Fernandes       

            

On Wed, Mar 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM, Ben Antao <ben....@rogers.com> wrote:

This message is eligible for Automatic Cleanup! (ben....@rogers.com) Add cleanup rule | More info

 

Augusto: And Ben I frankly did not like the Konkani translation that you did of

your English short stories, because I think you mimicked the sentence

structure of the English too closely and the result sounded a bit

alien.

 

   Of course, Augusto, my Konkani in Roman script would sound “alien” to you because

you’re used to the Konkani structure from the Devnagri script and its syntax.

 

     When I first sent a story (Xirap)  to Joel D’Souza of Assagao to copy edit it, he told me

over the phone that my Konkani is literary and no one in Goa writes Konkani my way. I was

pleased to hear that because through this project (rendering my English stories into Konknni)

I intended to introduce to Konkani readers another style, a literary style of writing fiction.

 

     I say this (literary style) because when I read a few of your English-translated stories from Konkani,

I found them lacking in sufficient literary depth in terms of characterisation. For example, the characters in the original

Konkani seemed to me were not developed internally in terms of giving them consciousness. By consciousness, I

mean using interior monologue and reflections that add style and character to the characters.

 

    I have read Damodar Mauzo’s stories translated into English by Xavier Cota, and Pundalik Naik’s Upheaval translated

by Vidya Pai. I have found them of human interest. They are good as far as they go. But if they were to use the fiction

techniques of internal monologue and third person reflections on their characters, the characters would come across as fully

bodied, vibrant, deeply emotional and intellectual.   

 

     So, Augusto, I suggest to you, take a paragraph from any of my English stories and translate it into Konkani as you know how.

Then let’s compare your translation with mine. Then I’ll show you what I mean by literary style and adding consciousness to character.

 

     Finally, like English, Konkani is a dynamic, growing and assimilative language. And we should enrich it with every literary device used

by the great writers in the Greek, Roman and the Western world.

 

     How would you like to render into Romi Konkani the famous last 35 pages of interior monologue by Molly Bloom, the stream of consciousness

narrative style introduced by James Joyce in Ulysses?     

 

     If you did it, it would sound “alien.” Anyway, try it. This is the kind of Konkani literature I wish to encourage and pursue myself.

 

Thanks, Augusto, for giving me this opportunity to sound off 

 

Mog asunv.

Ben

 

 

-----Original Message-----

From: augusto pinto

Sent: Wednesday, March 27, 2013 1:19 AM

To: goa-bo...@googlegroups.com

Subject: Re: [GOABOOKCLUB] Offtopic: Konkani translators...

 

--

[Jose Colaco]

On Mar 28, 2013, at 6:13 AM, jose fernandes <kon...@gmail.com> wrote:
"Mogall Ben-bab,........You have said it."

Ani Mogal Prof. Juzebab,

And so have you!

Well said indeed!

jc

[Ben Antao]

Dev borem korunv, Jose:

 

I knew about that Kirvontt fraud but let it pass like those rave parties in Morjim where the turtles I’d seen in 2004 have been shamed to disappear beneath the sands. Sonvsar ho khoroch kortubancho!

 

Something new you brought to my attention about Devnagri (divine?). The way I read it is that the root Dev bas been bastardized by nag (snake) so

it is the cunning snake that proclaims it’s God when it is not. But it doesn’t fool me; maybe it’d fool Augusto Pinto, he being from Moira and all 

 

Please read my short stories A Madhouse in Goa/Xirap published by CinnamonTeal and let me know what you think of the Konknni kotha.

Your opinion is important to me.

 

Mog asunv.

Ben  

[augusto pinto]

Dear Salu-bab

Let us once again feast on an old and juicy can of worms - if you can find that metaphor palatable. I find this binary Romi v/s Devanagari limiting to say the least.

The quarrel among those who use different scripts is one where a lot of other issues and problems remain hidden. While you may be right in arguing that the hegemony that Devanagari holds over other Roman (and other scripts such as the Kannada script which the Mangaloreans use) is suffocating for some; one must also constantly bear in mind that the Roman script has such a hegemonic hold overall that those who do not identify with it deserve to have some space for themselves.

The caste issue should not be forgotten. Devanagari got its legitimacy because it was acceptable to the Bahujan Samaj, that catch-all term which covers a large number of SC ST and OBC communities. For them it was seen as a site of resistance against those who traditionally used the Roman script - the elites from both the Catholic upper castes and the Hindu GSBs and Brahmins.

The religious issue is one that tends to be very overpowering: it is posed as Romi = Catholic, Devanagari = Hindu with a few exceptions, and this communal baggage sinks every other difference. But I am aware that many Catholic Gauddis from the New Conquest areas for instance are quite comfortable with the Devanagari script as they have studied in Marathi and their interests get drowned in the communal din that gets gets raised by the Romi - Devanagari issue.

Dialect is yet another point of contention. The Antruzi dialect and the Devanagari script are assumed to be one and the same. This is not correct - Antruzi which has been set up as a standard, and which is used in parts of Goa, and also by the GSB caste is just one of the dialects of Konkani. 

It should not be assumed that all Hindus use this dialect for most of the SCs STs and OBCs do not. The support for Marathi comes from these groups who are actually Konkani speakers who may be averse to the Antruzi dialect which is identified with the Saraswats (the Bamons as the Bahujan Samaj call them).

But the Romi script users have also set up a standard for themselves which like Antruzi can be equally  oppressive to those who do not use the dialect themselves. This standard can be best exemplified in the Povitr Pustok which puts the Saxtti dialects for instance which many Catholics use at a lower pedestal than this dialect (called Padri Bhas by some I believe.) Are the dialects which Gauddis use have any position of honor by either the Devanagari or Romi users?

So posing the issue as merely a script one and then as a communal one is a tactic which will legitimate the power of those who are already the elite, and I think ends up trivializing the issue as for instance making it out that its just a matter regarding doling out Sahitya Akademi Awards which is really a small matter. Who reads someone merely because s/he is a Sahitya Akademi awardee?

Regards

Augusto 

 

[Frederick FN Noronha * फ्रेड्रिक नोरोन्या * فريدريك نورونيا‎]

On 28 March 2013 22:15, augusto pinto <pint...@gmail.com> wrote:

Roman script has such a hegemonic hold overall that those who do not identify with it deserve to have some space for themselves....

This doesn't strike me as true.  While lack of familiarity could be an issue for any language or script, the Romi script hasn't been seen as hegemonic, since it (i) has so far been used mainly within the Catholic community (ii) largely hasn't been supported by State funding or made compulsory for government jobs, etc.

In addition, while Romi is largely based on the Bardezi dialect, the other users of the script (e.g. those using the Sashti variant) seem to have accepted the written form as used, while using their own dialect/s for the spoken variant.

Of course, in a multi-lingual, multi-script, multi-ethnic, multi-caste situation like Goa's, one would need to show more tolerance to and acceptance of diversity. But that is a long-term project... applicable to all.

 

The caste issue should not be forgotten. Devanagari got its legitimacy because it was acceptable to the Bahujan Samaj, that catch-all term which covers a large number of SC ST and OBC communities.

This is totally ahistorical. If the Bahujan Samaj had to accept Konkani as Augusto suggests, you wouldn't have had such an strong Marathi-versus-Konkani (largely caste fuelled, and also communal driven) language controversy between 1985-87. The Sunaparant wouldn't have been languishing with a circulation of a couple of thousand copies. And there wouldn't have been such a luke-warm approach towards accepting Devanagari as the official language.

 

For them it was seen as a site of resistance against those who traditionally used the Roman script - the elites from both the Catholic upper castes and the Hindu GSBs and Brahmins.

There are two issues here -- caste and communal divides. Augusto is mixing up things here. Roman script has community-specific connotations. Devanagari Konkani, despite the denials, has caste links. The equation drawn above is incorrect in my view.

 

The religious issue is one that tends to be very overpowering: it is posed as Romi = Catholic, Devanagari = Hindu with a few exceptions, and this communal baggage sinks every other difference. But I am aware that many Catholic Gauddis from the New Conquest areas for instance are quite comfortable with the Devanagari script as they have studied in Marathi and their interests get drowned in the communal din that gets gets raised by the Romi - Devanagari issue.

If you study Devanagari Konkani it doesn't make you fluent in Marathi or Hindi. Nor does it make the latter your preferred medium for discussion, discourse and creative expression.

The "religious issue" certainly isn't the only one being faced. There is also geography, age, the influence of other languages, the medium one was educated in, and caste. But not in the way explained above.

 

Dialect is yet another point of contention. The Antruzi dialect and the Devanagari script are assumed to be one and the same. This is not correct - Antruzi which has been set up as a standard, and which is used in parts of Goa, and also by the GSB caste is just one of the dialects of Konkani. 

Are you suggesting that Devanagari gets as commonly written in the other dialects of Konkani --  Malvani, Mangalorean, Thakri, Chitpavani, Bardesi, Saxtti, Daldi, Parabhi, Pednekari, Koli, Kiristanv, Kunbi, Agari, Dhangari, Karadhi, Sangameshwari, Bankoti, Maoli?

 

It should not be assumed that all Hindus use this dialect for most of the SCs STs and OBCs do not. The support for Marathi comes from these groups who are actually Konkani speakers who may be averse to the Antruzi dialect which is identified with the Saraswats (the Bamons as the Bahujan Samaj call them).

It is true that Konkani is widely used as the spoken language in Goa, regardless of caste. When it comes to the written language (or preferred form of written communication), the story is quite different... Why?

 

But the Romi script users have also set up a standard for themselves which like Antruzi can be equally  oppressive to those who do not use the dialect themselves. This standard can be best exemplified in the Povitr Pustok which puts the Saxtti dialects for instance which many Catholics use at a lower pedestal than this dialect (called Padri Bhas by some I believe.) Are the dialects which Gauddis use have any position of honor by either the Devanagari or Romi users?

Are you right in assuming that the so-called 'Padri Bhas' (Dr W. R Da Silva's term, if I recall right... ironically he himself is a priest but an iconoclast at that) is the same as Romi? I would see Romi as the dialect which made tens of thousans of Romansi sell, not the theologically-focussed language of the Church, which is hard for most to understand.

 

So posing the issue as merely a script one and then as a communal one is a tactic which will legitimate the power of those who are already the elite, and I think ends up trivializing the issue as for instance making it out that its just a matter regarding doling out Sahitya Akademi Awards which is really a small matter. Who reads someone merely because s/he is a Sahitya Akademi awardee?

To answer your last rhetocial question: if a book gets translated into 13 or 21 languages on the basis of it being a Sahitya Akademi award-winner, then obviously there is going to be a josting over which is the "real" Konkani :-)

--
FN  Land +91-832-240-9490 Cell  +91-982-212-2436 f...@goa-india.org

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[augusto pinto]

I do not understand why young Fred does not attempt to understand and
instead prefers to overstand my argument and make nonsense of it by
imposing his own preposterous notions onto my arguments.

On Fri, Mar 29, 2013 at 1:32 AM, Frederick FN Noronha * फ्रेड्रिक

नोरोन्या * فريدريك نورونيا <frederic...@gmail.com> wrote:
>

> On 28 March 2013 22:15, augusto pinto <pint...@gmail.com> wrote:
>>
>>
>> Roman script has such a hegemonic hold overall that those who do not
>> identify with it deserve to have some space for themselves....
>
>
> This doesn't strike me as true. While lack of familiarity could be an issue
> for any language or script, the Romi script hasn't been seen as hegemonic,
> since it (i) has so far been used mainly within the Catholic community (ii)
> largely hasn't been supported by State funding or made compulsory for
> government jobs, etc.

The Roman script in two variations was the script and is the script of
rulers. During the Portuguese era it was script of the elites who used
it to write Portuguese and Konkani; now it is the script used for most
official purposes as the script of English and it is the script of
business and it is the script of the Internet. Can you understand what
I meant now Fred? By hegemony I did not refer to the Roman script's
use only for Konkani but for all languages.

>
> In addition, while Romi is largely based on the Bardezi dialect, the other
> users of the script (e.g. those using the Sashti variant) seem to have
> accepted the written form as used, while using their own dialect/s for the
> spoken variant.
>
> Of course, in a multi-lingual, multi-script, multi-ethnic, multi-caste
> situation like Goa's, one would need to show more tolerance to and
> acceptance of diversity. But that is a long-term project... applicable to
> all.

OK we seem to be agreeing here except that I don't see why acceptance,
not tolerance, should be a long-term project, it is something that we
need here and now.

>
>>
>> The caste issue should not be forgotten. Devanagari got its legitimacy
>> because it was acceptable to the Bahujan Samaj, that catch-all term which
>> covers a large number of SC ST and OBC communities.
>
>
> This is totally ahistorical. If the Bahujan Samaj had to accept Konkani as
> Augusto suggests, you wouldn't have had such an strong
> Marathi-versus-Konkani (largely caste fuelled, and also communal driven)
> language controversy between 1985-87. The Sunaparant wouldn't have been
> languishing with a circulation of a couple of thousand copies. And there
> wouldn't have been such a luke-warm approach towards accepting Devanagari as
> the official language.
>

Here Fred again overstands my point. The Bahujan Samaj who form the
majority of the Marathi lobby in Goa are not really Marathi speakers
although they may be Marathi readers, by and large.

By and large the middle and lower caste Bahujan Samaj are Konkani
speakers who have strategically clamored for Marathi because A) the
official Konkani dialect is looked upon by them as the language of the
Bamons meaning the GSB who in the past were their Bhatkars and B)
Marathi was used by them for cultural and religious purposes which is
why they are familiar with the language, although when they speak it
they are looked down upon by the Maharashtrian Pune type Marathi
speakers.

>>
>> For them it was seen as a site of resistance against those who
>> traditionally used the Roman script - the elites from both the Catholic
>> upper castes and the Hindu GSBs and Brahmins.
>
>
> There are two issues here -- caste and communal divides. Augusto is mixing
> up things here. Roman script has community-specific connotations. Devanagari
> Konkani, despite the denials, has caste links. The equation drawn above is
> incorrect in my view.
>

Arre Fred Shanu, there are not just two issues here there are many
many issues, religion, caste, region Pernem is different from
Canacona, which is diferent from Mangalore; caste; class - the FNs and
Santoshes and jcs of this world are English speakers who can stand
apart and pontificate because they are adept in a hegemonic
language...

Everything is all mixed up, make no mistake about that. And please
read what I wrote carefully. Roman script for instance is not
necessarily Catholic specific - open Gulab for instance and you will
see that in every issue Dilip Borkar, Maya Kharangate, Jayanti Naik,
Premanand Lotlikar are jostling for space with Vincy Quadros, Felix
D'Cruz, Nevel Vell'llekar and so on, although I'd admit that the
readership is more Catholic. And it is not as if Catholics don't use
the Devanagari script. I think that the current generation know it
sufficiently well to pass their Hindi and Konkani SSC exams, and may
not use Konkani simply because they are pragmatic enough to know where
their bread is buttered, and here I am speaking across religious
barriers.

>>
>>
>> The religious issue is one that tends to be very overpowering: it is posed
>> as Romi = Catholic, Devanagari = Hindu with a few exceptions, and this
>> communal baggage sinks every other difference. But I am aware that many
>> Catholic Gauddis from the New Conquest areas for instance are quite
>> comfortable with the Devanagari script as they have studied in Marathi and
>> their interests get drowned in the communal din that gets gets raised by the
>> Romi - Devanagari issue.
>
>
> If you study Devanagari Konkani it doesn't make you fluent in Marathi or
> Hindi. Nor does it make the latter your preferred medium for discussion,
> discourse and creative expression.
>

I disagree. But first please don't use the confusing term Devanagari
Konkani. Devanagari is a script, and Konkani is a language. By
Devanagari Konkani probably you want to refer to the Antruzi dialect
written in the Devanagari script. But remember that the Antruzi
dialect can be written in the Roman script, and all sorts of Konkani
dialects can and are written in the Devanagari script. Jayanti Naik's
story Cinderellachi Kani which should appear on Saturday's Navhind
Times features a Catholic woman teacher who speaks in a Saxttti
Konkani dialect.

Also if you have studied the Devanagari script in order to study and
read Konkani, the skills transfer easily when it comes to studying and
reading Hindi and if necessary Marathi. I say this from experience.
Fluency in speaking different languages is another issue altogether.

> The "religious issue" certainly isn't the only one being faced. There is
> also geography, age, the influence of other languages, the medium one was
> educated in, and caste. But not in the way explained above.
>

OK Freddie boy, when you explain something your way then you are right
and when I say the same thing I am wrong. That's the rule isn't it?
Bah!!

>>
>> Dialect is yet another point of contention. The Antruzi dialect and the
>> Devanagari script are assumed to be one and the same. This is not correct -
>> Antruzi which has been set up as a standard, and which is used in parts of
>> Goa, and also by the GSB caste is just one of the dialects of Konkani.
>
>
> Are you suggesting that Devanagari gets as commonly written in the other
> dialects of Konkani -- Malvani, Mangalorean, Thakri, Chitpavani, Bardesi,
> Saxtti, Daldi, Parabhi, Pednekari, Koli, Kiristanv, Kunbi, Agari, Dhangari,
> Karadhi, Sangameshwari, Bankoti, Maoli?
>

Wow, you can google so well young Fred, or don't tell me words like
Sangameshwari, Bankoti, Maoli are all stored in the back of your head?
Incidentally I am suspicious about the term 'Kristanv' dialect.
Kristanvs use a number of dialects. In Pernem the Kristanvs speak like
Pednekars and in Chinchinnim the Kristanvs speak a dialect which is
not the same as the dialect used in Churches.

Anyway to continue, I am suggesting that Devanagari can easily be
used, and in fact is used to write different dialects. I already
pointed out how Jayanti uses it, read Damodar Mauzo and see how he
transcribes what Catholics speak; read Pundalik Naik when he refers to
a wide variety of castes; read Prakash Parienkar ...

>>
>> It should not be assumed that all Hindus use this dialect for most of the
>> SCs STs and OBCs do not. The support for Marathi comes from these groups who
>> are actually Konkani speakers who may be averse to the Antruzi dialect which
>> is identified with the Saraswats (the Bamons as the Bahujan Samaj call
>> them).
>
>
> It is true that Konkani is widely used as the spoken language in Goa,
> regardless of caste. When it comes to the written language (or preferred
> form of written communication), the story is quite different... Why?
>

That is a complicated question, for which one needs to consult History
and Sociology among other things to understand.

>>
>>
>> But the Romi script users have also set up a standard for themselves which
>> like Antruzi can be equally oppressive to those who do not use the dialect
>> themselves. This standard can be best exemplified in the Povitr Pustok which
>> puts the Saxtti dialects for instance which many Catholics use at a lower
>> pedestal than this dialect (called Padri Bhas by some I believe.) Are the
>> dialects which Gauddis use have any position of honor by either the
>> Devanagari or Romi users?
>
>
> Are you right in assuming that the so-called 'Padri Bhas' (Dr W. R Da
> Silva's term, if I recall right... ironically he himself is a priest but an
> iconoclast at that) is the same as Romi? I would see Romi as the dialect
> which made tens of thousans of Romansi sell, not the theologically-focussed
> language of the Church, which is hard for most to understand.
>

Padri Bhas is a dialect. Romi is a script. How many times do I have to
repeat this Freddie and when will you learn? But yes Padri Bha is
unofficially the official dialect of the Roman script because the
influential priests use it in their Mass services. But if you look at
Vavradeancho Ixtt or Gulab the language is not so Sanskritized as in
the Konkani Bible.

>>
>>
>> So posing the issue as merely a script one and then as a communal one is a
>> tactic which will legitimate the power of those who are already the elite,
>> and I think ends up trivializing the issue as for instance making it out
>> that its just a matter regarding doling out Sahitya Akademi Awards which is
>> really a small matter. Who reads someone merely because s/he is a Sahitya
>> Akademi awardee?
>>
>
> To answer your last rhetocial question: if a book gets translated into 13 or
> 21 languages on the basis of it being a Sahitya Akademi award-winner, then
> obviously there is going to be a josting over which is the "real" Konkani
> :-)

If it is badly translated as happens with most of the Sahitya Akademi
award winners it is not going to be read.

But there is a more important issue to consider: The Suppression of
the Voice of those who speak Un-powerful Dialects.

>
> --
> FN Land +91-832-240-9490 Cell +91-982-212-2436 f...@goa-india.org
> Goa,1556 titles: http://bit.ly/Goa1556Books2
> Links to my books: http://fredericknoronha1.wix.com/fngoaindia
>

[Helga Do Rosario Gomes]

'Tumchi vaz aili maka'!

Sent from my iPhone

[augusto pinto]

Ago Helga-bai

Kulo khorzota zalear matem kiteak khorplita? Heo khobro tumchea oslea
bailank nhoi. Matxem ogi bos ani aik na zalear bajjear boson nhid.

Mog asundi na zalear ...
Augusto

[augusto pinto]

Salu

[Salu you can call me Augusto, you can call me Prof - Sore as jc does, you can call me Gusto as fn does, you can call me Augusto-bab (a very polite but Bamonish way of addressing others) but I will call you as Salu and not Prof Juze-bab]

There is another thing which I wish to contest with you regarding the email above which represents not only you but the members of the Dalgado Konkani Akademi too lide Tomazinho Cardozo.

You quite correctly copied and pasted the Jess Fernandes controversy: (BTW you will find a change of font as you read this) However this attempts to evade the issue of whether those Catholics who write in the Romi script have QUALITY or not?  -  Konknni poet Jess Fernandes 'WAS GIVEN' the 2009 Sahitya Akademi Award for his book of poems 'KIRVONTT'. Interestingly, all poems in 'Kirvontt' were written in Roman script and then transliterated in Devnagri script.

The  problem is like this. I am not prepared to arbitrate on the question of quality and depend upon scams like the above where the Devanagari camp gave a prize to the Romi camp just because the latter transliterated his or is it her work into that script.

My argument follows what Pundalik Narayan Naik said in an intervention at the KBM Sahitya Sammelan recently. He made a remark in Konkani to the effect that Christians are boring when they write because their models for writing are based on the bible, their models were the stories that padris told them.

Jose Lourenco was on stage when Pundalik made these remarks and Xavier Cota and Damodar Mauzo and Alito Sequira were in the audience when these words were uttered and will bear me out here.

I found Pundalik's remarks insightful. I frankly am contemptuous of the reading of most Konkani writers. They have not a clue about what is happening in other Indian languages, including English which is today the most productive Indian language; and this is the basis of my criticism of them.

Pundalik Narayan Naik declared that Christian writers (read Romi-script writers) model their writing on the Bible or on the stories that priests tell them. So they habitually write stories poems tiatrs and what not which are didactic and so they fall foul of being described as Modern, for the Modernist way of life rebels against the certain ways of living that the Catholic Konnknni writers adopt ad naueum.)

I agree with what Pundalik-bab says. Most Catholic writers have not read nothing of the gems which world literature have to offer to them. Instead they follow the pious morality driven models of literature which the Church has to offer.

Obviously Church thinking is medieval and out-dated. And so writings by Romi script writers bore most well-read readers like ...  (and permit me to be modest here) ... like me.

Best
Augusto

On Thu, Mar 28, 2013 at 3:43 PM, jose fernandes <kon...@gmail.com> wrote:

[Ben Antao]

Augusto: My argument follows what Pundalik Narayan Naik said in an intervention at the KBM Sahitya Sammelan recently. He made a remark in Konkani to the effect that Christians are boring when they write because their models for writing are based on the bible, their models were the stories that padris told them.

 

Have you considered that PN Naik may be saying that because he’s not a Christian, that perhaps he has a prejudice against the teaching of the Church? He probably would say the same thing about Dante’s Inferno? And if he did, would it make Inferno less literary? Did he name the books by Catholic writers that he thought were boring? I’d like to read those ‘boring’ books, at least one of them, so I can compare it to his Upheaval or When an Ass mounts a cow or The Turtle?

 

     Otherwise, there is a danger here of quoting a prominent Hindu writer and accepting his word as truth. To be fair, why not discuss one of the Romi script Konkani novels or stories here on this forum? You could translate one or two stories and I’ll be able to comment. As of now, you’ve translated two or three stories written by Hindu Goans that I`ve read and commented upon.   

 

Augusto: I found Pundalik's remarks insightful. I frankly am contemptuous of the reading of most Konkani writers. They have not a clue about what is happening in other Indian languages, including English which is today the most productive Indian language; and this is the basis of my criticism of them.

You may be right but I have no basis to evaluate what you say. Two years ago when I visited Goa I bought a few books of Indian writing in regional languages translated into English.

 

1. Home and Away, a collection of Kannada short stories translated by Ramchandra Sharma. I found most of the stories were plain, not sophisticated in terms of development of conflicts, characters and plots. Of course, I’m judging them with the standards of a Chekhov and Maupassant.

 

2. The Kept Woman and other stories by Kamala Das, a celebrated writer in India. Still I found her stories not all that exciting, though of human interest. Here again I was looking for rich and varied fictional techniques that give a story a veneer of art, rather than merely honesty.

 

3.  A collection of stories from the region of North East India (I gave the book to a friend from Meghalaya, and don`t remember the title). These stories were rather simple in content and basic in emotions. And I was looking for sophistication and complexity.

 

4. Ferry Crossing, short stories from Goa. Many of the stories here were bland and lacking the subtlety of technical treatment that I am used to and employ in my own stories.      

 

     To make this discussion useful for many interested in Indian and Goan literature, I suggest that you pick a story say, from Ferry Crossing, and let`s discuss it here.

 

What do you and the others say?

 

Best, Ben

Mogall Ben-bab,

 

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[Frederick FN Noronha * फ्रेड्रिक नोरोन्या * فريدريك نورونيا‎]

Gusto is just trying to be his provocative best here... and I'm not sure if he himself believes in what he is currently arguing.

In these days of globalisation, it's a fashion to subconsciously or otherwise judge things by so-called 'global standards'. Gusto is doing it here, and so is Ben when he dismisses Indian translated stories "plain and not sophisticated" when judged by the "standards of a Chekhov  and Maupassant".

Isn't writing meant to have some context, an appeal to a certain audience, and not be comprehensible to (or appreciated by) others?

As someone who believes that we need to retain our cultural diversity, may I ask:

*  Who decides on quality or lack of quality? And on what criteria?

* Isn't the business of literary criticism a very subjective field anyway, as Margaret has rightly pointed out recently?

* If Konkani writing in the Romi script has had no standard, how come it did manage to sell so fast and so well (specially in the Romansi category) maybe just three or four decades ago? Is it just possible that such writing was aimed at an audience other than the Augusto Pintos and Pundalik Naiks (assuming that Augusto is quoting Mr Naik accurately here... unlike in the Raj Bhavan case where Gusto's initial written-word version somehow sounded far more dramatic than the videotaped version which has been released online!)

As it happens, I was just yesterday skimming through Rashmi Sadana's very interesting English Heart, Hindi Heartland: The Political Life of Literature in India (Ranikhet: Permanent Black, 2012). Sadana quotes the late Ravi Dayal as saying even the best bhasha writers were deeply affected by what was happening "in the world".

She writes: "In his view, English-language culture was the way in which many of them not only earned a living but also became cosmopolitan; and he firmly believed that this wider outlook benefited their writing: "Even the Indian-language writers are teachers of English, from Ananthamurthy, to the Bengalis, to Vilas Sarang in Maharashtra; Krishna Vaid, his major critical writing was on Henry James, Vatsyayan, great Hindi poet, knew his German and his Eliot. Firaq Gorakhpuri, the great Urdu writer, taught English in Allahabad..."

Also, they were all "people who have been to university at some point".

In Gusto's books (pun intended), I guess, they would be all doubly blessed, if not twice born in the literary sense. It's far more cleaner to deal with the globalised versions that we are already familiar with (even if clothed in some "local" language) rather than with the messy reality, diversity and unpredictability of the actual world. This may not even fit in with the theories we have on hand.

So, if the Romi writers are not going to writing school, are not following the "global" norms of storytelling (or the national norms, which in turn are influenced by the 'global') should we see it as a failing on their part? I am not so sure...  More so because their styles and stories could have grown organically. If you look deeper, it might just be that this is a subaltern form of expression, not given to the kind of sophistication that less-natural forms need.

The debate about the 'tiatr' having no standards comes to mind. This was also the received wisdom among all elite and academic sections, till Dr Pramod Kale's eight-page insightful essay came along in the EPW, sometime in 1988 if not mistaken.

I'm sure that someone somewhere dismissed magical realism as poorly constructed writing not too long ago. It is believe that the Western (read Anglo-Saxon) reader  even had a problem with magical realism which  "stems from the Western reader's disassociation with mythology, a root of magical realism more easily understood by non-Western cultures."

Of course there's something very subjective in what we like and what we don't.... FN

[augusto pinto]

Dear Ben

You write: Many of the stories here (from Ferry Crossing) were bland and lacking the subtlety of technical treatment that I am used to and employ in my own stories.      

 

     To make this discussion useful for many interested in Indian and Goan literature, I suggest that you pick a story say, from Ferry Crossing, and let`s discuss it here." 

Well that's an interesting comment given that the Ferry Crossing stories are used to teach student of Literature in Goa and even America.

I'll give you two stories to discuss below both of which are regarded as classics and both of which are available in Ferry Crossing. But these are in my own translations (which were done much before the ones printed in Ferry Crossing. I recently had them republished in The Navhind Times: Pundalik Naik's The Turtle and Damodar Mauzo's Theresa's Man

The Turtle
By Pundalik Narayan Naik
Translated from the original Konkani  by Augusto Pinto

Vasu had barely stepped into the village when the children began to
yell: “Turtle! He’s brought a turtle! Vasukaka has brought a turtle!!”

Normally nobody paid much attention to the children but the word
‘turtle’ caused a number of ears to prick up. Godumauxi who was
snapping off the heads of  dried prawns, twisted around to peer down
the road. Shantabai’s daughter-in-law stopped pedaling her sewing
machine and leaning forward in her chair, stuck her head out of the
window; almost simultaneously people rushed out of their doors, to
their verandahs, or strained their necks out of windows, to get a
glimpse of the object in Vasu’s arms. They goggled at it, and marveled
amongst themselves: “A turtle! A turtle has come to Kharvaddo after
God knows how long!”

Making his way through the milling children, Vasu entered his own
house. He laid the abnormally large turtle upside down on the
verandah. His arms ached. The turtle withdrew its flippers into its
shell. The head was also hidden snail-like inside the shell. A ring of
people formed around it.

The children were amazed. Most of them had never seen a turtle before.
Neither had Shantabai’s daughter-in-law who was pushing and shoving
her way through the gawking crowd. Most of the village folk had
assumed that a turtle would be as small as a tortoise. They were taken
aback by this huge creature. The only experience the children had that
could compare to this was  their first sight of an elephant. Many
wanted to know whether it was brittle or spongy and poked their
fingers gingerly at the shell. The muddy-hued creature lay sprawled on
its back like a huge flatfish.

Vasu sat in a corner and leant his head against a wall. His arms were
numb with fatigue. He had set out fishing early that morning and after
stepping into his canoe, he hadn’t forgotten to say a prayer to his
family deity before flinging out the line. Attaching bait to a hook,
he had swung the weighted line into the water, and sat waiting in the
drifting canoe. But though the morning went by and the midday sun
began to scorch his back, his bait went untouched.

Finally, when he had almost given up and he was about to reel his line
in, he felt a sudden strong jerk. He tried to pull his catch into the
boat, and found himself straining – but to no effect. He couldn’t
figure out what sort of fish he’d caught. He was one of the most
experienced and skilled fishermen of Kharvaddo, a descendent of men
who had carried on this trade generation after generation. He had an
intimate knowledge of the habits of a wide variety of fish, and could
tell the nibble of a palu, from the snatch of a chonak or a tamuso.
But what was this? Finally, after a long tense struggle he managed to
heave it into the canoe. Its weight tilted the boat alarmingly to one
side. When he saw the catch he had fished out, Vasu felt a pang of
fear. He inspected his hand: it was bleeding profusely, cut deeply by
the line. He wiped the blood with his hand towel, then wiped his
sweating brow. He stared at the turtle. There was a smear of blood on
his forehead.

He had seen larger turtles than this before. They were two, even three
yards long. But he had never known anyone to have caught such a large
specimen on a fishing line.

His father had once caught a turtle on one of his fishing expeditions.
He had brought it home and offered puja to it. All Kharvaddo was abuzz
with excitement that day. People came to see it as if it were the
image of Lord Ganesh. The house had been decorated as if a Shri
Satyanarayana puja was being organized. At the head of a joyful
procession the turtle was released back into the sea.

Vasu had a blurred recollection of that event, but for years
afterwards his father would brag about that turtle. He would explain
to anyone he could buttonhole how the turtle had blessed him with
prosperity after its puja and release into the sea. Around that time
he had obtained the fishing rights to the village pond. He caught fish
in abundance and money was always flowing in. Vasu’s father, who
quickly accumulated a lot of wealth, had Vasu Vasu married off in
style. But soon after that he passed away and things changed. Now
Vasu, his wife and his two year old son lived a hand to mouth
existence.

Standing at the door, Vasu’s wife signaled him to come in. He went in,
unsure of what he would tell her. She broke the silence first.

“What should I cook today?”
“I’ve brought a turtle, haven’t I?”
“What!” she snorted.
“I didn’t mean that. I mean I didn’t catch anything else. If I did I’d
have got some money wouldn’t I? In fact Dam-bab, the landlord asked me
to get some fish today.”
“Well you’ve got a turtle,” she said wearily.
“Since I hooked it, I had to bring it home.”
“Why didn’t  you sell it then? Anybody would’ve bought it for seven or
eight rupees. At least we wouldn’t have had to worry for a few days.”
“Woman, what has got into you! A turtle is sacred to us! No fisherman
ever sells a turtle or a dolphin if he has any sense of dignity!”

Vasu was worked up. He slapped his wife. Still, she was more concerned
about their next meal. As far as Vasu’s sensibilities were concerned,
it was all water off a turtle’s back, so to speak, as far as she was
concerned.

Vasu bit his lip, crossed his arms and glared at her, cursing and
muttering to himself: Shameless women! We find a turtle after so many
years. A turtle is a sign of good fortune … So many people must be
jealous of me. Who knows – the fortune my father enjoyed may return …
Might earn a little money … I’d buy my son some new clother … Satisfy
this wife’s longing for a new sari … At least avoid this struggle for
every single meal. Who knows what’s in store? Surely it’s for this
reason the turtle has been sent to me … And this wife? Any
self-respecting fisherman would be disgusted to call her his wife!
Should have sold it for seven or eight rupees, it seems. Seven or
eight rupees – bah!

Suddenly he remembered  - on his way back home he had encountered some
woodcutters. Workers of Dam-bab, they were sawing a jackfruit tree log
into planks. They stopped working when they saw the turtle in Vasu’s
arms. One of them enquired eagerly: “Are you selling it?”
Vasu snapped back: “Arre, it’s a turtle!”

What he meant to say was: ‘You fools, does a man belonging to the
fisherman’s caste ever sell a turtle? However much you offer me, can
such a taboo be broken? Would you sell your family deity if somebody
came offering money for it? But he suppressed these words.
“Look here, we’ll give you four, even five rupees.” The woodcutters
drooled at the thought of the delicious meat.

Without a backward glance Vasu had strode on. The anger he felt
against those woodcutters matched the bleazze of the midday sun. The
hot red dust of the road scorched his feet. The woodcutters’ buzzing
saws caused a grating sensation in his mind. They had kept bargaining
and nagging him on the road and he felt like grinding their voices
into the dust.

“When is the puja?”
Vasu snapped out of his reverie. Two elderly men from Kharvaddo stood
before him. VAsu went in, brought a pedestal and lifted the turtle
onto it and prepared for the puja. Some children were sent to fetch
flowers. Meanwhile he had a ritual bath. As he wiped his body he told
his wife: “We’re performing a puja for the turtle.” Even as he spokek,
he felt like upbraiding her for the self-seeking remarks she had made
earlier. But his voice was  stilled when, without being asked, she
came before him with the materials for the puja.

He said: ”We shall need something for the Prasad”
He expected another outburst from her but she only asked calmly: “What
should I get?”
“Part of yesterday’s coconut must be still there. Make wafers of it.”
“All right.”

She went inside. The impression that his wife had come round to his
point of view reassured Vasu and he performed the puja with great
fervor. The coconut wafers were then distributed to the children.

In the afternoon the people who had assembled at Vasu’s house retired
home for lunch. As the evening wore on they again came pouring back to
gape at the turtle.

In the neighboring houses the fireplaces were lit to prepare supper.
But in Vasu’s house, the fireplace had not been lit since morning. His
wife leaned against a wall. Their child sat before the turtle. Vasu
squatted on his haunches, hands on his forehead. He wished his wife
would say something, but since their quarrel that morning she had
adopted a policy of silence. With every knot she tied in the net she
grew increasingly aloof.

Vasu looked into the kitchen: the cold ashes of the fireplace seemed
to sneer and mock at his helplessness, at his inability to set it
alight. He felt his body boiling in the empty rice pot. The empty rice
pot threatened to roll off the shelf and explode any moment, he felt,
and jagged shards would  follow hurtling at his face.

Abruptly, he jerked up to his feet. From a dejected stump, he now
stood tall and stiff as a fully matured coconut tree. The children
moved through the group of children, yanked the turtle off the
pedestal and balanced it on his head. The children made way for him as
he stepped out of the verandah.

“Where are you taking it?” everyone asked at once.
“To return it … to the sea.”
Purposefully, he strode away. The turtle didn’t seem heavy now. Night
was beginning to fall.

When he reached the woodcutters’ hut he staggered to a halt. The
woodcutters had stopped working and were smoking bidis. In silence he
threw the turtle at their feet and thrust his right hand out.

The white teeth of the woodcutters gleamed through their black hides.
They chuckled and whispered to each other. One of them got up. He went
ot a shit hanging from a branch of a tree, and took out two notes of
two rupee each. Silently, he put these in Vasu’s hand.

Vasu’s cheeks stung as he walked away. Althoughh the sawing had long
since stopped, the buzz kept reverberating in his ears. He clutched
the two notes tightly in his hand and went to the shop to buy rice.

Theresa’s Man

By Damodar Mauzo

Translated by Augusto Pinto

He wasn’t  sleepy any more, but his sluggish body refused to recognize this. He shivered in the cool morning air and dug himself deeper into the comfortable quilt.

Theresa was in the bathroom. He could hear the splashing of water. A spasm of annoyance shot through Peter. I fill the water and she coolly pours it down the drain, he thought. But he dared not say this aloud. She would only have snapped back – “And should I be earning so that you can just squander it away?”

Having washed her face, Theresa came into the bedroom. Peter watched her through half-closed eyes. Theresa’s wet petticoat clung in some intimate places. On her toes now, she stretched for a towel hanging on the clothesline. Peter’s eyes snapped open when he saw her bare armpits. He shut them, then peered again. She was still on her toes, and her petticoat had ridden up her thighs, her youthful, soft, golden thighs. Taking in this marvelous sight, he shut his eyes again. If he hadn’t been awake earlier, he certainly was now. Pulling the towel down, Theresa wiped her face, then her neck, then below that. Her fair, fresh skin flushed from the rubdown.

In the kitchen, Peter’s mother was making tea, banging  the utensils as usual. She was of the opinion that their aluminium pots and pans would have dents even if one poked one’s fingers in them, so there was no point in being careful. The others had ceased telling her not to bang the utensils long ago. Peter felt he had no right to say anything since he never bought any new vessels himself, while Theresa, who  knew she could not afford stainless steel  vessel – not in this life at least – said nothing because she didn’t  want a scene; so the banging went on as usual.

“Pedru!” yelled Theresa.

Most wives affectionately turned their Antonios into Tonies and their Vitorinho’s into Victors, but not Theresa. She made poor Peter sound like a peasant. Peter didn’t like this one bit, but then what could he do?

“It’s almost eight o’clock, Pedru!”

Peter groaned. Why can’t the silly bitch get up earlier?

“Get up Pedru, get up! It’s almost time for the train to leave. You’ve got to reach me to the station today,” and stomping to the bed, dragged Peter out by the arm. “Move, you lazy bum! If I’m late who’s to take the boss’s firing? You?”

Resigned, but resentful, Peter moved listlessly towards the bedroom He splashed the fresh cold water on his face hoping it would cool the seething rage within. Feeling somewhat better, he came into the bedroom. But there still was a flicker of annoyance on his face as he tugged his trousers up. Buttoning his shirt, he muttered in an undertone, “It’s become a habit now. Won’t allow me to stay late in bed for even one day. It’s become too much for her to get up just a little earlier and walk. The lazy bitch!”

But Theresa must have heard. Storming up to him, she burst out, “You! You have the nerve to say that! You spineless idiot! All you do is slouch around the house living off me. And if I’m late one day, it breaks your back to give me a lift on the cycle! After all I do, killing myself for you, these complaints! I’ve made a mess of my life marrying into this hell-hole.”

“You said you wanted this love marriage, didn’t you? Serves you bloody right!” From the kitchen, Mother poured her share of kerosene into the blazing fire.

Theresa let out a loud sob and dissolved into tears. This cooled Peter’s temper. He quietly slipped into his sandals and slinking into the kitchen poured himself some hot tea which he hurriedly gulped down.

By now, the tip of Theresa’s nose matched the color of her flaming red blouse. Her cheeks, too had flushed crimson. She was wearing a hip-hugging skirt that day which showed her figure off to advantage. Noticing the way Theresa had dressed, the frown returned to Peter’s forehead as he pushed his cycle out.

Peter sat on the cycle waiting for Theresa, one foot against the threshold. Two years ago one would have found him waiting for her in a similar pose, outside the railway station … but then, he had been in love with her.

“What’s delaying you now? Get on with it,” Peter shouted impatiently.

Theresa came out, her high-heeled shoes going tic-toc tic-toc over the floor. She sat on the bar of the cycle and they set off. As they travelled along, her mind wandered back to the old days…

Every morning Peter used to cycle along to my house. He would wait till I came out, to offer me a lift. He would do this every morning, never missing a day. And if I declined his offer, he just wouldn’t listen. He would insist it was no problem. I still remember how I laughed one day. He came early in the morning as usual and was loitering outside my house. He had arrived there at seven thirty, but an hour had gone by and there was still no sign of me. By the time I turned the corner, back from Mass, he was positively jittery. He rushed towards me, exclaiming, “Theresa, why haven’t you gone to the office today?” Which made me laugh, and how I laughed while he got more and more perplexed, until I put him out of his misery. “Silly, today’s Sunday isn’t it?” Oh, you should have seen his face then!

And forgetting all that had happened a short while ago, Theresa started giggling. This made Peter a little more edgy. After all, this was the same woman who had been weeping so bitterly minutes earlier. Look at the way she’s giggling now. She must be looking forward to meeting someone in the office. And all those tears were just part of a little act.

As they approached the station, they saw that the train was already in. Peter began to pump on the pedals as fast as he could until he reached the low end of the station platform. The whistle blew. The guard waved his flag. Clutching her handbag in one hand, Theresa ran. As the train began to move she grabbed the door handles of the nearest compartment that was almost out of the platform. But her skirt was so tight, she couldn’t swing her leg up. Peter stood gaping. As she hung on to the handle he could see her armpits exposed again. The train was picking up speed. Theresa made a feeble attempt to jump in. She began to panic. Just then a young man emerged from the compartment and grabbing both her arms lifted her effortlessly into the train. Theresa went in, not even bothering to look back at Peter. But he could hear her saying Thank You or some such thing to the man.

“Smart fellow! Saw the way he got her in?”

“Saw his chance and grabbed it.”

“But then these dames like it. Why else d’you think they go to work?”   

“That’s a fact. Go to the office and and they flirt around as they please. Who’s to stop them there?”

The remarks by the bystanders on the platform infuriated Peter. He felt like striding up to them and slapping them one by one. But he saw reason and restrained himself. There were four of them.

Peter cycled on. He was even more furious with Theresa now. Why can’t she get out a little earlier? And how many times have I to tell her not to wear those tight-fitting dresses? No, she does as she pleases and I have to bear the shame … Of the young man who grabbed Theresa under her arms, those people had said she offered him a good “chance” … Really, how proud that fellow must have felt as he performed his heroics! And of Theresa they had said, “These dames like it. Why else d’you think they go to work?” Anyway from now on this is it. I’m going to tell Theresa – No more office! No more sexy dresses!

After their marriage Peter had told her several times to stop wearing those body-hugging outfits. But Theresa argued that in her job as a receptionist it was customary for girls to wear such clothes. Still, she did make one concession to his demands – at home she never ever wore those sleeveless blouses and stylish skirts. This made matters worse as far as Peter was concerned; for he felt that in his presence she should allow herself any fashionable whim she wished. He really loved to ogle at Theresa in those figure hugging dresses, those thigh revealing skirts, those sleeveless blouses with their plunging necklines; abut he did not want to share that pleasure with the men in the office. Why should she be provocative so she tried out with journal xallee our the  strangers? But it was useless now. Thinking Peter didn’t like them, she never wore those revealing clothes when she was with him, and he did not have the nerve to order her to wear them in his presence, not outside.

“Pee – terr!!” It was Guilherme calling out. Normally Peter would not have bothered to stop. But he had heard that just the previous day Guilherme’s father had returned from abroad, so he was curious to know what he had brought back with him. Peter swerved into the compound and braked before the door of Guilherme’s house. Guilherme’s father was sitting outside on a rocking chair.

“Hello! Now isn’t that Peter? How d’you do?” said the father in a foreign accent. “Well, where d’you work now?”

“Business” was the reply that sprang to Peter’s lips but Guilherme’s father would never had let it pass. “Business,” said with his head high and his chest puffed up, was Peter’s stock answer to the question, “What d’you do?” He also had an answer ready for the following inevitable question,”What sort?”

“Business has no limits. I trade in all sorts of things. When the price of coconuts shoots up, it’s coconuts. In the watermelon season, it’s watermelons; if nothing else, there’s always fish!”

As a matter of fact, Peter had never tried his hand at any of these things. After just about managing to scrape through his matriculation, he had been employed only twice. His first job was in a pharmacy. he had to wake up early in the morning and cycle to Margao. And he would return only after eight at night. There was no after-lunch siesta for him there. All this did not exactly warm Peter’s heart. So, when his boss gave him yet another dressing down, peter sneaked away, never to return anywhere near his intimidating presence, nor even to collect the wages for the thirteen days he had slaved for him. Since then, if his mother or anyone else inquired, he replied, “Business.” Before he had married Theresa he had told her the same thing, and, love being blind, she had foolishly taken him at his word.

After their marriage, Theresa was responsible for his second encounter with employment. Using whatever influence she had with her boss, she wangled a job for Peter in another department of the company she worked in - entirely against Peter’s wishes. He had to wake up early, catch the train and at the office sit in a chair all day, pen in hand. he didn’t even get five minutes for a nap in the afternoon. This, along with Freight, Demurrage, Filing, Checking Slip, Statement, Consignment and other such baffling jargon, became too much for Peter and one day he came down with high fever. Under that pretext, he went home that day. He never returned to work.

“Don’t tell me you’re still unemployed! Work, man, work! Get a job or else go abroad!” Guilherme’s father gave Peter a dose of some particularly bitter medicine. “How will you manage if you don’t work?”

“His wife works in an office,” said Guilherme, rubbing the salt in.

“What! You send your wife to work? What sort of a man are you? You must never allow a woman to be free. She’ll sit on your head, mark my words! A man is …” At this point, Guilherme’s mother appeared on the scene, and one could almost hear the screech as the father jammed the brakes on his tongue.

Peter desperately wanted to get away. By now he had learnt that the truck carrying Guilherme’s father’s luggage was due to arrive any moment. If he were to be around when it arrived, then he would be obliged to help. So, at the first opportunity he got, he slunk away. Going to the market he bought some fish and went straight home.

“Is that you? Come, Baba. I’ve been wondering what had happened to you,” said Peter’s mother.

Peter knew what she meant. He went to the well with a pot and began drawing water. There was no point in shirking this. His mother said she couldn’t manage it herself and he wasn’t prepared to face the usual tirade - “You can’t get a job, that’s bad enough, but can’t you even do this little bit?”

After that, Peter lay down on the cot. But sleep wouldn’t come. What is Theresa doing? Probably flirting in the office. But with whom - the boss, or that young fellow who had hauled her into the train? Who is he? Probably someone Theresa knows - yes, but “knows” in what sense? That’s the question. Theresa’s sleeveless blouse, her naked armpits, her revealing skirt, her being lifted into the train, those people’s comments, “He took his chance,” Guilherme’s father’s “Never allow a woman to be free” - all these thoughts stung at Peter’s mind like a swarm of maddened bees.

“Would your Lordship care for some lunch?”

Why does my mother have to be so sarcastic?

After eating to his satisfaction, Peter had a nap and only woke up at five o’clock.

“Are you awake? When are you going to loiter about today?” His mother goaded him as he came to his senses. “You can’t work and you’re not even ashamed of yourself. And over and above that, you go and get married. And leave alone being able to support your wife, you can’t even put her in her proper place. That dress! That hair! What a show! Even boys are more decent! She’s bound the husband hand and foot and see how she dances as she pleases. Now watch the carnival when she returns! What’s the husband in this house? A hollow empty coconut bon’no. And what’s the mother-in-law? Nothing but husk!

“Oh, stop it, for heaven’s sake!” cried Peter desperately.

“You tell me to stop! You can’t say one word to her! You’re a funk, that’s what you are! Any real husband would have given her two slaps and brought her to her senses. But you! May the Lord have mercy on me soon. At least when I’m dead I’ll escape from this …”

Peter didn’t want to listen to this any more. Pushing his cycle out, he made straight for Caetano’s bar.

In the veranda a game of tablam was being hotly contested. The players roared excitedly, slamming their counters on the table, infecting the onlookers with their contagious enthusiasm. Peter had a peg’s worth and returned to watch the game.

“Eight!”

“Twelve!”

“Taa - blaaam!!

“Well done! Give him a big hand!”

Cheering the winner, the players rose.

Everyone began talking all at once. What a racket! Peter listened to some of the latest gossip. Suddenly, Agnel clapped his hands. He wanted silence.

“Listen! Did anyone watch the Vasco train leave this morning?”

“I …” began Menino.

“You shut up!” snarled Agnel. “Was anyone else there?”

Peter was now apprehensive and prayed that Agnel hadn’t picked on him as his object of ridicule for the day.

“Well, listen then. Our dear Peter’s wife, young Theresa, was about to be crushed under the train today!”

“What!” gasped the assembled crowd.

“But it was her lucky day. A good friend of our young Theresa was in the train - who knows, maybe he was waiting just for her. Anyway, like the hero of a Hindi movie, he put his hands under her arms, like this, and whisked her into the compartment,” said Agnel, vividly enacting the scene.

“ Agnel!” exploded Peter, “Mind what you say!”

“Did I get something wrong? Fine. You show us how it really happened.” Agnel smirked.

“ I won’t take any more of this crap.” shrieked Peter, livid.

“What! What! What are you going to do? Come a little nearer sonny, and then talk.” Grabbing Peter by the arm, he yanked him, coming face to face with him.

Peter was confused and agitated and began to stutter. His poor personality looked even more bankrupt.

“Look how brave our boy is!” snarled Agnel, while everyone tittered. “Now go home and show your wife how brave you are!”

Peter was in turmoil. I have to tolerate all this because of Theresa! Wherever I go I am insulted - no - humiliated!  Today first at the station, then by Guilherme’s father, then mother, and now – I won’t stand this any longer. He downed another peg. Neat.

He cycled to the station and arrived in time to see Theresa stepping out of the train. Peter observed the scene carefully. At one window sat “he”.

Theresa sat on the cycle – she seemed quite pleased with herself. Which only added to Peter’s dark mood.

“Peter, I really had a narrow escape this morning. If he hadn’t caught hold of me …” Theresa chattered away as they cycled on. Sitting on the front bar she couldn’t  see Peter’s face or she would have been taken aback by his bloodshot eyes and the vein throbbing on his forehead.

The cycle halted at their home. Theresa dismounted.

“Pedru! See that you reach me a little earlier tomorrow morning, okay? Otherwise if the same thing that happened today…”

Peter raised his hand and slapped her. Theresa’s cheeks flushed crimson. She began to scream. Mother watched the show from inside. Peter got even more  wild. He hit her on her cheeks, her stomach, her hands, her legs, anywhere and everywhere … on and on.

[Damodar Mauzo, the doyen of Goan  fiction writers, published ‘Teresalo Ghov’ in ‘Ganthan’ in 1971. It was translated as ‘Theresa’s Man’ by Augusto Pinto and published in Goa Today (September 1980) . A re-edited version of this translation was subsequently published in the anthology : In Other Worlds. in 2012.]

[Vincy Quadros]

Dear August bab,

No doubt I was one of the translator for Bible in Konkani.  But I was not the member of the translation panel.  It was headed by Fr. Manuel Gomes.  I had given my translated work and then the translation panel adopted it according to their standardisation of entire Bible.  But I would quote one thing, Konkani in Romi and Devnagiri has no vacabulory as English and particularly as far as Bible is concerned.  I had requested Fr. Manuel Gomes to prepare the Bible vacabulory.  But now he has been transfered to Bishops house and presently I don't know who heads the Bible Consulate.  My strong demand is Bible Consulate should have a Bible vacabulory which would do away with the difficulties faced while reading NEW BIBLE IN KONKANI.

If Bible Consulate does not do this, some amongst us has to take the initiative.  I hope you understands me.

Dev borem korum.

Vincy Quadros,

Address :
"Snows Krupa"
Arlem, Raia, Salcete Goa.
Mobile - 9822587498
Visit me at http://vincyquadros.blogspot.com/

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[augusto pinto]

Dear Vincy

I am with you on this matter and I think that a lot of people would agree with what you say. In fact just a little while ago I was telling someone who felt similarly that he shouldn't keep his views to himself but speak them out and convince others for how else would people change their points of views? 

Although I may not be the best person to speak on this I'll point out that the Bible translators were influenced by the ideology of 'Nationalism'. So they preferred to Sanskritize whereever possible  and do away with words and ideas that derived from the Portuguese or Latin. 

Hence 'commineao' became 'Krist-prasad' and 'Immaculada Conceicao Saibinn' became Nixkollonk something Saibinn - a rather horrible literal translation of Immaculate Conception.

(I am trying to follow what Jason K Fernandes has said on this, for he has done some work on this subject and would be a better person to explain this matter but he's a bit immersed in his PhD thesis and doesn't want to be distracted)

Regards

Augusto 

[Alito Siqueira]

What happens when a language has a singular status and yet encompasses a decidedly heterogeneous population of speakers? This is not the predicament of Konkani or Goa alone. Some of you might like to read what happens in the process of Standardization in Quichua-Speaking Ecuador. See attachment. http://studentorgs.utexas.edu/salsa/proceedings/2003/andronis.pdf.

The article uses a concept called ‘Fractal Recursivity” that shows how the same oppositions that distinguish given groups from one another (Marathi / Konkani ? ) on larger scales can also be found within those groups (Nagri /Romi ?). It would help in understanding that the process is always incomplete. I have met Vellip who have argued that their language is ‘different’. It would also help appreciating how the question cannot be separated from ideology or politics. But most importantly it would help us appreciate why Jose’s event is at once complex, difficult and also terribly important.

Do not get put off by the few ‘hi-fi words’ such as ‘iconisation’ and ‘erasure’ that surface in the title of the article. When you get down to it, you will find it all terribly simple to follow and I hope interesting.

Regards,

alito

On 30 March 2013 13:00, jose <joselour...@gmail.com> wrote:

We need Konkani writers of all scripts and communities to come together. We need to exchange views and improve communication between all our scripts and communities. There's too much resentment and contempt going around. 

Many decades back, Konkani romances in the Roman script (Reginald et al) flourished. They were read by homesick Goans abroad, lonely sailors on ships and lovesick wives back home. Whoever could read would read out the stories, and the others would huddle around him or her to listen to those Konkani tales. 

In each of our communities, we have a certain style of Konkani writing that is still flourishing. The romans novellas of the past made no ambitious attempt to serve as a pan-Konkani or pan-Goan literature. They appealed to the Catholic community who were familiar with the Roman script. Likewise with the Kannada script and the Devanagri scripts, which have their own following. 

Our problem today is that we are struggling to find a 'fit-all' Konkani that will be accepted by all communities. Rather than struggling with that unwieldy contraption, we need to urgently initiate exchange, camaraderie and love within our ranks. Love for our spoken language, love for the stories all of us have to tell, and most importantly, love for each other in this small Konkani populace. Else our long drawn out campaigns to establish dominance of either script will end up as a Pyrrhic victory, with no Konkani speakers left. 

How about having a flash fiction reading session of Konkani stories of less than 1000 words as a special Goa Book Club meeting? Let the scripts be in Devnagri/Roman/Kannada/Chinese/Modi or whatever, but let us read out our stories, dramatically, and let us all sit around and listen like wide-eyed children, reveling in the stories around us. The shorter the story the better, each story reading should be maximum  7 minutes. We could even have poems. Each GBC member can come with a short short story or a poem.In an hour's session we could have 10 works read out. Scripts be damned. Let our voices and souls prevail. I'll compose a new story and read it within 5 minutes. I could smuggle in some urrac as well, in a Seven-up bottle.

I have no hope that GKA and DKA will bring warring Konkani brethren together. But at our GBC sessions, we stand a good chance of doing this and bringing about some catharsis. Enough of all these partisan sammelans. Let us jam up with our own freestyle open spoken Konkani 1-hour long sammelan.

Cheers

Jose   

On Saturday, March 30, 2013 11:27:06 AM UTC+5:30, augusto wrote:

Dear Vincy

I am with you on this matter and I think that a lot of people would agree with what you say. In fact just a little while ago I was telling someone who felt similarly that he shouldn't keep his views to himself but speak them  ....

 

[Ben Antao]

Thanks for your response, Augusto.

 

Please send me two more stories written in Romi Konknni by Catholic writers that PN found boring. 

I’ve read the two stories by Naik and Mauzo, but will comment on them only after reading the English translation of two Romi

stories.

 

Please make an effort, Augusto. You can do it in a couple of weeks.

 

Warm regards.

Ben

 

From: augusto pinto

Sent: Friday, March 29, 2013 9:43 PM

To: goa-bo...@googlegroups.com

Subject: Re: [GOABOOKCLUB] Offtopic: Konkani translators... *

 

Dear Ben

 

You write: Many of the stories here (from Ferry Crossing) were bland and lacking the subtlety of technical treatment that I am used to and employ in my own stories.      

 

     To make this discussion useful for many interested in Indian and Goan literature, I suggest that you pick a story say, from Ferry Crossing, and let`s discuss it here."

Well that's an interesting comment given that the Ferry Crossing stories are used to teach student of Literature in Goa and even America.

I'll give you two stories to discuss below both of which are regarded as classics and both of which are available in Ferry Crossing. But these are in my own translations (which were done much before the ones printed in Ferry Crossing. I recently had them republished in The Navhind Times: Pundalik Naik's The Turtle and Damodar Mauzo's Theresa's Man.

[Alito Siqueira]

I am sorry. Please read it as see link (and not attachment in the forth sentence)
alito

[augusto pinto]

Dear Ben

You sound pretty riled. But rather than getting angry please try to
understand what I said.

Let me read again what I wrote: "He (Pundalik Naik) made a remark in

Konkani to the effect that Christians are boring when they write
because their models for writing are based on the bible, their models
were the stories that padris told them."

I'd like to clarify that this is a paraphrase of an impromptu
statement made by Pundalik Naik at the Konkani Sammellan. I'm sure
that a recording of it is there somewhere, but don't take my
paraphrase too literally. In fact the 'boring' bit may have been my
interpretation.

However I believe it is a fairly faithful account of what he said
although he may not have literally used the word 'boring' as such.
What he meant was that Catholics who write in Konkani use as their
models the morality plays and parables and 'sermaos' of Catholic
teaching in their writing. Jose Lourenco who was on the dais in this
panel tried to defend himself by saying that he did not consider
himself a Catholic or Hindu writer and pointed to some examples from
his own stories. But PNN was not referring to writers like Jose who is
quite sophisticated.

As for giving you translations of Konkani writers who use the Roman
script, I'll give you two which I did quite recently and posted to
GBC. Both are good stories which is why I translated them, but if you
look carefully at the structure you will realize that they are at
heart not 'modernist' and don't get me wrong on this one Ben. I am not
making a value judgement when I use this word.

One is Bhivkure by Vincy Quadros and the other is by The Barren Wife
by Evagrio George. The Barren Wife by Evagrio George

The Barren Wife
By Evagrio George
Translated from the Original Konkani by Augusto Pinto
They were neighbours who fell in love and got married. He was an ordinary
tarvotti, an Ordinary Seaman of the time when such seamen earned well, even
if their salaries were not extravagant.
So he was well off, even if not too rich. She was a chaste girl who was on
the darkish side. He thought to himself, it doesn't matter if Emilia has a
black skin; for she has the ability to run a household and manage the
fields; and besides it is a fact that men are not too interested in running
after black-skinned women, is it not? So a wife like Emilia is just the
right one for a tarvotti like me. After all, whilst on those long voyages I
do not want to feel that other men are taking advantage of my wife.
Emilia for her part, thought that even though Thomas was poor, it
didn't matter,
for he would surely rise up in the course of time. And he would build a new
house, and would help me tend the fields; and saving the money we earned,
we would build up a small nest egg. And besides, being dark skinned as I
am, I am not likely to get any better proposals, am I?
And so, after they brought up the matter and discussed it with one another,
they decided to get married. For many days, they savored the honey of
married life and it was bliss, but then Thomas received a call from the
shipping agents, and so he had to report for duty. Still both of them kept
their love blooming, nay afire, in their letters to one another. Thomas
however often asked his wife if she was with child, to which she
replied,”No, God has not decided to bless us yet, but the next time you
come, let us stay together for a longer while, and He will surely gift us
with a child.”
One year later Thomas came home, and once more did they savor the honey of
married bliss. Using the money that Thomas had returned with, they bought a
small field. And Emilia labored in it to ensure that the rice grain store
of their house remained full. Then Thomas went on board ship once again and
was promoted as a steward. And the money began to flow! Soon Thomas was
able to accumulate a lakh of rupees, and when he came back home he gave
this money to Emilia in crisp banknotes.
Emilia now told her beloved husband, “Let us build a house, a house that
will make the houses of other butlers pale in comparison. We shall build a
little palace, with a pretty balcao, a big hall, three or four bedrooms, a
kitchen and a bathing room. Around the house we will construct a big
compound wall, and both in front and at the back open spaces we will plant
…”
Thomas left this plan to be executed by his beloved wife and once again he
went back on board ship. As always the exchange of letters between husband
and wife carried on, back and forth. Emilia described in minute detail the
little palace she was building as it began to rise up: the foundation stone
is being laid today... the walls have begun to come up... you know, the
walls are being plastered...
But on his side Thomas’s bitterness began to gradually increase in his
letters to her; and each time he learnt from Emilia that her womb would not
bear fruit he became resentful. Remorseful of her guilt, Emilia drove
herself to labor on the house with redoubled passion. She now shuttled
between her two houses. And a grand house indeed sprang up in barely eight
months. Emilia labored tremendously over the house. And if the women
helpers who carried the stones were not available, she would perform this
task herself.
One day Thomas returned home. And seeing the palatial house that was built
in just a few months time, ready for him to be occupied, he was pleased.
And he gave thanks to his wife. Once again they began to taste the honey of
married bliss. But thick black clouds began to gather in Thomas’s mind, and
he began to question his wife,“What use is it building such a palace, what
use is it earning all this great wealth, what use is it if our rice grain
store is full - if we do not have a heir to light the lamp of the house?”
When he would put this question to Emilia she would, being unable to bear
it, go to a room and cry. She would say, “O Lord, what sin have I
committed, that my womb is not permitted to bear fruit?”
A day was fixed for the inauguration of the house. That afternoon a Ladainh
was performed and a great feast was thrown to which all their neighbors and
friends and relatives were invited. There, holding their glasses high, each
of them, one after another, began to raise toasts to the health and
prosperity of the family. And every single one of them did not fail to
say,”To make the joy of this home complete, there is only one thing
required, and that is the gift of a child...”
Six years had passed since they had got married. If in six years this did
not happen how was it possible for this miracle to occur now? In both
Thomas’s heart on the one hand, and in Emilia’s heart on the other, a
monstrous cloud of frustration began to build up.
Upon the raising of the last toast, a prayer was said, ”May this house be
blessed with the gift of a child!” Thomas glaring deep into Emilia’s eyes,
said in a stentorian voice,”Have you heard! What use is all of this if we
do not give birth to a child?...”
Emilia was completely crushed. If we do not have a child it is I who am
guilty, she felt. Did not her husband glare at her, eyes opened wide? In a
flash she thought,”Perhaps if I went away, Thomas would marry another, and
they would together be able to enjoy the satisfaction of having a child!”
And Emilia got up and went to the room where she would always cry, and took
out two cans of kerosene which she had kept there, and she poured it on her
body and lit a match and the flames then greedily consumed her barren body.
For quite some time she bore the distress of the flames silently. But after
awhile she could bear the agony no longer and she began to scream in
anguish. Thomas and a few others who were in the hall came running, but it
was too late - her whole burnt body had turned into reddish-purple flesh.
When Thomas took Emilia’s roasted and naked body in his arms, she fixed her
anguished eyes on him and said, ”Thomas, you need a child to keep the lamp
of this house burning. You go and get married anew and become happy. I do
not wish to stand in your way...”
The people who had gathered there felt pity for the young woman who had
built this palace with her own hands, and they began to brood upon those
who suffer in this this world of ours.
X X X
Evagrio George was a freedom fighter who was jailed by the erstwhile
Portuguese regime for his activities. After his release from jail he joined
All India Radio and broadcast for it from Delhi, Bombay and Panjim. Later
he resigned from A.I.R. and joined the Gomantak Publications’ Roman Konkani
paper ‘Uzvadd’ as editor. He wrote several books in Konkani and ‘Goa ‘s
Awakening’ in English. He died under mysterious circumstances in 1978 when
a bus veered onto the pavement outside Panjim’s Tourist and rammed into him
and another freedom fighter Mark Fernandes, killing both on the spot.
The story ‘Vanzud’ which has been translated as ‘The Barren Wife’ was
published in ‘Swatantra Goyantli Konkani Katha’ (Liberated Goan Konkani
Stories 1962 - 1976) ed. by Anna Mhambro and published by Konkani Bhasha
Mandal.
This translation was first published in The Navhind Times of Saturday 10
September 2012

Bhivkure
by Vincy Quadros
(Translated from the Konkani by Augusto Pinto)
Some time ago an unknown youth was seen hanging around in the school
campus. As soon as the school bell rang and the children began streaming
out he mingled among them and one day even caught the hand of one of the
children. However the child slipped out of his grasp and went his way. This
youth wasn’t from the village, and Raikar who regularly came to collect his
child had noticed him and was decided to keep tabs on him.
He was there the day after this incident as well, and after school ended he
began jostling among the children. Raikar called out:
“Arre, who are you? Why are you with those children?”
Faced with these questions he got a little nervous but still he defended
himself adequately. Wiping his face he said:
“My sister’s son studies here and I’ve come to collect him”.
“In that case, stand to one side! He’ll come. He knows who you are, isn’t
it? I’ve begun noticing you here recently.” Raikar stood right in front of
him, and as a crush of children kept streaming out of the school he kept
his eyes on them. However the stranger instead of going closer, went to his
motorbike which he had parked close by, started it and left. Raikar was
taken aback.
Some doubts had begun to creep up in Raikar’s mind so he told what had
happened that day to two or three others so that they would be alert as
well. The next day just as school was about to end the youth was back.
Raikar said:
“Arre, yesterday you went away without waiting for your sister’s child,
isn’t it?”
A sneer hovered over the youth’s face. As if he had rehearsed it he said:
“I received an urgent phone call and had a leave.”
“In that case who took the child home?”
“His father came as usual.”
“Today, will you be taking him?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“... Clement.”
After school, Raikar’s 10 year old son ran up to him. “Let’s see what this
fellow’s up to...” Raikar muttered to himself as he took his son’s bag and
told him to wait for a while as he began watching Clement’s movements. He
was curious to know which child was the sister’s son that he was going to
take home. Slowly all the children began going away with their guardians.
A few came out and waited for their parents. Clement went up to one of them
and caught his hand.
“Hey, why are you holding me? Let go my hand!” the boy began yelling.
Raikar felt that the youth was up to no good, so he quickly whispered in
his son’s ear:
“Baba, go to the school and tell the headmaster or any teacher to come
here.”
So saying, Raikar went and stood in front of the youth even as he sensed
that the youth was purposely trying to make a scene. Raikar pulled the
child away from Clement and asked him:
“Is this your sister’s son?”
The child replied:
“I’m not, Uncle.”
“Are you trying to kidnap this child?”
Getting no answer Raikar slapped Clement hard making him flustered. Seeing
the commotion others joined them. The Headmaster and two teachers also
appeared on the scene.
Raikar held Clement’s collar and told the Headmaster:
“Look Sir, this fellow was trying to kidnap this boy,”
“Catch him and tie him up,” suggested another parent.
“From where are you?” asked the Headmaster.
“Chinchinnim,” said Clement.
“Did you come here to kidnap children?”
He didn’t reply to the Headmaster’s question.
Raikar said angrily:
“Sir he won’t answer you like this: he has to be handed over to the
police.”
Someone said:
“First take the key of his motorcycle, or he might escape.”
Raikar put his hand into Clement’s pocket and took out the motorcycle key.
The headmaster tried to dissuade Raikar:
“Wait man! Don’t do these unnecessary things.”
Kistod, the child’s father said:
“Sir, call the police!”
“Why call the police? He hasn't taken any child away, has he?”
It looked like the word “Police” had made the headmaster scared.
Kistod had began to lose his temper:
“Arre what are you saying Sir? Are you waiting for the child to be taken
away first before calling the police?”
“No don’t take him to the police.”
Raikar again got angry. More people began to raise their voices. In this
way a heated discussion went on for quite a while. Quite a few of the
teachers joined the group, but out of fear of the headmaster nobody was
ready to call the police.
Kistod again came forward and lost his temper:
“He must be a relative of the headmaster. That’s why he’s scared of calling
the police. Had he lifted my child who would have been responsible?”
The headmaster lost his cool:
“In that case you go to them. But first take him out of our premises.”
“Wah Sir! Why should we take him out of your premises. We didn’t nab him on
the road. We caught him here and we will keep him here and from here we
will call the police.”
Saying this Raikar called 100 on his mobile and informed them about what
had happened. He then continued:
“I am shocked by your behaviour Sir! On 26th January during the flag
hoisting ceremony you said we must defend our country and protect our Goa
and above all we must protect our village. Girls and women were feeling
unsafe, you said, and people have begun to prey on them. We have to set a
good example to our children, we should take care of our children, that’s
what you said yourself. And you said that we should keep aloof from those
who moved around creating fear through selfish motives and that we should
raise our voices against them. And most of all you said that we should not
trust politicians. So now when we are putting your own ideas to the test
you are trying to prevent us. This is pathetic!”
Raikar spoke without hesitation or fear. The headmaster remained silent.
Kistod’s finger was pointed at him as he said:
“Really these leaders are always like that; they think there is no one to
question them. They think they are too clever and they know everything and
they think that it is for them to show everyone else the right path. But
when there is a problem, they sit back and it is the poor who face the
music. The poor will suffer beatings while these people enjoy. This rogue
should get a good beating and we should find out what’s what here itself.
Only then will we know the truth about him. The police will arrest him and
if he belongs to a big gang he’ll be out in ten minutes.”
Two or three bystanders almost simultaneously said as they stepped forward:
“C’mon let’s first bash him up!!”
The headmaster again came forward:
“No no no, don’t beat him!!”
Said Raikar baring his teeth:
“Surely there is some connection between these two!”
“Yes there is, there is the relationship of human decency between us. I
really don’t know who he is, but...”
Interrupted Kistod:
“But what? Was what he wanted to do something ‘humanly decent’ or what? Do
you think we don’t know how such kidnappers demand ransoms of lakhs of
rupees?”
As this argument was going on a police jeep reached the spot. The crowd
quickly stepped aside and made way for them. There was a two-starred
Inspector among them and he began asking questions. He started his
questions with the bystanders. Then casting a sharp glance at Clement he
played with the baton in his hand and then he stared at him up and down.
Holding his baton on Clement’s shoulder as he spoke, the Inspector said:
“Hawaldar take him to the jeep and one of you come to the police chowki and
lodge an FIR; this will allow us to begin the investigations properly,”
On hearing the words ‘police chowki’ some of them took a few steps
backward.
The headmaster tried to wriggle out of the case:
“Why are we needed to go there? You take him there and file the FIR. Our
school work is not yet over.”
Kistod said:
“Someone or the other has to go.”
The headmaster had lost no time in pushing Kistod onto the front-line:
“In that case you go then man, it was your son who was going to be
kidnapped.”
Kistod’s anger rose even further:
“Very well, I’ll go. You want to dump your responsibilities on me isn’t it?
You people need someone like me to bear your responsibilities. I’ll teach
you a lesson about how to shirk your responsibilities … See if I don’t
involve you in the case and force you to go to the police chowki”
Raikar angrily added:
“Yes Kistod come, I’ll accompany you. We’ll tell them that there is no
security in this school and make them party to the case. Bhivkure!! Without
working they want to earn in thousands, they stay absent from school and
they don’t teach our children properly and at home they give tuitions and
blame us parents saying our children don’t study properly. Arre if we had
as good an education as yours we would have put our children in some good
city school. It’s because of us poor that your schools run and you
bhivkure-teachers
get fat salaries. One day will come when the parents will become clever and
all our children will go to city schools. Then you can sit down and shake …
Come on Kistod. I’ll drop my son home on the way.”
The hawaldar escorted Clement into the jeep. Kistod and Raikar took their
children on their motorcycles and set out for the police chowki. The
bystanders could not do anything more than look on. The Headmaster and
teachers silently walked towards the school.
[The Konkani original by Vincy Quadros appeared in the January 2012 issue
of Gulab. The translation is a somewhat free one.]

[Ben Antao]

Thank you, my friend. Now I understand the context and your interpretation,
Augusto.

I was not riled actually, but was curious to read a 'boring' story. In
Canada the short stories
are deadly boring and bland, with no salt or spice, like most of Canadian
history.

I'd read Jorge's story when you'd posted it sometime ago and I'll read the
other one
by Vincy Quadros. I'll print them out and read with great anticipation. Give
me a couple of days
to critique them, there being four of them. I'll look at the plot, conflict
and character development.

Once again I appreciate your cooperation. My interest in all this is to
carry the Konkani literature
forward, to see that it is literary in narrative style and flavour.

Have a great Easter Sunday!

Ben

-----Original Message-----
From: augusto pinto

Sent: Saturday, March 30, 2013 10:52 AM
To: goa-bo...@googlegroups.com
Subject: Re: [GOABOOKCLUB] Offtopic: Konkani translators... *

Dear Ben

[Frederick FN Noronha * फ्रेड्रिक नोरोन्या * فريدريك نورونيا‎]

On 30 March 2013 20:48, Ben Antao <ben....@rogers.com> wrote:

Once again I appreciate your cooperation. My interest in all this is to carry the Konkani literature
forward, to see that it is literary in narrative style and flavour.

Dear Ben, I'd just like to understand you on this...

What makes you feel that others did not want to "carry the (Romi) Konkani literature forward" too? If there were others, did any succeed, or did all fail (and if so, why)? What do you see as the essential requirements needed to make a Romi Konkani short story acceptable to an Augusto Pinto or a Pundalik Naik (going entirely by Augusto's quote of what he supposedly said -- the accuracy of which may or may not be in question)?

I think the problem is that the Rt. Hon. Augusto Pinto starts by critquing your language, and then dismissing all work in Romi (using what Pundalik Naik supposedly said to buffer up his case).

In my view, judging someone else's literature is often about power and our hold on it.

This approach towards writing in Romi reminds me of Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1st Baron Macaulay PC (1800-1859) and his "Minute on Indian Education", a treatise infamous for its chauvinistic judgment that "a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia."

FN

[Ben Antao]

FN:  What makes you feel that others did not want to "carry the (Romi) Konkani literature forward" too? If there were others, did any succeed, or did all fail (and if so, why)? What do you see as the essential requirements needed to make a Romi Konkani short story acceptable to an Augusto Pinto or a Pundalik Naik (going entirely by Augusto's quote of what he supposedly said -- the accuracy of which may or may not be in question)?

The negative impression you have is not what I intended by saying I want to carry the Romi literature forward.

I’ve taken Augusto Pinto’s word seriously and I’m going to see if I can do something about it. OK?

 

All the best.

Ben

 

 

From: Frederick FN Noronha * फ्रेड्रिक नोरोन्या * فريدريك نورونيا

Sent: Saturday, March 30, 2013 12:38 PM

To: The Third Thursday Goa Book Club

Subject: Re: [GOABOOKCLUB] Offtopic: Konkani translators... *

-- ?

[augusto pinto]

My dear Owner,

I wonder why besides Helga who I gave one dhengso to, and who since
then has retired into reticence why have all the feisty females of GBC
like Selma, Maggy, Albertina et al been so silent on this issue of
power?

Augusto

BTW Patrao, I am preparing a Happy Easter feast for you, and not with
jc's "some chicken patties and some onion-patato pakodas" Please do
prepare to enjoy.

BAH!!

[augusto pinto]

Dear Alito

Although the article you give us is extremely irritating to read, and
although it needed to be written in a "scholarly fashion" it could
have been done in a much more readable way.

However I think I can understand what it is saying and will translate
it into English for your delectation.

Essentially our scholar says, a language like a dog can be given a bad
name; and like that rabid dog, the language with a bad name will be
not just murdered but it will be publicly hanged. Thus what happened
to the Equadorian language Quichua or East European language Macedonia
which have practically been wiped out can happen to Konkani.

A language can get a bad name by various means.

Say it is the language of servants. I know that this has happened to
Konkani where people then begin to feel shy to speak it Alito, just
like your student who wrote a paper about it.

Say the language has no vocabulary or grammar.

Say it is a dialect not a language.

Say it has no literature.

Say it is the language of the 'uneducated' of uncultivated country bumpkins.

Say there are no people who speak that anymore. It has vanished. It
has disappeared.

I get the point. The parallel in Quichua speaking Equador or what was
done to the Macedonia by the Serbians is quite similar to what used to
happen and still happens to Konkani.

But are we willing to realize this?

Are the largely English speaking Goa Book Club ready to understand and
support Jose Lourenco's initiative? Will our Konkani wrters and
readers be prepared to come and participate?

If Goa Book Club, a forum of Goans who love Goa, and Konkani is an
essential to the idea of Goa, then can we get Dalgado Konkani Akademi,
Konkani Akademi, Konkani Bhasha Mandal, colleges, schools and others
to come and join in to listen to all these people who come together to
just read their poems and recite their stories?

Damodar Mauzo of Konkani Akademi and Konkani Bhasha Mandal; Vincy
Quadros of Konkani Akademi and Dalgado Konkani Akademi; Jose Salvador
Fernandes of Dalgado Konkani Akademi are you with us?

Can you come and teach us Englishwallahs of Goa Book Club what it is
to read, write and speak Konkani or Konknni or Amchi Bhas?

On the 18th of April??? At Massano de Amorim BBA Campus of Dempo
College, situated diagonally opposite TEXAS restaurant and close to
Ritz Classic restaurant in Panjim, which are near to National Cinema
Theatre.

But wait and tell us: should we order snacks for just 50 people or
should we cater for more?

Regards
Augusto

[Janet Rubinoff]

Hi Ben et al.
    I strongly object to your dismissive comment about Canadian short stories as "deadly boring and bland"!  Have you not read Margaret Atwood's short stories or Alice Munro's (the best!) or McLean's stories (The Island) from Cape Breton -- just to name a few "old timers".  There are also excellent and spicy stories by various South Asian Canadians.  Please don't make such ridiculous generalizations.  Nor is Canadian history that bland -- just less violent than US history, perhaps.   Did you read or see "Life of Pi"? (not a short story but hardly bland).
    Got to run to class.
  Janet Rubinoff