In his introduction, our editor poses a question that scorches a nerve: should we continue to see Portuguese as a “foreign” and “colonial” language or, explore its “significant economic potential”? In this journey of exploration, Aren contacted his own network of scholars, historians, linguists and lovers of the language who, either “natively spoke” or “had suffered language loss”.
This book, deftly edited by the Portuguese language scholar is book-ended with two excellent, academically perfect articles.The first, Claudiana’s Writings and Her Generation’s is by Sandra Ataíde Lobo in which there is an extraordinary account of family history pinned on to the linguistic history of the Portuguese presence in Goa and, more fascinatingly, the “relationship between Portuguese and Konkani” a subject that intrigues us all.
Aren has chosen Sandra's account well. It takes us through a multilingual family in Goa, Portugal, the United States. There is an attention paid to “vanishing traditions”, oral histories and commentaries on the Portuguese language, both formal and informal. There is also a delightful account of the contribution of Datarama Vamona Naique of Tipografia Sadanand fame, the signage of the printing press still standing in Panjim.
The other book-end is a scholarly paper By Mark Sebastian Pinto and Jeanette Camilla Barbosa Noronha that focuses on the motivation to learn a language. The authors list out academic purposes, career exaltation and integrative purposes. There is also research and archival work or a desire to move to a new geographical location where the language is being spoken or a desire to communicate with a loved one who does not speak any other language.
In Fala Português? Isabel de Santa Rita Vás tells us how she spoke Portuguese and Konkani and later in Mumbai Hindi, Marathi and English. She also read the books in French in the family library, papering her essay with gemstones like, “Does wisdom taste different in different languages? Possibly.” and, “Heaven is multilingual, you know.” Amen to that, Isabel!
Anthony Gomes gives us an essay with a few personal notes and also draws a historical imagery of Panjim, his tryst with music both before and after Goa’s liberation from colonial rule.
Lilia Maria D’Souza regrets that Konkani “was her step-mother” as she goes down the memory lanes of chatting with school friends, playing in the Church Square, the joy of reading. (Here, a personal note. It was Lilia Maria, Bunota to us all, who taught me that it was never too late to learn and the route to that was paved with humility.)
Eufemiano de Jesus Miranda begins with the Ponsalimal petroglyphs, the Mauryan empire and the various other rulers of Goa. “History and Memory need each other”, says our wise author, finally ending his piece with the question, “Who am I?” and “What does it mean to be Goan?”
Athos Fernandes draws our attention to the importance of Daman as a vital port link and the history of its “discovery” by Captain Diogo do Melo. He then speaks of the importance of educational systems prevalent in Daman, Diu, Dadara Nagar Haveli and Silvassa and his own job career as an engineer and with Radio Goa.
There’s no denying Délio Mendonca’s scholarship in The Portuguese Language Belongs to all Former Colonies. Délio reflects on his connection with the language without “falling into nostalgia or mimicry.”
Fatima M Noronha in L’ettuce Speak fills us with her wry sense of humour and reverence both at the same time and repeats what we have heard so often in Goa, that her parents spoke in Portuguese as a code language.
António Fonseca talks about the physical presence of the Portuguese people in various parts of Goa and with this, he lays the grounds for a description of the lack of infrastructure, the status of higher education and the extent of “the use of Portuguese language in Goa.”
Graça Costa, daughter of Goan parents in the 1970’s city of Lourenço Macques, now Maputo, opens the doors of the “clubs and associations” of the Goan diaspora “some even favouring the refinement of the castes.” The Portuguese language, she says, was associated with an elevated status while Konkani with “poverty and the life they had left behind.” Sounds familiar?
In a rare account of what happened to one family on December 19th, 1961, António Lobo gives us of how they tried to leave Mapuça, fearing the worst “to protect the younger generation of the family”. The escape route took them only as far as the fields skirting the town. Like many of his co-students, he was exempted from studying Hindi since he came from a Portuguese school. For the 11 year-old, “it was like being in a foreign country.”
Nellie Maria Velho Pereira tells us how “the Rosary became a multilingual symphony: my uncles prayed in Konkani, my grandparents and mother in Portuguese, and we grandchildren in English.”
Lorraine Alberto tells us how she picked up English in Dubai and how, finally, she had “come full circle” teaching Portuguese at the Goa University and how “the language, once a symbol of personal constraint and rebellion, has become the very key to my academic, cultural and personal identities.” In the same vein, Luis F Figueiredo tells us how, with both parents serving as teachers, he was always under a microscope. “Is he as smart as his father?”
Caroline da Costa tells us that although “she has studied other languages either for work or socially, “I remain very close to Portuguese. It is my safety net.” Edgar João, while wondering why his father had a different accent, describes his dad’s odyssey across the ocean from Merces to Mozambique where he says he suffered “racist epithets that sting” and yet, despite “the damage to his soul” he emerged to tell us the story of how dictatorship ended in Portugal from where he went to the United States where he now lives, “a citizen of the world.”
Carlos Peres da Costa writes of how “despite the change in Government” (December 1961) there was no interruption to his studies and how he ended up teaching Physiology in Brazil. Sérgio de Sá, like several other writers in the anthology, tells us how his parents were very “particular about speaking the language correctly to preserve the dignity and the richness.” Dilip Chico’s essay laments that “this Portuguese tradition no longer exists” and all he can do now is “write about it.”
Maria Pia de Menezes Rodrigues draws a word picture of what life was “for girls in the village” and also points out that their school textbooks “did not give any scope for social literature, lifestyles and history.” Bennet Paes is a pure nostalgia piece and his love for the language. Sharmila Pais tells us how language can help bridge barriers and “is an essential part of who we are.” Noémia de Souza recalls growing up in Kampala, Saligao and finally serving at the Nirmala Niketan Institute’s College of Home Science, College of Social Work and Polytechnic, Mumbai.
Omar de Loiola Pereira has had the “privilege of having three everyday languages” and tells us how horrified he was when, in Australia, he “realised how badly this community spoke its own language!!” He finally learnt to speak better from people who did not speak it well!! Nalini Elvino de Sousa writes about how her love for the language blossomed only after she picked up books she chose to read.
Rene Mendes describes his life at the Lyceum, his life as a “kind of Boy Scouts movement at the Mocidade Portuguesa, his first brush with tourism selling picture postcards and finally being a part of founding the Travel & Tourism Association of Goa. Now is there a reason that this teacher in A Teacher’s Story remains anonymous? It is a story that sounds so like the other stories we have heard about our unsung heroes, our inspirational guides, doing what they were duty-bound to do and then fading away into oblivion.
Aulio Martins only reiterates what we know already about inter-state and intra-state migration and how he and his siblings were “caught in the middle of a language crisis.” Vince Costa confesses that he has no knowledge of the language. I leave you to enjoy his essay. It is a puff pastry stuffed with spicy humour, wit and throw-back. Vince is learning to laugh at himself!
Unlike a lot of the families in the book, Dr Luis Dias says his family’s secret language was German. His words, as sharp as they are, tell us how the language has been “weaponised” to divide class, caste and create a privileged society in Goa. Xavier Cota takes it a notch and says he learnt the language on the fly “with dollops of English, Konkani and even Swahili.” Joann Marie D’Silva advocates learning the language to further one’s career as a translator or interpreter. “Preserving a language is preserving a people’s soul.” Anonymous.
Dhruv Usgaonkar’s scholarly essay gives you a pass through a gate that has given him an insight into an international arena. Sanikaa Verlekar speaks of language as adventure, as exploration, as opening, unifier. Constâncio Cecil de Melo realised that the language he heard around him “was a hybrid of something once deeply known but not fully remembered.” Father Jason Keith Fernandes also begins with a personal account ending with “I had finally realised that Indian nationalism was not geared for people with my background given that we had to undo who we were, to be perfectly Indian.”
(Father Jason’s words, “And if you love the Mass, then surely the love for the language will also find a place in your heart” rings true for me, for that has been my journey in learning Konkani.)
Frederick Noronha says “language loss can be very real.” The author draws a clear route map of the language, its history, historical research institutes and publishing houses, including his own. José Lourenço says that “Portuguese was nowhere in our lives.” He picked up Konkani from “househelp, classmates, shopkeepers and other villagers.” With tongue firmly in cheek, he explores the endless horizons of expletives as culture.
Joseph Canisius Dias recalls several failed attempts at learning the language ending in bloomers such as asking a shopkeeper if the jam had any preservatives but using a word that meant condoms! Jaime de Melo takes us through the educational milestones of learning Portuguese via Spanish. Ben Antão shares his dread at trying to learn the language as a child. His stint with Portuguese lasted only to lead a troop of 60 fellow classmates on a parade barking orders in Portuguese. Those were the only words he knew!
Amit Bhaya, a true multilingual, was introduced to Brazilian Portuguese through protest music. On a trip to Goa, he overheard some gentlemen at the next table wondering if “he could be from the North and was he dangerous.” Racism in Goa? Na! Says who? Dhruvan D Nair is spot-on when he says, “topography can suck you into a different world.” He also speaks of shrines dedicated to guardian spirits, a concept all of us in Goa are familiar with.
Maria de Lourdes Bravo da Costa Rodrigues explores the connection between the educational institutions controlled by the Church and the Portuguese language.
LUSOPHONE GOA is a must-pick-up for historians, linguists, new settlers, old settlers, visitors who want to know more about the land, the people, and the idea of Goa.
