Let Goa be, for everyone’s sake
Sun, sand, sea and surf. That is the Goa most of us know. The balmy beaches, pubs and shacks, water sports, flea markets and live bands add that element of fun and flamboyance to the place. But then, Goa also offers itself in different ways to different tourists. Its forests and marine ecosystem draw nature lovers, its colonial structures and pristine white churches appeal to those with a bent towards art and architecture, and its cuisine and drink, in their traditional and transformative avatars, remain a perennial delight for gastronomes. More than anything, the place works best for those who come with no plan.
And that’s how I found myself strolling in the very Instagrammable, charming Fontainhas, the Latin quarter located in Panaji (though locals prefer Panjim). Where rows of quaint houses dressed in ochre, blue, red and other bright colours flank the narrow cobbled lanes. Where wrought-iron verandahs, red-tiled roofs and name plates in the glazed blue-and-white azulejos tiles are a nod to the hybrid Indo-European aesthetics. Where the cafes, taverns and street names give a better Mediterranean vibe than the French quarter in Pondicherry or the colonial hub in Fort Kochi.
Given that Goa was a Portuguese colony for over 450 years, the colonial influence is tangible in the food, architecture and way of life. But it is a more harmonised legacy, with the European sensibility seamlessly blending with the local. For instance, the heritage houses in Fontainhas and many across Goa reflect not a Portuguese aesthetic but a Goan one. The houses that stand were built using indigenous labour, craftsmanship and locally available material like laterite stones, terracotta tiles and oyster shells. The colonisers may have introduced cashew to Goa but it perhaps took some local ingenuity to turn the fruit into its spirited incarnation, feni. Similarly, Goans gave their own twist to the Portuguese dish vinha d’alhos, which means wine mixed with garlic. They replaced wine with palm vinegar, added chillies and black pepper to make it spicier and thus was born the vindaloo. There are several such stories of happy fusion, giving Goa and Goan culture its own distinct identity.
Therefore, when politicians recently threatened to remove signs of Portuguese rule from the state, the polarising rhetoric didn’t cut much ice in a state that is proud of its unique syncretic identity. In fact, it begs the question: what does one erase in Goa? Every morning and evening at Fontainhas, I would see women or children wait outside their homes for the poder (bread vendor) as he cycled door to door selling poee, the leavened bread which owes its origins to the Portuguese. Every menu in the restaurants would feature the signature dishes of sorpotel, chouricos, caldine or a serradura, which is again a nod to the Portuguese legacy. And every afternoon, much of Panjim shuttered down, not just to escape the sweltering heat but to embrace the homegrown way of life called susegad. Derived from the Portuguese word sossegado, it encapsulates the laidback but not lazy, stress-free yet not spiritless attitude of the Goans.
So if one were to begin tearing down every vestige of Portuguese influence, it’s pertinent to ask from where would one start and where would one end. And more importantly, what would be left of Goa? Especially, when the “inimical influence” that the political class so loves to denounce is nothing but residual.
At one heritage home turned restaurant in Fontainhas, the owner points to some of the plaster peeling off the walls. Built in the 1870s, the house requires constant air-conditioning to stop it from crumbling. Many families have turned their homes into commercial spaces so that they can afford the costly upkeep and preserve the structures.
Goa has, over the years, witnessed several conflicts between the government and citizen groups over the brazen manner in which heritage structures of the Portuguese era have been pulled down. Even the language has been under threat since the liberation in 1961. Following statehood, Goa did witness a linguistic tug of war in the mid-1980s though, ironically, it was between Konkani and Marathi, and not Portuguese.
It’s a reality that the Portuguese invaders were, like any colonial power, a marauding force. They attempted to subjugate local languages and cultures and, through the Inquisition, effected forced and large-scale conversions of the locals to Christianity. “But all this happened 500 years ago. Why can’t we appreciate the beautiful elements handed down by the Portuguese?” asks a young Goan, with all the consternation of a generation that wishes to look forward and not dwell in the past. And then, as if on cue, she points to the casino ships floating along the Mandovi river and asks, “Is that our culture then?”
Wonder if the fire-breathing politicians in Goa have an answer to that.
