Vivek Menezes
What is not for sale in India’s smallest state? Is there anything that is not being packaged, and peddled to the gullible? Are there any limits? What about the rights of the people whose lives are being disrupted – don’t they have any say? These are the fundamental questions of this awful moment, with Goa under siege by an orgy of illegalities, and falling apart in the absence of accountability.
At every level, the lack of rules underlies every crisis, whether large or small, and it is more the latter – albeit still pointless and unnecessary – playing out with Divar and its pre-Lenten island tradition of colourfully dressed ‘Potekars’ who roam from house to house, where an inherently intimate insider custom suddenly showed up on the state tourism calendar. The implication is this too is available for consumption, but it never has been in the past, nor is the island prepared for anyone seeking to experience what has never been a “Potekar
Festival.”
I happen to have roots in Divar, and enjoy being in an islander WhatsApp group where my friend Luis de Souza – he owns and operates the popular Panjim restaurant ‘Venite’ – wrote this charming recollection: “Potekars is a theatric expression rooted in village bonds, and ties between families and wards. Every Potekar was known to all the adults, and it was sheer fun and entertainment among the villagers for interaction between all ages. There was not the remotest possibility of any disguise for any unpleasant motive, and it provided a playful enactment of village satire, with character imitations of known neighbourhood figures who had quaint and funny traits [which] were exaggerated and portrayed as pure comedy. For example, I remember one Potekar acting as Francis 'Sutachem Bondol', and another one was 'Bhishtin' – not such an easy role to play as you needed an armament of unpleasant language in an equally unpleasant voice. Another Potekar called 'Barkilem' spoke of village folks against whom (he) she held a grudge like the Duconcar at the local tavern who (he) she swore at in the shrillest sounds your eardrums could bear that the measure was always less then what (he) she had paid for.”
De Souza is clear about the meaning of the Potekar tradition: “we can well understand how it is a culture-specific, local, close-knit folklore event. It was all about camaraderie, closely-woven goodwill, 'boryeponn'. I remember Mann Amor, Agusta Tia and Mann Almir offering goddxem and chunnacheyo kholoyo to the Potekars wandering from house to house. Besides the fear aspect among the tiny tots, the cowbells also simultaneously added a melodious jingle to the cheerful mood in the air. The ‘Pottho’ of the Potekars has many stories in it to tell, but the one that stands out most dearly is the simplest of love and affection. What better way to express it then to share goddxem with the beloved Potekars. Viva Potekars…thanks to them I learnt somewhat at least to be a
good boy.”
How can you sell that? More importantly, is it possible to sell what is not for sale, and force participants in their culture into becoming unwilling performers for the benefit of tourists? Everyone is painfully aware about what has befallen Fontainhas – and the surrounding once-bucolic Latinate wards of Old Panjim – where throngs of tourists crowd the lanes all day. The famous peace and quiet and quality of life is destroyed, along with the community’s right to being undisturbed in their own balcões. Cameras everywhere, the real Goa has retreated behind shutters and an ersatz InstaGoa permeates the look and feel and character of these iconic streets. This is precisely what eagle-eyed Alu Gomes Pereira, who keeps close watch on his exceptionally gorgeous – and thus constantly overrun – ancestral corner of São Tomé, has been warning about for years. Way back when the problem surfaced, he warned “this is a small community where everyone knows each other, and shares in each other’s celebrations. There will be a problem with these uncontrolled hordes of disrespectful mass-market domestic tourists, who leave garbage everywhere and constantly invade our privacy. If there’s no enforcement, I fear it is going to be a disaster.”
Alas, here again is the problem of impunity. The absence of accountability has – just as Gomes Pereira predicted – led to an egregious free-for-all. The residents of Old Panjim are understandably furious, because their lives and lifestyles are being trampled. But the tourists are also unhappy and anxious – also entirely understandably – because Goa was sold to them as the place to break the rules, and there would be no need to respect the sentiments of the locals. Tensions have been running high, with regular streetside unpleasantness, in an ugly scenario where everyone loses. This is zero-value tourism, with exhaustion on both sides of the equation, and preying on everything that makes this destination so special and attractive in the first place.
Knowing all of this, what is going to happen at this year’s Potekar non-festival, which is now thankfully being un-advertised? Hopefully, the islanders will be left unmolested to do what they like to do, but my WhatsApp group contains a number of warnings that it should not be treated as an open invitation fancy dress party: “if any local residents find outsiders (of course after proving the identity) dressing as Potekars at any point, let’s be quick to gherao and pack them off there itself. We Divarcars do not require the Tourism Dept to promote our tradition [and] at the same time we should not allow the Tourism Dept to take over / capture this tradition of Divar.”
(Vivek Menezes is a writer and co-founder of the Goa Arts and Literature Festival)