There are few occasions in Goa when nature plays second
fiddle and the drum beats of human hearts play the first.On Sunday last, the glimmering
ocean, with sunlight bouncing off its waves, happily receded into the backdrop,
playing its gentle music, taking care not to get in the way of some real, earthy
Goan sounds on the sands off its shores, on the beach of Siridao.
With massive palm trees forming a perfect square around
which ropes were tied to make an enclosure, a delightful bunch of eclectic and enthusiastic
boys and girls, men and women, and very young children, spent the day fawning
over an instrument which really can be called a beating heart ̶ the ghumott.
While most with Goan hearts know what a ghumott is, the uninitiated may imagine
this to be a round mud vessel, almost like an earthen pot, whose face is
normally covered with the skin of a monitor lizard. But in the interest of
biodiversity and wildlife protection, ghumott makers, a rapidly dwindling
breed, have moved to she-goat skin as the base.
But this wasn’t about the technicalities of skin, but the
reverberation of the spirit. When about a hundred, or could be more, decide to
spend a Sunday afternoon on a shady patch of palm trees in a little cove on
Siridao beach, on the hilly jungle road connecting Bambolim to Siridao, beating
the drum, you know we are ready to reclaim a Goa we are losing.
The spirits were high, though there was no alcohol; the
value of the afternoon was priceless, and it was just as well, there were no
sponsors, and everyone who attended was passionate about Goa. Each was special and
hence there was no need to have a chief guest.
The beach was buzzing with the quiet excitement of a family
picnic. Those who sang, danced and played the ghumott were inside the natural square
of four massive palm trees with rope tied around them to make an enclosure.
Outside this cordon, the festivities expanded to impromptu jam sessions,
sitting on the beach and by the rocks and of course eating, the entire spread,
not made by caterers, but home makers. Simple boiled rice, prawn curry, thick,
coconut-filled, farm fresh vegetables, both dry and with curry and the world’s
best pickle made of bimbli, again made by a lady who prepares it for home
consumption and felt it was worth her time to come to Siridao and be a part of,
and contribute to, the celebration of Goa’s most beloved musical instrument.
This was a spontaneous people’s movement but it needs the
crowning of some very special people. Marius Fernandes, who gave up a life in the
gulf to come back to this village in Divar, has resisted going into a zone of
disillusionment, at the loss of Goemkarponn in many little ways, especially in
the manner in which village customs, feasts and celebrations are getting
diluted.
Marius is a soldier protecting and celebrating traditional
fests like the Cajuchem Fest (cashews), Ambeanchem Fest (mangoes) and the
jackfruit festival, ‘Ponsachem Fest’ on June 24, on the occasion of Sao Joao.
The celebration of ghumott was the first ever for a musical
instrument, but that’s not really a deviation. Ghumott is all about soul
sustenance; it’s a friend of all faiths and festivals. And as a group from
Ponda performed the ghumott aarti, another minority group sang songs sung during
the Zagor folk festival to the accompaniment of the ghumott. And as we all (including
yours truly) played the ghumott, sang songs and danced in a circle, we realised
that we all knew each other ̶ personally and in spirit.
Pandurang Phaldesai, Rajendra Kerkar, Roland Martins, Judith
Almeida, Colin Savio Coelho (who has embarked on a mission to gather ghumott-
and similar instrument-players of all southern states), Prajal Sakhardande (who
got a group of girl students to play the ghumott in a wonderful new tradition
that will hopefully sustain), Carlos Gonsalves and Bondo, Goa’s beloved
percussion patraos, and Bondo’s brother, Timoteo, Goa’s first King Momo and our
land’s cultural asset, were all in attendance. In the olden and golden days,
Timoteo didn’t need hot air balloons, road shows and world travel marts to
present Goa to the world.
He just needed his cultural troupe with him at the helm,
either in a suit or kaxtti. He gave life to dekhnni and fugdi as well as the
corridinho, a Portuguese dance with pairs embraced dancing in a circle with the
girls inside and the boys out.
It is on these sands that the zagor, the carnival and shigmo
meet. It is here that the folk dances of Goa and the corridinho exist and
delight and it is here that the traditional instruments like ghumott keep up
the beats.
On the sands that day, in a quiet corner, sat there people
working hard on clay, giving shape to what would be a ghumott. A family from Usgao,
they are probably the last willing ghumott makers of our land.
In a village where all ghumott makers have been lost to
mining, who in turn are at a loss now, Ramakant Shet, his elder sister and her
elderly husband, have not left their traditional occupation of ghumott making. They
too are treasures who must not go extinct. Yours truly spent some time with
them in quiet homage, in awe of their spirit and their selfless dedication to
their craft.
This afternoon gave us hope. Hope of salvaging what we still
have. With hearts beating to the ghumott, our cultural army is ready to defend and
protect, not just the ghumott, but every morsel of goemkarponn.
