Epiphany signifies the day on which the Magi appeared before the Christ child with offerings of frankincense, myrrh and gold. It also signals the end of the ecclesiastical Christmas season. On this day in the year 1956, a child was born to Dr Jose Manuel Faleiro, an Officer in the Indian Army, and his wife Olga de Sa in Margao. The parents named him Socrates Valmiki Faleiro after two of the great men of the ancient world, a Greek philosopher and the writer of a lasting Indian epic. I picked up a friendship with him which ended with his sudden death of a cardiac arrest on October 5, 2023. Coincidentally he shared his first name with my father and the last with my mother.
Valmiki was still a teenager when he began writing a highly appreciated column. Impressed by his precise language and line of thought I was keen to meet him, though I have no memory of how or where I met him. After graduation he joined as Chief Staff Reporter of the now defunct West Coast Times. At his request, I too contributed some snippets, later majoring into their sports reporter.
Valmiki graduated in Commerce from Damodar College, Margao. Sitting in class, I imagine he must have felt the same as Harry Dacre, as he watched a demure damsel walk in quiet and shy.
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do/I’m half crazy all for the love of you/ I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet upon the seat/of a bicycle built for two!
Did he sing it? I do not know; I do know, he did marry Daisy Colaco!
It was a call from another friend Vijay Sardessai which still rings in my ears, “Valmiki is dead” he intoned, sounding tentative. “How do you know?” I inquired. “Umesh informed me so”. Well, if Umesh has informed, it had to be true. Umesh has been Valmiki’s Man Friday for long.
Though not particularly inclined towards politics, he ended up contesting elections to the Margao Municipal Council from his home ward around Holy Spirit Church. Somehow the nosso factor so prevalent within his community, excluded Valmiki; he was well aware of it. He thus concentrated on the other voters and won handsomely, to be rewarded with the post of mayor, perhaps the youngest ever in the life of the town, in 1985. The caste and community groupings so much evident then as now nauseated him; his first foray into politics also became his last.
Valmiki was by temperament a writer, but was pragmatic enough to realise that one could not make a living through it. With his keen sense of the world around, he knew where money lay and plunged headlong into the emerging Real Estate business, with great success. After his finances were sorted, he was back into the writing world. I am not delving into his books, because if you have not read them, it is time you do and learn about our land, its people and history, through him.
We spent hours, over years, sitting in the balcao of his house by the side of Holy Spirit Church engaging in small talk, interspersed with endless discussions on anything we fancied. Like me, he had affinity to mischief and had authored several escapades. He detested the jarring and incessant ringing of the bell before sunrise, at Loyola High School to wake up the boarders for prayer and studies. The bell disappeared, one fine day. The Jesuits known for their thorough ways quickly identified the culprit and expelled him. The loss of Loyola was the gain of Holy Spirit Institute.
His father, a doctor from a family of high achievers, despaired of his son’s errant ways. His aunt promised him a sum of rupees two thousand, if he passed SSCE. Valmiki missed a first class by a whisker; his father missed the results by a day, as he lay dead. The amount promised was delivered.
Valmiki enjoyed exploring the lanes and by-lanes astride his bicycle. His little sister Anjinha would beg of him to give her a ride. He finally obliged and took her riding roughshod over difficult terrain leaving her in terror, never daring to ride with him again! This indiscretion was offset years later when Anjinha had to return home for the funeral of her beloved aunt, but rejoin duties the next day. Valmiki replicated the cycle ride with his car speeding over obstacles through the night, to deposit her in Bombay in a matter of eight hours, in time to resume work.
We had several adventures together, one particularly enduring. It was cold, late evening in early December 1986, as we made our way up the hill of Pornem Mardol Verna; I riding pillion on Valmiki’s bike. Eldred Mascarenhas as daring a young man one could meet followed with a friend on another bike. Up the hill, a group of swarthy young men awaited. The night was dark, so were the young men. Eldred opened his knapsack, took out a bottle poured some liquid smelling of kerosene from a container, closed the bottle with a stopper that had a wick, shook it violently, lit the wick and hurled left handed, long and high. It crashed and exploded into flames. A bottle was provided to one of the young men who aped Eldred, to the same effect. The trials were over. The Molotov cocktail was primed.
Days later the Konkani agitation was on. As trees, telephone/poles were being brought down, police hurried towards Verna. Unexpectedly, there was an explosion ahead. The police jeep reversed and sped back. Another hit towards the rear speeded the police further. It meant total freedom to block the roads; the agitation was on a high.
My recent contacts with Valmiki were nearly all via telephone; he had become a recluse wedded to his work. The Covid pandemic encouraged even greater solitude.
Did Daisy feel neglected in later years? I ask because Valmiki was almost always on his laptop with little time or place for Daisy on his lap top!
Rest in Peace, my friend!
(Radharao F Gracias is a senior Trial Court Advocate, a former Independent MLA, a political activist, with a reputation for
oratory and interests in history and ornithology)