Lofty dream turning ghastly

In the light of the unfolding events in the country, with parts of the nation burning and other parts of this federated nation facing the brunt of arson, protest or just anger, it’s not hard to feel disillusioned of the state of affairs in Goa. The surrounding issues around the small State, still pronounced as one of India’s best tourist sites, is something I wonder about. That this verdant green land with sun-soaked beaches was the apple of the eye for tourists, largely from Europe, to spend their time and money here was a god-given (or should I say, St. Francis Xavier’s blessing) bonanza. 

Since I am brooding over the tropical paradise’s fate, I deliberately avoid the word, Liberation and settle for a milder one — takeover.  It’s been a long journey from the day, December 19, 1961, when Goa awoke to a new dawn and held in the stranglehold of an enigmatic nation called India (aka Bharat, Hindustan). 

I am remembered of this fateful day, etched permanently in my memory of a schoolboy. Inkling was provided to my family by my dad, who worked as a civilian in the Indian Navy, after his return home from work. He said to her that there would be great celebrations on her birthday, December 19, hinting that the celebrations will begin in the wee hours of the day.

He didn’t disclose the reason, hinting that it would be a surprise. It was but a surprise, maybe a shock to many Goans, reading the morning papers. The news of the Indian army moving into Goa and capturing the colony in a few hours gladdened my young heart. Doubtlessly, it made my dad happy, and the family rejoiced.

We were nationalist more by my dad’s occupation in the Navy than by choice. However, my dad’s cousin, Felix Valois Rodrigues, was a freedom fighter and I remember him coming to our house one early morning in an unshaven and badly-shaped persona.

Woken up by the sudden appearance of a stranger, my siblings and I were dumbfounded. I looked at amazement when my dad hugged the stranger. My dad welcomed him into our one-room tenement on Kalbadevi Road, in Bombay (now Mumbai). 

Over warm tea, Uncle Felix related his story of how he escaped from the jail in Portuguese-Goa and crossed jungles and mountains to reach, I think, Belgaum was first and then finally to Bombay. He was the closest link to Goa’s freedom movement. He had come from Karachi, leaving his young family there, to participate in the fight against Portuguese imperialism. It was his resolve and firm determination of mind and soul that stirred me. I became a convert to the idea that Goa should indeed be taken over by India, by whatever means possible. I followed the diplomatic tit-for-tat and the international bickering.

Listening to his heroic tale, I mulled over it and my young mind was seized with admiration. He became my hero and it was his inspiration and guidance, which took me into the field of journalism. After the glow of freedom in Goa, Uncle Felix worked for the Indian Express in Delhi until his retirement. After a short stint in Bombay’s journalistic field, including free writing for Goan periodicals, he was lured to Goa by an offer by a company that was bent on starting a Romi-Konkani daily. Initially agreeing and having worked on its masthead, Uzvadd, he was later told that he would have to report to the editor of the Marathi-language paper, a former Shiv Sena MP and a fierce propagandist of Marathi. He refused the offer. However, he did write for Uzvadd, which then his co-freedom fighter, Evagrio Jorge, edited.

The fierce freedom-fighter he was, Felix plunged into politics. He ran as an independent candidate for the South Goa parliamentary seat which was won by Eduardo Faleiro. 

When in 1982, I was in Bombay, my late friend Orlando da Costa said to me at the table in Kyanis, “There’s a write-up on your uncle”, as he held the Evening News of India in his hands. I took the paper and read the report on his death in Goa. My parents in Goa informed me that they were not told of his death in Colva, my paternal village, as my parents stayed in Bogmalo. He’s featured in the Who’s Who of Freedom Fighters, brought out by Dr Prakash Shirodkar, the Director of Archives.

I provide this short background to what made me a firm advocate of India’s bid to win over Goa. I was elated on December 19, 1961, and that feeling hasn’t left me though I must admit that the Goa I visualised hasn’t materialised. I feel dejected as the inward joy that I had experienced in 1961 has slowly diminished. I am afraid that my dream of a ‘new Goa’ under the Indian sun may finally vanish. I don’t regret what happened that day but today that dream of a Goa colourfully radiant appears in faded colours. Not that I want the Portuguese back, but I want the old Goa back in Indian colours. In my heart, I know it won’t happen. 

This slight variation of focus, so to say, has come about from my close observation of Goa in recent times. I had moved to Canada 20 years after Goa’s liberation from my habitat in Bombay. I have been to Goa a few times before this year’s venture, which is of at least four months. But a month in Goa so far has opened my eyes wide to the surroundings and I have felt the heartbeat of the State, sadly bringing tears to my eyes and pain in my heart. 

Call it a leap of faith — from sublime regard to its rejoining the Indian nationhood to utter disregard to its political makeup and murky societal atmosphere. The Goa I had visualised through the 1960s isn’t showing to me in reality. It seems it was just a daydream. I fear it may turn into a nightmare.

Admittedly, the one silver lining I happen to see is the advancement in education, and the cultivation of an educated and forward-looking generation of Goans. However, I must express my regret that many Goans are seeking the way out of Goa to better themselves. I did out of adventure, coming back in two years never to go back again to Canada. However, destiny had other designs. 

It’s irony of sorts that the current generation of Goans, particularly those in Goa, are seeking the route of obtaining Portuguese passports, the Portugal that some of their freedom-fighter parents fought against. The children of those who sacrificed their lives and including some of those who participated in the freedom struggle have gone in reverse steps. Some in my family too have flown off the nest, living and working in UK and other countries of the European Union. Seems this unscripted chapter in Goan history is benefitting this generation of Goans. The pro-Portuguese segment of Goans must be laughing in their sleeves at this phenomenon. 

I walk the beach in the morning and see the glorious sunrise and again walk in the evening and see the reddish sunset. True, the sun has set over the Portuguese empire, and it was Goa that served as a spark. Knowing that it isn’t the monsoon season, I hope to see a rainbow over the Goan ocean. My deepest and sincerest wish on this day is for the promised rainbow of goodwill and economic prosperity that hasn’t yet come over ‘golden Goa’, as it was labelled during the heyday of Portuguese reign and still retains its lustre.

(Eugene Correia is a senior journalist)