Arrê Posorkaraghello Cheddó padri zat murhê...Saibá Bhoghosh...

‘ Sr. Lucas, Sr. Lucas, o Senhor tem uma garrafa de Genebra?’

(Mr. Lucas, Mr. Lucas do you happen to have a bottle of Gin)

‘ Genebra, D. Teresa? Sim tenho, Clotild, arrê Clotild, uma garrafa de Genebra hâr murhê.’

(Gin, D. Teresa? Yes I have, Clotild, Clotild, bring a bottle of Gin)

‘ Kit munlam rhê tuvem?’’Genebra?’

(What did you say? Gin?)

‘ Arrê Lucas mak mennam murhê thi garraf‘

(Lucas I cannot find the bottle)

‘ Mennam? Armarin choi rhê, ting ass murhê, soglé vinhos tinga assai, tummi soglim kuddim zalleaim mista?’

(Cannot find it? Look in the cupboard; it is there, all the wines are there, have you all gone blind?)

‘Babá, ek batli petrol mettoli?’

(Sir, can you give a bottle of kerosene?)

‘ Oi, oi mettoli, matxo rab rhê’

(Yes, yes, you will get it, wait a minute)

‘Borem, rabottam Baba’

(Ok. I will wait)

‘Melli rhê Clotild?’

(Did you find it Clotild?)

‘Oi, oi melli, matxem pusshitam’

(Yes, yes found it, am wiping it clean)

‘Mais alguma coisa D. Teresa?’

(Anything else D. Teresa?)

‘Baba xizlollem udok payancher pollam, pomad mettolem?’

(Sir, boiling water has fallen on someone’s legs; can you give me an ointment?)

‘Saibá bhoghosh, matxem rab ghê, tem pomadack ughôt lagota. Teka misturar korpak poddta! Como essa gente me persegue.’

(My God, can you wait a moment? That ointment requires time, you have to mix it. How these people harass me.)

‘Sim uma lata de sardinhas e será possível uma lata de azeitonas?’

(Yes a tin of sardines and if possible a tin of olives too)

‘Com certeza D. Teresa, hospedes?’

(Of course D. Teresa, guests?)

‘Sim o sogro da minha filha, o Doutor Policarpo da Costa Menezes’

(Yes, the Father in law of my daughter, Doctor Policarpo da Costa Menezes)

A minha filha  Eslinda enviou um telegrama, ‘O Pai vem passar um dia,tem uma Reunião em Margão. Sr. Lucas estes homens de importância são sempre, tão kit, kit’

(My daughter Eslinda sent me a telegram, Father is coming to spend a day, he has a meeting in Margão. Mr. Lucas these important people are always full of peculiarities)

‘ Sim são, laughed Sr. Lucas e qual é a sua ementa D. Teresa...Chuckling all the while.

(Yes, they are and what are you planning to cook...?)

D. Teresa was in a flurry of excitement and worry, a visit from Doutor Policarpo, her daughter’s Father in law, although rare was a matter of concern, an event to be planned carefully.

Doutor Policarpo was not a man to be trifled with; he was terribly kit, kit.

D. Teresa and her husband Sr. Cosme had worked tirelessly to get their daughter married to his son Rui, an advocate. The marriage had been a prestigious one.

Rui’s mother D. Rosa was a quiet mild person who was in awe and to some extent afraid of her husband.

Truth be told D. Rosa just could not manage a house of such repute, her cooking skills were abysmal, her management of the servants pathetic, she just couldn’t get any work done and to add to her long list of distresses, her handsome sons had roving eyes, when the sons were sent to the Market, on their return the maid would say...

‘Baba mak kit allam rhê? This accompanied by a coy smile.

(Sir what have you brought for me?)

And the son would smile and say, ‘Tuk ghô banxirea, choi bolach...’

(For you, a local term of endearment, literary meaning a sooty kitchen rag, see biscuits)

 ‘Baba, mak fokott lasanchi bolach bori lagota’

(Sir, I only like those biscuits with a twist in the middle)

At this moment any other Baddkan would have interjected and would have said sternly, ‘Tum inghá kit kortghô Inacin? Kam nhá ghô tuka?’

(What are doing here Inacin? Don’t you have any work?)

But D. Rosa never having had to confront such situations would say in a mild tone of why am I subjected to such indignities?’

‘Toninho porque é que trazes bolacha para as criadas?’

(Toninho, why do you buy biscuits for the servants?)

The reply would be some banality ... All Toninho knew was here was a woman and his hormones were raging...

D. Rosa knew immediately, that whenever a maid servant acted ‘abusada to her’ (rude) one of her sons must have already made a pass at her.

So for cooking there was the old Coinsão, half blind but eager to work, Coinsão’s cooking was completely basic. Cleaning of the house had been relegated to Pedru who each day swept the house.

D. Rosa was, what is termed as ‘delicad’ (brought up in great comfort), she came from an extremely opulent family and had studied in prestigious Convents, for her housework was an impossible chore, she just did not know how to go about it.

On the other hand Eslinda came from an austere household where house work was an art to be practiced with a great deal of elegance.

One glance and she knew all was not well in Rui’s house.

Oh what deep relief, what a deep sense of gratitude D. Rosa felt for Eslinda, she just relinquished the running of the House to her with a sigh of relief and happiness. 

D. Rosa had now endless time for the beautiful Romances her son brought for her.

Eslinda of course loved the work and never once allowed D. Rosa a moment’s regret, she ran the house like a well-oiled machine. 

They were such great friends...

So D. Teresa, Eslinda’s Mother, set out to prepare a simple meal for Dr. Policarpo, the piece de resistance was of course the tins of sardines, not because these were lavish, not even because they were ‘foreign’ but they were specifically bought in honour of the guest who taken the trouble to visit the family.

With infinite care, the tin was prised open, the sardines removed,  and with the greatest caution placed on a travessa (platter), the cat meanwhile delicately licked the remnants of the brine or tomato sauce still lingering in the now open tin...

Onions were cut in very fine roundels, if the guest was lucky and there were tomatoes these too were cut in fine roundels, a delicate vinaigrette added to the onions.

The onion and tomato salad now surrounded the sardines placed in the very centre of the travessa. The edge of the travessa was wiped very carefully for any fingerprints of oil and God forbid the soot of the kitchen.

D. Teresa decided on a chicken curry that her Mother in law, Verediana would cook.

She was going to prepare the arroz refogado herself, this was because the arroz refogado had to be presented just right; tiny shreds of boiled sausages, boiled eggs cut into delicate slivers, the olives also in fine flakes strewn very creatively on top of the arroz refogado now placed on a huge platter.

Of course, the sardines and the arroz refogado were not the only food at the table, there was the usual meal eaten at lunch, rice, a prawn’s curry, fried fish, a beef dish and maybe a dish of vegetables. For dessert, the beautiful, aromatic, Curadas ripened with great care in the attic.

As a matter of fact, D. Teresa could cook and would cook a variety of tantalizing dishes, but she had no desire to seem too eager to please, this was just the right amount of ostentation...

Gourmet shops? Who even knew what these were? There was of course the sign, ‘Loja de Lataria e Vinhos finos’ (Shop of Tinned Goods and Fine Wines) here all types of olives, olive oil, tinned sardines, salmon and even tinned peas, wines such as Macieira, Grandjó, Tinto, Uísque(Whisky)and of course Genebra(Gin) rubbed shoulders, cohabitated with soaps, kerosene, matchboxes, candles or tea leaves, this was what the entire village bought from the posró(grocery shop).

‘Arrê Lucas, khoim gelloló rhê tum? Sarki tarde zalli, tum ghironicher ghellolo as 3 horas? Kit zallem rhê?’

(Lucas where did you go? It is really late; you had gone to the husking machine at 3 in the afternoon? Whatever happened?)

‘Clotild, mecanicos de Batliboi eilole anim boroch ughôt zallo’

(Oh Clotild, mechanics from Batliboi had come and it really got late)

For Lucas Silva, his foray into entrepreneurship had begun much before his Posró, when he and a group of nine partners pooled in a princely sum of eight thousand Rupias and bought from the Batliboi Company in Bombay a rice husking machine.

For some reason the Batliboi Company regretted having sold the machine to Lucas and Partners and requested they return the machine, but of course the partners refused the kind offer.

‘Ofereceram-me, seis mil rupias em adição, mas nós rejeitamos esta oferta.’chuckles Sr, Lucas

(They offered me an additional sum of six thousand Rupias, but we rejected this offer) 

 

The husking machine chugged its way through quintals and quintals of paddy, such was the need of a husking machine. From six in the morning to midnight its chugging could be heard far and wide, so sterling was its reputation that people from neighbouring villages came in droves to get their rice polished.

But of course the entrepreneurship bug had already bitten Lucas Silva and he had bigger dreams, besides a partnership with eight others was not something he cherished. No way.                   

So that’s when he went to Bombay leaving his precious Batliboi husking machine in the capable hands of his Partners, Bombay beckoned him as it did thousand others.

As a Compounder to a Doctor, the hours were long; the work arduous, with hardly any perks, but Lucas was born of sterner stuff, slogging on, an eye on everything, naturally acquiring a vast knowledge of Ayurvedic preparations.

The idea behind this exercise was to save every penny. What privations Lucas must have endured to save every penny and open his ‘Loja de Lataria e Vinhos finos’ way back in 1924.

‘Lucas, Lucas kit korta rhê tum? Konn aila thêm choi rhê...’

(Lucas, Lucas what are you doing? Just see who has come...)

D. Clotildes looked with deep love at her tall good looking son

‘Kit rhê João Pedro sarko barik zall murhê tum...’

(What João Pedro, you really have lost a lot of weight...)

‘Barik? Konn barik zall rhê? Anvu? Tum soddam tench munta...’

(Thin? Who has lost weight, I? You always say the same thing...)

‘Soddam? Choi murhê tughem batin lambota...Nim rhê Lucas’

(Always? Look at how your cassock hangs on you, don’t you think so Lucas?)

Lucas not much of talker in the best of circumstances, shyly nods. Everybody is agog with excitement, it was very rarely that João Pedro came home from the Seminary, but this time he was going to be here for some time. Time to fatten him up thought D. Clotildes happily. 
 João Pedro who loved his family and missed them terribly threw himself into the activities of the shop as well as the husking machine, it was fun and he enjoyed it.

‘Arrê Padri Baba, khuim oita rhê sokanni fuddem?’

(So little Priest, a term of affection, where are you off to so early in the morning?)

‘Missak, Carmelin ani magir amghê girnikorre..,’

(I am going for Mass Carmelin, and after that I am going to our husking machine)

 ‘Avoi, saiba, Padri Bab tum girnikorre kiteak oita rhê?’

(Jesus, little Priest, why are you going to the husking machine?)

‘Zan mughê Carmelin, amghê manay Bosteão aiz kammank eilo, nam, anvem Papak sanguilem, anv oitam ... Bosteãoaguellem kam anv kortam’

(Do you know Carmelin, our labourer Bosteão, has not come in today, I told Papa that I would go instead and do his work)

‘Saibá bhogosh, Baba tum padri essom kam korpak tuk sób nam murhe’

(Dear God, you are a priest, it does not behoove you to do such work)

‘Sób nam? Sób nam kiteak ? Kamm korpak loz nam’

(Does not behoove? Why doesn’t it behoove? There is no shame in labour)

‘Hmm, hem tum mak sang naka Baba, tuk anvem eddo choila hmm’

(Hmm, don’t tell me such stories; I have seen you since a tiny child)

That evening, João Pedro, whilst happily singing a little ditty and grinding an ointment for worms, was interrupted by Adlai mãi.

‘Arrê Baba kit korta rhê tum?’’Tugem batin suj zatollem...’

(What are you doing? You will dirty your cassock...)

‘Kaim zaina, Adlai  mãi, Rosalinchea babak dhont zaleai ani Papan sanguilam hó lep vantun dhi mhunon.’

(Nothing happens Adlai mãi, Rosalin’s little son has worms and my Papa has told me to grind a paste for him)

‘Saiba Baba, tum Padri mhurê anim tuka tugello Papa essom kam korpak laita? Ragar zainaka tugelló Papa boró monis mat poixeancho axechó? Padri essollem kam kortai rhê Baba?’

(Dear God, you are a Priest and your Father gives you such work? Don’t be angry, your Father is a good man, but greedy for money, do Priests do such work?)

That got João Pedro thinking, everything he did at the pharmacy or at the husking machine was frowned upon by the local people.

They expected him to lounge around in a cassock reading his breviary. 

He loved working at their shop, the posró as it was locally known, and the husking machine filled him with delight every time he heard its chugga, chugga.

He knew how hard his father had worked, how every member of the family had scrimped and scrounged to get the husking machine and the shop going...

His Father had worked for years at a Doctor’s Clinic in Bombay as a compounder learning a great deal about Ayurvedic preparations which were so useful in the village.  

But those were times of a great deal of privation, of scrimping and saving every Rupia to open his ‘Loja de Lataria e Vinhos finos’or the posró. He really loved the shop and the husking machine...

But things were turning difficult; people were turning his love for the shop and the husking machine into a prestige issue.

Take the case of D. Imelda always such a pleasant person but were they completely shocked at her malice...

One evening as he was measuring the correct ingredients for a baby’s colic ointment, she just barged in and went straight to him...

‘Ahn João Pedro, kit korta rhê? Esta misturar uma pomada com kuslelem tup? Arrê este trabalho é pra voçe?

And a cackle of malicious laughter.

(Ahn João Pedro, what are you doing? Are you mixing an ointment with decayed butter? Is this work for the likes of you?)

 

 ‘Sabnão sua família sempre vai ser posorkares, um padre fazer este trabalho? Oque Sr. Lucas sempre trabalho, sempre dinheiro, kittu munn zorrum soditta rhê tum Lucas?

(Do you know your family will always be that of shopkeepers, a priest doing such work? What Lucas always money? Always work? How much do you want to earn Lucas?)

Todo bairro esta falar sabnão, seu filho padre faz qualquer trabalho não?Naqueldia Consu dizia ele estava fazer trabalho de manay, kitt rhê? Ele deve rezar, ler Bíblia, ir pra  Igreja, tum soddam posorkar zaupa soddita kit rhê.

(The entire village is talking you know, your priest son does any type of work no? The other day Consu was saying that he was working as a labourer, what man? He should pray, read the Bible, go to church, you always want to be shopkeeper or what?)

Que vergonha. Kesso loz saiba and she sailed out of the house; it was as though she had come to humiliate them.

(What shame. What utter shame.)

Everyone was utterly shocked at her venom; they had considered her a good friend but now realized she had such terrible disdain for their shop, shouting posorkar, posorkar.

They were stunned and saddened...Is that how the people of the village saw them as low posorkars, their business built from scratch meticulously and with love was just a posró? They were truly disheartened.

It was as if a veil of their carefully built hard work, their love for their shop was a sham, it had been violently torn asunder by a woman they considered a friend.  

Sr. Lucas closed his shop for the evening, something he hardly ever did. Clotildes brought him some soup which always cheered him, but he was shocked and most of all saddened at the attitude of the village people.
Clotildes sat on the bed and patted his hand.

‘Lucas, asdhi rhê, tinnem kit muntlam kont dovor naka rhê, tika invej zallea, tighê sobrinh seminarin bitor sorpak mellunk nam mhunnon...’

(Lucas, let it be, don’t be bothered by what she says, she is envious, her nephew had tried to get into the Seminary but could not...)

‘Tem nhi rhê Clotild, kit, kit munnon gelleia rhê thí...kitulle pavtin amkam posorkar, posorkar mhunnon gellea... Itu anvem sigrar korun hém Loja começ kellolem...’

(That’s not it Clotild, what things she said, she repeated shopkeeper,

shopkeeper, so many times...I had saved so very much to start this shop)

‘Arrê Lucas amghem Loja tiss orsanv chollota...Atam amghêr Padri assa, ani choi rhê Lucas D. Imeldak kesso invej zallea, thi posorkar, possorkar mhunta astonam luthi bhair poddalli ...’

(Lucas our shop has been going on for around thirty years...Now we have a Priest in the house, and look at it this way Lucas, D. Imeld is so very envious, when she was saying possorkar, possorkar spit was spewing out of her mouth...’)

‘Attam ami ekh borem ‘Poilem Miss’ amghê João Pedruk urroia rhê Lucas ani poili convit D. Imeldak...’

(Now let us have a very good First Mass for our João Pedro and our first invitation should go to D. Imeld)

And so it was that Sr. Lucas closed his ‘Loja de Lataria e Vinhos finos’ for good, as he wanted no slur on his Priest son, João Pedro.
His, now was the house of a Priest no longer the Posorkar, he hoped the people in the village would now respect him.

But occasionally in the deep of the night when everything was dark and quiet, he wept silent tears of anguish, thinking of those days in Bombay when he had worked so very hard and most of all saved and saved every little Rupia to open his Loja de Lataria e Vinhos finos...

Those were the only occasions when his soul wept silently.