Milagrin Portugalak oss iea mughô? ( Milagrina shall we go to Portugal?)

 On this glorious morning, Gabriel Fernandes, affectionately known as Gabru to his friends at the Bar de República relaxes; relishing the good news he has just received.

His brother Zito accompanied by his wife Chantall and their grandchildren are coming from Portugal on a visit. Oh what pleasant times await the family, thinks Gabru…

His peaceful reverie is rudely interrupted by their very talkative maid who has just returned from the market.

‘Gabru Bab, Gabru Baba, happy disota murhê? Kit khobhor rhê?’ Truth is Milagrin loves to hear Gabru’s heavily accented Konkani.

(Gabru Bab, Gabru Bab you look happy. What’s the news?)

 ‘Aghô Milagrin, mughello bav Portugalak sonn ietmughô…’

(Milagrin my brother is coming from Portugal…)

 ‘Oí, Portugûes passport khelloli kit rhê?’ (Oh really? Did he get a Portuguese passport?)

‘Teka Portugûes passportichi goroz nam…Theghe ghór tingha, Portugalak’

(He does not need a Portuguese passport…He lives there)

 ‘Oí?  Theghe ghór Portugalakhó? Thó tugello bav Londonam kitea gellona rhê? Mughê ti-managhello cheddo Portugûes passport konn Londonank ghello, Portugalak servisio mettaí rhê?

(Really? Your brother lives in Portugal? Why didn’t he go to London? My aunt’s son got a Portuguese passport and then went to London. Do you get jobs in Portugal?)

 ‘O Marta, onde é que andas, querida? A Milagrina esta apoquentar-me.’

(Marta, where are you dear? Milagrin is hassling me)

 ‘Milagrin, Milagrin ing ieo ghô…’

( Milagrin, Milagrin come here will you)

 ‘Gabru Babaghello mood bhoro nam murhê baie…’

(Gabru Bab does not seem to be in a good mood)

 ‘Borea mudar ass ghô thó? Choí, aik cantar korta!’

(He is in a good mood, look, listen, he is singing)

 From the balcão Gabru’s faltering voice can be heard…

‘Numa casa portuguesa fica bem
Pão e vinho sobre a mesa...’

And Marta continues with her fine voice

‘E se à porta humildemente bate alguém
Senta-se à mesa com a gente
Fica bem essa fraqueza fica bem
Que o povo nunca a desmente...’

Both sing with vigour brought about by intense Saudade... Milagrin claps in delight...

 

‘Aghô Milagrin khuim ghô tum?’ (Milagrin where have you been?)

‘Anv, anim khuim rhê JaqShimão? Ingha murhê... sarkem busy...’ (Where can I go to JaqShimão? Here itself... totally busy...)

‘Busy kitea ghô? Zantelim chodd kam ditai mughem banxirem?’ (Busy how so? The old people giving you too much of work you little rag?)

‘Arrê JaqShimão, Gabru babaghello bav ieta, Portugalak sonn...’ (JaqShimão, Gabru Bab’s brother is coming on a visit from Portugal)

‘Avois, Portugûes passport khelloli?’ (Oh, did he get a Portuguese passport?)

‘Thea, Portugûes passportik uzó lai, padd poddum, Gabru Babak incharlolem, thó mujer tappon ghello...’ (Go to hell with this Portuguese passport, go to hell with it, I had asked Gabru Bab, he got angry with me)

‘Kiteaku?’ (Why)

‘Konn zanam tenghellem, thi Mart bai, mak anni Edoshak, pixim kellim... Hem jhevon zai, them jhevon zai. Aim mullem, baié bhori sungtam khoddi koriea...?’ (Who knows about them? That Marta bai, is driving me and Edosh crazy...I want this and that type of food. I said, Baí why don’t we make a good prawn curry...?)

‘Oi mughô, ani benne gailear kesso lagota...’ (Yes, and if you add okra to it, ooh it tastes wonderful...)

Mak Mart bai motthé dhóre konn sangpa lagolli, ‘Milagrina, Portugalla lok, khoddi khaina...’

(Then Marta Bai glared at me with big eyes, and said, ‘Milagrin, people in Portugal do not eat curry...’)

‘Khoddii, khainaí ? Ani kit khatai ghô tim?’ (They do not eat curry? And what do they eat then?)

‘Bacalhau!’

‘Avôis, bacalhau mhunlo kit ghô?’(Good Lord, what is bacalhau?)

‘Arrê, JaqShimão, mughéa pixea, kharem, Portugûes kharem...Kharea cutlesh khonn hatai. Tek udkhan ghallon, zaitem khorpak zai rhê...Tuk anim konn sangtolo. Edosh pix zalam’

(JaqShimão my dear, my mad man, salt fish, Portuguese salt fish...they eat cutlets made out of the salt fish. It has to be put in the water; much has to be done...who will explain it to you? Edosh has gone crazy)

‘Sangnaka, mak sangnaka, bacalhaua khobor sangnaka, dev khatir kharea khobor konn aiktollo ghô?’

(Do not tell me, do not tell me anything about this bacalhau, for God’s sake who wants to listen to anything about salt fish)

 ‘Zuzulak kamak hadla, ani dis raat, Zuzul hem mez ing dovor rhê, hi almar hing bhori distoli na rhê? Milagrin hek ferr marr ghô...Ferr marr-marrun bhén dhukholem murhê.’

(Zuzul has been brought in to work and the entire day Zuzul bring this table here, take this cupboard there it will look good there, no? Milagrin iron this, iron that...Ironing and ironing my back is beginning to ache)

 ‘Ani dis-rat Portugûes kantram khortai murhê, Numa casa portuguesa fica bem

Pão e vinho sobre a mesa...’

(And day-night they sing Portuguese songs)

 ‘Avoi, tum Portugûes zann mughô!’(Wow you too know Portuguese)

Milagrin preens, ‘oi murhê, tenghem aik-aikon…’ (Yes, to some extent, after listening to them...)

 ‘Edosh bolo de cenoura khorria mhugô?’ (Edosh, shall we make a carrot cake?)

‘Aghô Milagrin bôl kit ghô? (Oh Milagrin, what is bôl?)

‘Cake rhê pixea.’ (Cake my dear madman)

‘Oit ghô, mughe tokli zum-zum zata. Portugûes kharem ani carrot-bol saiba bhogosh! Tuk picturak ieopak zachina kit ghô?’

(I am off; my head is ringing, Portuguese salt fish and bôl, my God! Then there is no chance of you going to the movies then?)

 ‘Kesso picture rhê JaqShimão, mughellem pictur ing zat murhê!’

(Oh, pictures JaqShimão? I am not able to do anything or go anywhere)

 ‘Oi, mughô, bol ani kharem, tem mak cantar xikoi mughô, casa portuguesa. Kiss nam ghô?’

(Yes my dear, bol and salt fish, teach me that song casa portuguesa, No kiss then?)

 ‘Tuk anim nha mundpachem, mughéa pixea?’

(Can I say no to you dear, my little mad man?)

 

Preparations are in full swing.

On the eve of Zito and Chantal’s arrival, Marta runs around like a woman possessed, a headless chicken. Beautiful table cloths many with the Galo de Barcelos embroidered in different colours are yanked out of baús where they lie encased in moth balls; they now adorn various carved tables.

Lace doilies and runners and pillows embroidered painstakingly by Tia Ilda who would never ever have a house of her own because Papa Sertorio was too parsimonious with a dowry for her.

The ever present Macau plates on the wall, carefully oh so carefully washed by Milagrina with periodic admonishments from Marta,

‘Samball ghô Milagrin, samball, cuidad ghê’ (Be careful Milagrin, be careful)

And Milagrin’s fatigued riposte, ‘Padd poddum, ing kitea etaí, Londonak vosspachem. Padd poddum’.

(Go to hell, why do they come here? They should go to London, go to hell with them...)

 

Edosh so tired, so very tired with the endless refrain,

‘Edosh anv sangotam tech baxin khor, Jantarak poilea dissa, Caldo Verde, Bacalhau à Brás - salted cod, eggs and potatoes, Empada de Galinha ani sobre-mês Pudim Flan.’

(Edosh do as I say, do exactly as I say, for dinner on the first day… Caldo Verde, Bacalhau à Brás - salted cod, eggs and potatoes, Empada de Galinha ani sobre-mês Pudim Flan)

 

And then Gabru’s much awaited relatives arrive, Gabru hugs Zito fiercely, both weeping, both thinking of Papa Sertorio and Mama Emilia with deep affection forgetting the parsimony that had left their beautiful sister Ilda a spinster.

The teenage grandchildren Madalena and Eurico bemused by the house and the love showered on them by their Tia Marta.

Madalena the more spontaneous of the two enters the house and gasps when she sees the table cloths, the beautiful flower decorations, the innumerable Macau plates on the wall.

‘Avó parece estar em Portugal’ (Grandmother it looks as if we are in Portugal)

Marta is so very proud until she sees the look on Chantall’s face, she sees her frowning at her granddaughter.

Dinner as expected goes on splendidly, after days of agonising over the menus, after poring over recipes, after Edosh throwing up her hands in utter despair the Meal is impressive, a meal fit for any King of Portugal.

But somewhere deep in Marta’s subconscious she can feel that Eurico and Madalena have not enjoyed the Meal as had been intended. They have eaten well, have praised Tia Martu’s meal exuberantly under the watchful glare of their grandmother but... but something rankles.

 

The brothers, Gabru and Zito now sit in their balcão with a chilled urak, talking about their days as young men, their lives with Papa and Mamã, their girl friends now most of them grandmothers, the Baile de Escola Médica the pinnacle of Social graces, a plethora of Dances at the Clube Vasco da Gama and the Clube Nacional.

‘Lembras Gabru, quanto tempo precisavas para aquele o teu nó perfeito da gravata?’

(Do you remember Gabru how long you took to tie that most perfect knot of your tie?)

 ‘Querido, o meu querido, até agora, levo meia hora para aquele nó perfeito!’

(My dear, my dear, even now I take a half hour to tie that most perfect knot!)

 

Madalena and Eurico sadly do not share this enthusiasm for reminisces and are frankly bored to tears with everything.

Their avó Chantall joins in the ‘Grupo das Lembranças e Saudades’ as Madalena and Eurico call those evenings of recollections.

Tia Martu has no time for these chats, not even for a cup of ‘chai’, she is on her toes the entire day, planning some Meal, which most of the times consists of Bacalhau a lá something or other, then changing the lace doilies and runners and the towels, fresh flowers every two days.

So many plates, so much cutlery dot the dining table at mealtimes, puzzling it is, not knowing which fork, which spoon and which knife is to be used and with which food. Every meal is a battle.

The very pleasant maids are tired to their bones.

Madalena dislikes this totally unnecessary and tiring exercise. Their Mother never has time for all this. She is a teacher with heaps of books to correct, stacks of exam papers to mark, lessons to plan. Madalena shudders to think that she would probably have been the one to wash everything had they used this artillery of tableware back home in Portugal! Falta da Simplicidade she explains with a gesture of disdain to her quiet and patient brother Eurico, who just smiles. He too is bored out of his wits.

 

And then they are invited for Prima Paula Maria’s wedding! They are thrilled to bits.

The Wedding is everything they had expected, a bit too opulent, very showy with Paula Maria doing a special choreographed piece with her six maids of honour and their groomsmen. The nicest thing however, is that everyone wants to dance with them; Madalena and Eurico are inundated with willing partners.

All of a sudden the band, ‘The Goan Gypsies’ who until then had played the most delightful music, pauses and glances at the MC who according to Madalena is the most uncouth, loud mouthed, stupid a@#$%e she has ever seen or met.

This uncouth man looks their way and screeches, ‘and now Ladies and Gentleman for our beautiful guests all the way from Portugal! Give them a big hand, a very big hand to you! The Fernandes’ all the way from Aveiro, and if your Geography is not so good, Portugal!

At this announcement the Goan Gypsies who until then had been playing the most delectable music, launch into something called ‘the Corridinho’.

Madalena and Eurico are totally perplexed, wasn’t this a folk dance from some corner of Portugal? What the hell was this? Eurico and Madalena look at each other in utter surprise mingled with disgust.

 The siblings are bemused, the Goan Gypsies belted out some totally unknown music. Tirolliloli? Something called Malhãum, Malhãum?

‘What are you doing?’ cries out the very handsome André with whom Madalena had been dancing, ‘these are Portuguese numbers, come on, especially for you.’

But Madalena is for once as Milagrin would have put it ‘Rannan podlelem’ (In the dark) she could not believe it.

Her Granduncle Gabru is dancing the folk dance called Corridinho! Gabru is allowing his coat to swirl around him much like a matador as he and Tia Martu stamp their feet in frenzy. André has ditched her, he now stomps his feet with undisguised fervour with his cousin Milusha.

Both she and Eurico gape at the scene around them. What is this? They wonder...

 

 The next day when Avô Chantall and Madalena are at their customary walk, along the banks of the canal, Madalena decides to broach the forbidden topic...

‘Avó, what sort of a holiday is this? We seem to be eating Portuguese food practically every day? Then all that trouble of changing bed sheets and towels every two days. Can you imagine how much water is being wasted?’

‘This is not what we had imagined our holidays to be and I have contributed a good bit of money towards my fare. I want to eat Indian food, I want to know more about India and I am going to...’

Madalena, is sick and tired of this fantasy of a supposed Portuguese culture built around Goa, an illusion that is preserved and nurtured with much diligence.

Yesterday at the wedding she had felt utterly stupid, what were these ridiculous dances, they were folk dances from some corners of Portugal...

Folk dances for God’s sake! The siblings could not believe it!

She disliked her Uncle Gabru intensely, his pseudo aura of Culture. Just because he could speak some Portuguese, did it imply he was cultured? Had he even read a single Portuguese Author?

Prancing around with his rotten teeth and creaking bones and his much talked about tie, the pride he took in tying the perfect knot, how utterly, utterly childish.

The Portuguese did not live the way her Granduncle and Aunt lived. Where was the time? And if you really wanted to know where was the money?

At breakfast, Madalena asks Tia Martu if she could eat some Indian breakfast.

‘No, no, Madalena, it is very spicy, full of chillies’

‘I love spicy food, the other day I ate some delicious bhaji with puris, it really was good. We are in India and we should try out some Indian food

Gabru gasps, in fact he feels ill, but he glances at his grandniece with utter scorn and in a voice laced with venom

‘We are not Indians! We are Goans!!’

’O Zito não ensinaste a tua neta o Namaste?’

(Oh Zito haven’t you taught your granddaughter the perfect Namaste?)

 Madalena is about to launch into one of those huge arguments with the obnoxious Gabru... At that moment her grandfather pinches her hard and she knows she has crossed some line that should never have been crossed...

So she keeps quiet, but...she is not going to waste her time and her precious money pandering to some doddering old fool who thinks and feels that Portugal is his reason for living.

Maybe it is for him; maybe all that he has is this tenuous connection to a Portugal that no longer exists.

But she Madalena is going to eat Indian food, she is going to buy Indian clothes and she is not going to visit Velha Goa and see the relics of a Saint long dead and who has absolutely no connection to her. She has tons of saints and their relics strewn all over Portugal.

So she pops into the kitchen and asks Mila as she calls Milagrin if she knows of a nice place where she could eat Indian food. What a lovely meal she has at a local restaurant!

Meanwhile, when Milagrin gets to know about Madalena’s revolt against Portuguese food, she is filled with delight,

‘Edosh mana, Edosh Mana, aik ghô, Madalenak Portugûes jevonachi bejasanv eilem’

(Edosh, Edosh listen to me, Madalena is fed up with Portuguese food)

 ‘Oí, eupachem, tho mak Bacalhau choileri bejar ieta, kharem, Colva exench pollam kharem  Madalen baiek ing apoi gho Milagrin’

(Yes, she should be, I myself am tired of that bacalhau, fed up, salt fish! At Colva salt fish is everywhere. Call Madalen bai here Milagrin)

 ‘Tik vinchar kulleanchi koddi hat zaleari, tikholli’

(Ask her if she would like a crab curry, a spicy, pungent one)

 ‘Madalena do you want to eat crab curry? A spicy one like we eat in Goa?’

Of course, of course and Madalena hugs the two.

Afternoon lunch saw a fiery red crab xec-xec, some tambdi bhaji and fried leppos, rice, sweet lime pickle and a crispy pappad just for Madalena.

The siblings polished off their food. At one point Madalena with the permission of her Aunt Martu dispensed with the cutlery, much to the disgust of Gabru, who had perfected the ‘Art of Using and Handling Cutlery at Meals.’

From then on Edosh handled the meals to perfection, every afternoon Madalena ran to see what Edosh had cooked and then to hug the two. Tia Martu, protested once in a while but very half heartedly for she too was very tired of Bacalhau and the bland continental food.

Now that Tia Martu did not have to be on her feet the entire time, she had plenty of time for long chats and endless cups of chai.

Madalena explained to her Aunt that she loved Indian food and that Portugal had all sorts of people. There were tons of ‘Ghantis’ from India and Nepal, even Bangladesh. They had opened food kiosks and got on very well with the Portuguese, who loved to try out new cuisines. The outsiders worked hard and were striving to have a better life in this world, much like her own family was.

She also explained that a good bit of Portuguese History was being ‘overlooked’ deliberately; it was time to put the Salazar regime and the Colonies to rest.

 Tia Martu could not believe it, she felt a terrible pang, she realises with some bitterness that although here in Goa many people like she and Gabru tried their best to remember every little nuance of ‘Portuguese culture’ , the young in Portugal and even Zito did not think their connection to Portugal was relevant any longer.

It was something to be put to rest...it was over; it had served its purpose. It was time to move on; trade with India was the uppermost thought in everyone’s mind.

‘And did you not study about Goa at all?’ Asks Marta, close to tears.

‘Of course we did’ affirms Madalena, ‘we know there were the Indian Colonies of Goa, Damão e Diu’. But Tia we concentrated on the vast domains of Africa and Brasil’

Madalena loved Tia Martu who she knew wanted to give her the best stay in Goa. And they shared a joke; Tia Martu wanted Madalena to marry one of her own cousins in Portugal. He was she told Madalena repeatedly of ‘sangue azul’(blue blood)...

Madalena laughed and teased her Aunt about a tiara with sapphires and diamonds for herself!

 

Madalena and Eurico travel through Goa quite a bit, eating all sorts of foods, meeting the much hated Indians and enjoying themselves with people their age, young people who live in the present and who want to experience the world as only young people can.

They never listen to Tio Gabru’s glories of the Past...

But one day at breakfast Madalena had worn a particularly beautiful Indian outfit, she had long dangly, silvery earrings, she even had a bindi to match her outfit.

She rushes to the kitchen to show Edosh and Milagrin her new outfit...

As she happily eats her bhaji pav, Tio Gabru glances at her and gives her one of his mocking smiles,

‘Então menina, já pronta para vender as bujigangas com as outras ghantinas na praia? Não pareces muito differente das Ghantinas’

(And so my dear, ready to sell those knick knacks at the beach like those other ghantinas? You do not look very different from the other Ghantinas)

‘Esqueceste do Namaste, minha querida ghantina?’

(Have you forgotten your Namaste, my dear ghantina?)

 

Although hurtful, Madalena ignores her Grand Uncle... But for Chantall it is the last straw...

‘Why are you talking in such a manner to my granddaughter Gabru? ‘

Gabru was taken aback; he had been having a lovely time insulting and baiting Madalena and no one willing to disturb the status quo...

‘O Chantall isn’t she dressed just like the ghantis from India?

‘She has dressed like any Indian girl, anything wrong in that?’

Even Zito realises that his dear brother has gone too far...

‘Gabru I think we need to talk...’

‘Talk about what dear Brother?’

‘Don’t you and your wife know about our Portuguese Culture, our traditions?

Don’t you realise the role we play as a part of Portugal? We were citizens of Portugal!! Free Citizens of the Estado da India!’

‘Then these hordes of Indians invaded us. Invaded us free citizens. We cannot say liberated. We were happy, liberation from what dear Brother? These ghantis? Read the History books, read the History, if you have the time and inclination to see and hear the Truth that we were Free Citizens of the Estado da India!!!’

Shouldn’t you try and inculcate our culture in your Grandchildren? They seem to love Indians, disgusting ghantis!’

‘My dear brother, if you really must know, the Portuguese were really interested in Africa and Brasil, much more wealth than Goa, large tracts of land, unexplored territories and mining  concessions to be had.

Goa wasn’t doing much for their economy. There wasn’t much they could exploit. Yes we are mentioned in History books as ‘Goa, Daman and Diu.’

That is all there is to their occupation of Goa of more than 450 years.’

 ‘You do not know anything, we were treated with courtesy and we were Citizens of Portugal! Look at the mess Goa has turned into. No culture, always these Ghantis, dirtying our beloved Goa.’ 

‘Gabru, what Portugal wants at this moment is Trade with India. They want India as partners in Business, there are so many immigrants in Portugal from India, Nepal even Bangladesh. Everyone is looking to make a better life for themselves’

‘So ghantis have reached there too!!!’

In a flash Zito realises there is not much sense talking to Gabru... He is steeped in something he likes to think of as ‘Portuguese Culture’, which in truth does not exist and has never existed. Who has the time and the money for this tiresome living, the endless tablecloths, the crockery and the cutlery?

Everyone is very busy and the little time they have is spent in relaxing at home with the family. Did these people realise how expensive eating at restaurants is?

 Anyway...He hugs his brother, let him live in his bubble he thinks, we all need to escape to a better world far from the harsh reality. For Gabru it is the perfect knot to his tie, the corridinho at weddings with his swirling coat. For Martu her blue blood, her tablecloths and hope that Monarchy would return to Portugal!  

As a child of six I tagged along with my Aunt and Uncle to a wedding of a very prestigious family. The Wedding was just after the Liberation/Invasion of Goa...

The Portuguese had just left or were on the verge of leaving Goa for good. This prestigious family had enjoyed a lot of favours and respect from the very high echelons of the Portuguese Government.

But at the Wedding Lt. General Kunhiraman Palat Candeth was there in full dress uniform and so were the other dignitaries of the extremely new Indian Government.

Nothing comes for free not even for Candeth, after the Wedding, the Bridegroom occupied a very senior position in the Goa Administration...

And some other prestigious families acquired mining leases...

Life of course moves on...

Idea from Dhruv Usgaonkar’s honest and amazing article in the O Heraldo. An eye opener . Many thanks Dhruv.