Heartbeatgoa.Did you know? -Solutions to avoid fraud at Grass Roots by Agostinho Proenca

A WORKABLE SOLUTION TO END USAGE OF FRAUDULENTLY OBTAINED- RATION AND ELECTORAL CARDS. The following Resolutions were proposed by Agostinho Proenca and passed unanimously at the Calangute Village Gram Sabha dated 4th January, 2009. Resolution No.5(1) Dated: 04/1/2009 Resolution: DELETE NAMES FROM THE ELECTORAL ROLL It has been unanimously resolved that all the migrants/non permanent residents and the floating population names appearing on the electoral rolls to be deleted immediately.(a) To facilitate detection of such names a copy of the latest Electoral Roll to be obtained by the Panchayat.(b) A copy to be given to the Panchayat office to the person(s) in-charge of collecting house tax who can verify/certify the residents of the village through the Panchayat records.(c) A small committee to oversee/verify the report submitted by the Panchayat office to be elected in this Gram Sabha and headed by Joseph Sequiera – Sarpanch.(d) This whole exercise should be completed within four weeks.(e) When the persons are identified, required form to delete the names is filled up and submitted to the competent authority i.e. Deputy Collector, North by giving him a time frame to act upon.(f) If the Deputy Collector or other competent authority or authorities do not take corrective measures to delete the names the Panchayat is authorized to take legal recourse including approaching the court of law. Proposed By: Agostinho ProencaSeconded By: Jose Braganca RESOLUTION No. 5(2) Dated: 04/1/2009 RESOLUTION: Cancel/Withdraw RATION CARDS It is unanimously resolved that Ration Cards issued to migrants/non permanent residents and the floating population should be immediately cancelled and withdrawn. (a) To facilitate detection of such names the Panchayat is to approach the concerned Mamlatdar under “Right to Information Act” to obtain details such as the names, addresses and card number.(b) After receiving the details the same should be provided to the Panchayat office for verification with the Panchayat office House Tax Records.(c) A small committee to oversee/verify the report submitted by the Panchayat office to be elected in this Gram Sabha and headed by Joseph Sequiera – Sarpanch.(d) This whole exercise should be completed within four weeks after receipt of the records.(e) When the unauthorized persons are identified the list with complete details should be forwarded to the competent authority or authorities for immediate cancelation/revocation of the Ration Cards with a time frame to act upon.(f) If the authority or authorities fail to take action the Panchayat is authorized to seek any and all legal remedies including approaching the state Vigilance Department, Anti Corruption Bureau and or a court of law. Proposed by : Agostinho ProencaSeconded by : Jose Braganca NOTE: It was also proposed by Agostinho Proenca and resolved by the Gram Sabha that no elected Panchayat Member would be part of these committees ( to keep them from protecting their illegal VOTE BANK). Except for the Sarpanch who has to head all committees nominated by the Gram Sabha as per the Panchayat Act.Would like to state here that full cooperation was extended by the presiding Sarpanch. The procedure is in motion and soon to be completed.

Heartbeatgoa.did you know? -DOCUMENT BY AGOSTINHO PROENÇA

The following Objectives were listed for a Society to be registered by Agostinho Proenca in March 2006.The complete to be registered Document was handed over to a few personalities who were approached to be the Core members of the Society ;One of them being Dr. Oscar Rebello.Unfortunately the author of the document, Agostinho Proenca met with an accident and was laid up in bed for nearly a year. OBJECTIVES -Instill Pride, passion in the uniqueness in being a Goan. -Demand and monitor Democratic, simple, clean and transparent governance from the political dispensation including the bureaucracy and the police. -Educate and empower people at the Grass Root level of their Democratic rights and their responsibility, to allow them to live with dignity. -Involve school children, colleges and other educational institutions in mass awareness of their Democratic rights and their responsibilities towards the society they live in. -Form a Core group in every village of Goa to educate them on their Democratic rights. -Compel the Government to install in a prominent place the Fundamental rights and fundamental duties, framed in every government and semi government office. -Compel the Government to scrap the Minority / Majority panels and insist that even the Print and the Visual media desist from using these derogatory and insulting terms. - Achieve Social and Natural Justice for all irrespective of Religion, Caste or Creed. -Work with the grass root level entities -Check / Stop drugs, pedophiles and prostitution. -Seek employment for the locals with the minimum wage pay. -Take up issues affecting the people and the environment. -Create a Harmonious society -Achieve all round development within local parameters and with total transparency. -Encourage peoples’ participation in units of Local Self Government like Panchayat, Municipality, Communidade, so that there is increased involvement and interaction. -Seek effective implementation of the provisions of Right to Information Act and analogous legislations. -Take up issues relating to good governance like stoppage of corruption, red tape and dereliction of statutory duties. -To be involved in dissemination of knowledge, particularly as regards the issues concerning the objectives of the Society. -To take up issues relating to the environment and to make concrete efforts in preventing environmental degradation. -Organization to be Pro All-round development as long as the implementation is done per the requirements, totally transparent , with peoples active participation and presentation made through proper fora like the Panchayats – Gram Sabhas, Municipalities, Comunidade etc,. Jobs to be made available to the locals . Basic Rules for Core and other members: -No member to have political, religious or caste affiliation. -No funds from political, religious or caste based organizations.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #8 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

The great actor was furiousHow often does life imitate art, he raged.Here he was with his troupe in Bombay, playing asmall-time theatre in Dhobitalao.They should have been in Goa. Enjoying the adulation.He'd written a glorious script, with a marvellousplot and a killer ending. It was to be a sensation!He'd sent it ahead to his trusted friend.M.D. and M.B. were best buds since childhood, andM.D.'s son was to wed after the glorious triumph ofM.B.'s sensational tiatr. He was to raise the toast.But the rain gods had intervened. A landslideblocked the roads to Goa and M.B.'s troupe wasstranded in Mumbai.And now, just as he was going onstage, a deadlyphone-call informed M. Boyer that "M.D." hadusurped the script as his own and actually stagedthe tiatr!He boiled through the first act.At the intermission, he scribbled furiously. Thengrabbed a shocked Remmie Colaco and the band ofmusicians.A stunned audience watched rapt as M. Boyer sanghis heart out in the spellbound second act.A wrenching new song, a classic story offriendship and betrayal called "True Friendship"or "Ixttaghot".Gone and long-forgotten are "M.D." and thepurloined play.But M. Boyer's great "Ixttaghot" lives on.Such is life.You'll find a rare copy of this - and tons more -in the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits". But youalready knew that!So I'll keep that pleasure for when you get the Book.Twenty-two days to its release......and still counting!But Ill leave you with the moral -"When the cat's away, the mice are at play!"Enjoy this mouse!"Undir Mhojea Mama"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbRH0KYOlJYMusically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -GOA – PARADISE LOST? - ANIKA PROENCA

On the 19th of December, 1961, Goa was liberated from the ‘tyranny’ of Portuguese rule. Goans were finally free to govern themselves and in 1962 the locals chose to remain a Union Territory in the Sovereign Democratic Republic of India.February 2009, forty six years have passed since that fateful day. And yet, what do we have to show for it? A memory of what Goa used to be? Now we have slums and the destruction of Goa’s natural beauty, a government that can’t seem to remain stable for more than six months. And, of course, everybody wants a house on the beach, regardless of the fact that it’s harmful for the environment. And on top of everything else, Goan youth seem to be suffering from Goa’s new reputation for being a ‘Junkies Paradise’.It’s common knowledge that Goa is not exactly known for its educational institutions, and it’s this lack of infrastructure that is leading the youth away from Goan shores to places like Bombay and Bangalore. You ask any Goan youth if they would like to stay and work in Goa, and heir immediate answer, more often than not, is ‘no’. They dream of settling in the United States or the UK, because these places offer better prospects.But I ask you now, if Goan youth carry on with this trend what’s going to happen to the land we adore? It’s going to be left in the hands of people who don’t know or understand our culture. People who want to impose their own conditions and traditions. The Goa we know and love will be lost forever. Perhaps the worst thing to happen to Goa would be the migration of its youth who will sell their ancestral land and houses to the highest bidder, most probably a non Goan.Tourism – if it were a person it would be almost hypocritical. On the one hand it’s one of Goa’s main source of income. And on the other it has single handedly destroyed us; it could be compared to a monster rearing its ugly head for about 7 months every year. It pollutes beaches, turns fishing villages into concrete jungles and alienates the people. It brings laborers and manual workers in, from other states. It ruins our culture and our habitat.If people thought that the narcotics trade would end along with the ‘Love Revolution’ of the 60s and 70s, they were sadly mistaken. Till today shops along the coastal belt aren’t all that they seem to be. It’s a commonly known fact that massage parlours are fronts for brothels and innocent looking Kashmiri furniture shops cater to the needs of cocaine addicts.What is happening to Goa is horrendous. And, sadly, irreversible. We can never go back to the simple days of our parents and grand parents.It is now up to the Youth of Goa to promote the idea of sustainable development. We need to preserve what little is left of our ethnic roots. Instead of acting like a minority in our own State, Goans need to stand up and make a statement. We need to impose our will and our views instead of blindly following other people’s leads. After all, who would know what’s better for Goa: a handful of people who don’t understand us or our culture, or Goans who feel deeply about their ethnic roots?

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #9 Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

"A long time ago.........in a far away galaxy..." So unfurls "Star Wars" the greatest legend of themodern era, replete with action and fantasy. And a thousand years before our time - "Once upon a time, in the reign of good kingShahriyar, his beauteous wife Scheherazade spunthis tale of..." "One Thousand And One Arabian Nights" But......Konkani music and folklore too has its share! Hundreds of you have written from around theworld, and with their indulgence, let me sharesome beautiful letters -..............................................From: Antonio@Qatarnav.comTo: subscriptions@konkanisongbook.comDate: Wed, 29 Jul 2009 08:18:11 0300Subject: RE: Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #7 Dear Francis, Good day, It is wonderful and nostalgic that you narrate afancy tale behind those Konkani old hits....... Keep it up!!!Antonio.............................................. Dear Antonio, It's the great feedback from wonderful folk likeyou that makes all the hard work worthwhile -thanks! Our research was exhausting, but we uncovered somany delightful legends - mostly fact - behindmany of our most celebrated Konkani songs. Muchas gracias, Antonio! And now......the mysterious stranger in C.Alvares' taxi suddenly surfaces more than threedecades later! See below,Francis...............................................From: piomaria1@hotmail.comTo: subscriptions@konkanisongbook.comSubject: RE: Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #6Date: Wed, 29 Jul 2009 05:14:33 +0000 dear Francis, i am really facinated to your style of writing.in all your emails, you have summarized the eventswhich creates events which creates an interest forthe reader to read more and more. great, keep it up. regarding your present email about the song'claudia', ,i wish to shed some light on it. themysterious stranger was Cyriaco Dias. he was hisclose associate during those days. Alvares used to consult him on many issuesspecially to maintain his accounts in aprofessional way as Cyriaco was only educatedamong them. i think while on their way for theshooting, alvares had composed the song. i remember around 8 years back, we had a musicalshow in bahrain which comprised of all the oldsongs including CLAUDIA. i had the privilege ofcompering the show where we had cyriaco dias as achief guest. and i still remember i had made aspecial mention about this song and the history ofits creation. mog asundi anik osoch boroit rau. yours, Pio Fernandes.............................................. Dear Pio, Wow! That was amazing. Thanks! Now........does any body have any idea who was themysterious "M.D." in M. Boyer's "Ixttaghot" legend? Aha, the plot thickens! C'mon all you budding Sherlock Holmes's! Revealingly,Francis............................................... And - What's no longer a mystery! Copies of the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits, Vol.1" have just arrived today from the publisher, andhit the stores. Due to the huge demand, in Goajust 4 copies each are available at Furtados, andPedro Fernandes.First come, first....! In Bangalore contactReynolds at Brigade Road and Rajajinagar. Read the book, play the sheet-music or guitartab, sing the lyrics in Konkani or English, amuseand amaze yourself with the translations. Just 20 days to World Goa Day......and counting! Best,Francis.P.S. Afterwards, sit back and watch almost 2hours of piano magic as a great master performsthese fabulous Konkani hits without a break, onthe free DVD film included.==============================================Brighten someone's day - fwd. this newsletter!http://www.KonkaniSongBook.com 108-275 Cassandra Boulevard, North York, Ontario M3A1V6, Canada

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #5 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

"A long, long, time ago, on graduation day....." The handsome crooner with the swept-back coifsmiled into the microphone, and a million girlsswooned at his richly-toned: "Roses are red my love, violets are blue......" If you grew up in the 60's and 70's anywhere inthe Konkani diaspora - Goa, Mangalore, E. Africa,Daman, the Gulf States, Sri Lanka, Portugal /anywhere in the West, you couldn't miss Jim Reeves! Almost one hundred and fifty years before, in thequiet Goan hamlet of Curtorim, another "Jim", thetroubador Ligorio Costa sang: "Rosy pink are thy cheeks..."(Tambdde Roza tuje polle...) Roza of course is taken from the Portuguese"rozad" or pink. The lovely damsel is unhappy! She needs her father's uncertain permission tomarry her sweetheart. And yet the local 'richRomeos' keep swirling and romancing her! These cool dudes had a fascinating moniker -"Mhotte Aulistes". You'll find all this - and tons of more riches -in the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits" volume. Youknow it all by now - music, lyrics, translations! Twenty-five days left to August 20th.......steadynow... "Tambdde Roza"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuyUeHs2w_U Enjoy! Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #4 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

The gorgeous young girl smiled shyly. The crowd gasped, then roared. Rita Faria hadjust been crowned the most beautiful woman in theworld, giving India its first ever world-beautytitle in 1966. Of course, she was a Konkani - a Goan fromBombay. Three years earlier, another Rita - anotherKonkani - a Lobo from Mangalore this time - wasimmortalized forever as the heroine Flavia in theevergreen "Amchem Noxib" movie. C. Alvares, as the young hero Dr. Monteiro,punted her down the river and into movie-historyas they sang the unforgettable "Mollbailo Dou"(Heavenly Dew). The rivers of memory run deep on this one. Justas music runs so deep and rich in our veins. I'm sure you'd love to play this timeless classictoo. Well..... On 20 August, you will! For - that beautiful river lullaby, complete withsheet-music, chords, lyrics, translations andguitar tab, with a rare DVD of "Mollbailo Dou" andlots of others, is coming your way (on 20 August),when the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits" book isreleased. "Mollbailo Dou"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHtdqmIskF8 Twenty-six days left......still counting! Enjoy! Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #3 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

The boy loved music. The beautiful exciting sambaand rhumba and bossa nova of his native Brazilthat gave the world the gorgeous "Girl fromIpanema"... And the guitar. He even thought he might become afamous guitar composer like Heitor Villa-Lobos. But today he needed a song, and as he climbedaboard the tram at Rio, he had no inspiration. He dozed off. Half an hour later, he felt a softhead on his shoulder quietly weeping. He tried to comfort the beautiful stranger byhumming softly, and the rhythm of the tram turnedit into a sweet little waltz. When he got off the tram over half a century ago,his shoulder wet and the girl gone, he had hissong. Today the Portuguese and Konkani world stillsings "Encosta Tua Cabecinha" written by PauloBorges in 1954, when he got home from that tramride in Rio. But you don't have any need of tears! For, that beautiful story, and the completesheet-music, chords, lyrics, translations andguitar tab, with a rare DVD of "Encosta TuaCabecinha" and lots of others, are coming your wayon 20 August, when the "Greatest Konkani SongHits" book is released. "Encosta Tua Cabecinha"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37_tY9_9xDo Twenty-seven days left......and counting! Enjoy! Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - newsletNter #2 - Francis Rodrigues Toronto

The girl was slender with the most beautifultresses. The boy was tall and tanned and fell inlove with her poetry. When they finally met it waslove at first sight, but...... Her father would have none of it! So they fled to Italy, and Elisabeth and RobertBrowning became the most famous Romantic poets inhistory. And she wrote these magical lines for him - "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." Almost a hundred and thirty years later anotheryoung poet from Mangalore, India, also wrote - "How do I love thee? And yet I cannot have..."Mog tuzo kithlo axelom, thitloi labonk na maka Wilfy Rebimbus was asked to compose the music forthe 1977 Konkani movie "Mog ani Moipass",out of which emerged this fabulous melody. A unique Indian flavour in a Western tune.... And therein lies the beauty of Konkani music.But you don't have to elope to grab this lovely! "Mog Tuzo Kithlo Axelom" is another diamond fromthe "Greatest Konkani Song Hits, Vol.1" SongBook,coming your way on 20 August. Enjoy the full version on the free DVD includedwith the sheet-music, lyrics, chords, etc.: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1FKxv7ljBE The countdown's on! Twenty-eight, twenty-seven...... Enjoy! Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #14 Francis Rodrigus, Canada

They tripped and twirled round the ballroom. "I love you, I love this city, I love Spain!" the manwith the golden voice sang softly to his new bride. "Cadiz means heart in Konkani too, only we say'calliz'!" she whispered back. Of course they were wedding in the long-tonguedport in southern Spain, after his latest album. It was 1968, and they'd been dancing to Lulu. "I like this tune," he gurgled, "it describesexactly my heart booming to you!" "I'll make a Konkani version.....calliz hemboom-banger bang, boom-banger bang, boom bangzatha, will be my chorus!" he warbled triumphantly. "Stick to the traditional, our old-timePortuguese please Alfred" she begged softly. "Cadiza-za-za za-za za!" she repeated loudly, andthe band immediately struck up the march. They whirled down the steps to the bridal limousine,and down the drive, tin-cans clattering. Two Spanish guarda stopped their honeymoon train. "That noise is polluting the environment!" theysaid sternly. "A thousand pesos and your ID's please!" "Oily police!" swore the crooner softly, "Alwaysextorting down the centuries!" "Ha! Ha!" his bride chuckled, handing over themoola "that's an original concoction ofCadiza-za-za and Olha Policia, Alfred!" "Ah, well you know me," he murmured modestly,"always originally inventive!" And he always wondered why she laughed so hysterically! More original legends, and the completesheet-music, chords, lyrics, translations andguitar tab, with a rare DVD of "Cadiza-za-za-za"and lots of others, are coming your way on 20August, when the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits"book is released, for World Goa Day. Thirteen days left......and counting! Enjoy! "Cadiza-za-za/Olha Policia"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKDmir-maJI

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Greatest Konkani Song Hits - Newsletter #6 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

The cabbie smiled. It was late, but his favourite passenger washere. Tall, handsome film-hero Celestino (C.Alvares) stooped into the tiny taxi at Bandrastation and........but wait! A stranger was getting into the back seat...... Alvares fumbled for a notepad and pencil, quietlytold the cabbie to take them both to his friendFrank Fernand's house, but to slow at every streetlamp. He conversed softly with the mysterious stranger. The cabbie was fascinated. As they drove, Alvares wrote a beautiful new songat breakneck speed. At every street-lamp hechecked it. When he hummed it, the stranger in the back-seatmurmured mysteriously. An hour later when they both alighted at Fernand'shouse, the cabbie saw Alvares title the finishedsong "Claudia" in his beautifully flowing script. An immortal classic was born. "Claudia" of course, is the great hit from "Nirmonn". But who was the mysterious stranger? Perhaps we shall never know. Many say it was amystery "R" - either Romeo Mendes (who was said tohave collaborated on the song) or Remmie Colaco. Both Celestino and Romeo are gone. God rest them. But what is here is........ You know it!!! ALL this great music and more - lots, lots more -in the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits" book releasing20 August. There's more - Goa's prestigious Kala Academy too is so thrilledat the quality of this work, THEY'RE hosting theGoa launch on Sunday 9 August (4 pm) at theirBlack Box in Panjim!!! You gotta be there early! No formal invites, it'sopen house - free seating, free concert, freerefreshments. And to those thousands of you who're writingdaily from around the world - we'll let you knowin the 2nd week of August, exactly how you too canget a copy wherever you are! Now.....enjoy! "Claudia"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20GX2Xhh9U0 Twenty-four days left to August 20th....... Musically Yours,Francis.P.S. Do keep those mails coming in - even if it'sjust a line of encouragement - we hope you'reenjoying these newsletters, and learning more ofour great tradition.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Weekend Short Story #5 - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

Tales Of The Unexpected======================= "IXTTAGHOT" (a modern retelling, with a twist, of the great classic Greek taleof true friendship, "Damon and Pythias". The concluding verses of M.Boyer's "Ixttaghot" actually recounts in song, the original legend). * Syracuse, Greece, circa 4 B.C. The boy Pythias loved mathematics - fascinated, he went to study furtherat the feet of Pythagoras, where he met the consummate logician Damon.Instantly bonding, they swore friendship until eternity, Pythias evenpledging his soul to his new friend. When Damon quietly expressed hurtat mistreatment by their tyrant ruler Dionysius, Pythias bristling, setout to assassinate Dionysius, but was unfortunately caught and condemned. Damon smoothly offers his own life as security so Pythias can return hometo bid his folks farewell. Pythias returns almost too late as Damon seemsprepared to pay the forfeit. Dionysius is so impressed with their loyaltyto each other that he pardons Pythias. Arm in arm, the great friends walkoff together, Pythias gasping for breath and scarcely believing his luck. Damon leads him to the banquet hall and as the doors close, Pythias plungesinto the bowels of hell. Stunned he angrily questions the strongly-claspingDamon, who points out Pythias' promise of a bond to eternity, even unto hissoul. "I have only come to collect" says his false friend, "for I am Demon!

Heartbeatgoa.memories -They tripped and twirled round the ballroom. - Francis Rodrigues, Canada

"I love you, I love this city, I love Spain!" the manwith the golden voice sang softly to his new bride. "Cadiz means heart in Konkani too, only we say'calliz'!" she whispered back. Of course they were wedding in the long-tonguedport in southern Spain, after his latest album. It was 1968, and they'd been dancing to Lulu. "I like this tune," he gurgled, "it describesexactly my heart booming to you!" "I'll make a Konkani version.....calliz hemboom-banger bang, boom-banger bang, boom bangzatha, will be my chorus!" he warbled triumphantly. "Stick to the traditional, our old-timePortuguese please Alfred" she begged softly. "Cadiza-za-za za-za za!" she repeated loudly, andthe band immediately struck up the march. They whirled down the steps to the bridal limousine,and down the drive, tin-cans clattering. Two Spanish guarda stopped their honeymoon train. "That noise is polluting the environment!" theysaid sternly. "A thousand pesos and your ID's please!" "Oily police!" swore the crooner softly, "Alwaysextorting down the centuries!" "Ha! Ha!" his bride chuckled, handing over themoola "that's an original concoction ofCadiza-za-za and Olha Policia, Alfred!" "Ah, well you know me," he murmured modestly,"always originally inventive!" And he always wondered why she laughed so hysterically! More original legends, and the completesheet-music, chords, lyrics, translations andguitar tab, with a rare DVD of "Cadiza-za-za-za"and lots of others, are coming your way on 20August, when the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits"book is released, for World Goa Day. Thirteen days left......and counting! Enjoy! "Cadiza-za-za/Olha Policia"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKDmir-maJI Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -The traffic cop stood transfixed. - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

She was more beautiful than he had ever seen.Dancing eyes, dimpled chin, a dancing queen. Her name was Hema Malini.Hindi movie mega-star. And that afternoon in Vasco, Goa, almost fourdecades ago, she paralysed traffic andpedestrians alike. The following week, at the nearby Natraj theatre,three young studs in matching black-and-whiteoutfits walted onstage, yodelling to rapturousapplause. The Mendes brothers. After the intermission, a piece of miracletheatre. A beautiful young blonde hippy girl,impersonated to perfection by Derrick Mendes,strolled to and fro, to catcalls. Then, Felix Mendes, approaching perfection inpink crimplene top and silky jeans, unbelievablyportrayed Hema Malini in Goa again, dancing andsinging a beautiful soprano. The crowd wasdelirious. As he exited, the piece de resistance. A gorgeous, dark-skinned, statuesque thick-lippedmulatto, announced as "Monica from Mozambique!",played by the final Mendes brother. The audience grew out of control. And when "Monica" parted those huge orange lips,and a beautiful treble emerged singing "EncostaTua Cabecinha" the crowd rioted. Notes wereshowered onstage, many wiped a tear, and wildcheers shook the rafters. Such were the progeny of the great AnthonyMendes. A comedic genius who towered aboveKonkani tiatr, a master of gesture and farce whohimself rose to fame on a brilliant piece of song,"Taxi Driver". Who can forget his Charlie-Chaplin imitations inthe classic "Amchem Noxib" as Vales, the heroDr. Monteiro's zany compounder sidekick? In the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits, Vol. 1",amongst the many treasures, you'll find"Bencnaita Pai", or "Sweater Kori", as Valesdelightfully serenades his beloved Maria. Just eighteen days....officially....to go! In the meanwhile, enjoy! "Sweater Kori"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bGm6ML12AIQ Musically yours,Francis.P.S. Of course, you do remember, copies at theSongBook's Goa launch, on Sunday 9 Aug. at theKala Academy (4 pm), will be available at a 20%discount. Just once. And of course, don't missthe free concert, free refreshments, freeautographs - bring a friend, bring the family,make it an unforgettable date!

Heartbeatgoa.memories -The angel Gabriel came to the Lord and said - Mario Goveia, U.S

The angel Gabriel came to the Lord and said "We need to talk. We have some Goenkars up here they are causing problems. They're swinging on the pearly gates, my horn is missing, they are wearing kashtis and saris instead of their white robes, the ones who come from California are driving Mercedes and BMW's instead of the chariots, and they're selling their halos at discount prices.They refuse to keep the stairway to Heaven clear - they stop midway to eat Fish and Sausages and leave a mess. They pee wherever they want to. Some of them are even walking around without their wings!"The Lord said, "Goans are Goans. Heaven is home to all my children. If you want to know about real problems, give Satan a call."Satan answered the phone, "Hello? Damn, hold on a minute.." Satan returned to the phone, "OK I'm back. What can I do for you?"Gabriel replied, "I just wanted to know what kind of problems you're having down there."Satan says, "Hold on again. I need to check on something."After about 5 minutes Satan returns to the phone and said, "I'm back. Now what was the question?"Gabriel said, "What kind of problems are you having down there?"Satan says, "Man I don't believe this........Hold on again."This time Satan was gone at least 15 minutes. He returned and said, "I'm sorry Gabriel, I can't talk right now. These damn Goenkars down here have put out the fire and are trying to install air conditioning!!!

Heartbeatgoa.memories -The Moreno boys were mesmerized. - Francis Rodrigues, Canada

The chica was a glorious sixteen, shiny dirty-blonde hair a flowing mane in the sea breeze. But it was her electric hips sashaying that madetheir hearts skip. "Ai, ai!" cried Luis "Boy" Moreno, more than hecould take, as he scrabbled for his guitar. "Mamma, mamma!" writhed Jose "Josele" Moreno as hersoft curves made large dunes in the sands of his heart. "Her name," announced Boy "is Maria of course,and so she's from Lisbon, not here in Seville!" "Her body," insisted Josele, "sings to me!" The girl in the mini bikini sketched the word"Isabel" sweetly with her toe in the wet sand. Then whirled a few jiggly cartwheels, with acheerleader pom-pom flourish. It was more than the Morenos could bear. "So our Maria's also....Isabel!" croaked Boy,"Look at her hips flip pom-pom-pom!" "That bikini's so hot," spat Josele, "it's chilli!A...chilli bikini...sets my heart on fire!" "A perfect chorus for a hot number!" said Boy. The Morenos, with Eduardo Rodriguez, were "LosPayos", Spain's most famous sixties' surfer band. "Chilli...bi...ki...ni....pom, pom, pom, pom!" they warbled. She heard them, and looked up, and when hersea-green eyes lashed them, they swooned. "Chilli...bi...ki...ni....pom, pom, pom, pom!"they stuttered again, in softer gasps. The ocean rumble sprayed their words away, andshe whispered back what she thought she heard. "Shirri...bi...ri...bi...pom, pom, pom, pom!" Sweet nonsense of course, but the besotted Morenoslapped it up and added her sketches in the wet sandto write "Maria Isabel", the biggest surfer hit of 1968. It's exactly forty years now, since a year later"Maria Isabel" was transmuted into Portugueseacross the border, and then splashed out into thecolonies, an even greater hit! You'll find all this - and tons of more riches -in the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits" volume. Youknow it all by now - music, lyrics, translations! Fifteen days left to August 20th......steady now... "Maria Isabel"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeOgizZ1rEI Enjoy! Musically yours,Francis.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -The Green Green Grass of Home - by Fish_curry_rice

What is happening around us these days? Take a look around and nature stares back at you with utter disbelief. You see the kind of accusing eyes that makes a man look at his feet and draw circles with his toes in guilt. There are loads of stuff written about how we need to conserve nature and how we need to preserve our flora and fauna so that the generations to come would be glad that we left them a legacy that has been passed onto us by the creator himself. Why is it then that for a profitability of a few money minded people, do we involve ourselves in the worst form of incest ever? When will we sit up and realize that we are infact raping mother earth. Ive read about global warming, conservation and afforestation. And im sure a lot of my fellow earthmen read about it too. The question I ask is- How many people actually read into it? How many people actually feel for the person writing the article? Disregarding all fears I would say, I do. I have grown up on what could best be described as paradise on earth. I grew up on the tiny coastal state of Goa. And what a place it was. When as kids we cycled down the narrow, winding village roads enroute to our football grounds, the palms swayed, as if to welcome us to witness nature at its grandest. Every blade of grass reeked of purity and the essence of mother earth never failed to fill our nostrils. Those were the days, when games of hide and seek were played around huge banyan trees, when hollows in an old tamarind tree were our safest havens from the rains. When the fury of the rains continued uninterrupted for days at a stretch. But when the sun came out, in all its resplendent glory, the birds would chirp in the trees again, the trees and plants showed off their proudest greens and squirrels ran about salvaging their horde of nuts.They say change is the only thing that is constant. Nothing else remains the same. Sadly, I agree. For my kids will never know the joys that filled my heart every time I stepped out of my house. The sweet aroma of the coastal winds will somehow be replaced with the stink of tar and oil that kills our sea life as I speak. By the time the next generation is old enough to understand what I write today a few million of them will be crippled. The fumes for a few million cars will make sure that a large majority of them will be born with abnormalities that were caused because their mothers inhaled the air that is our environment today. Globally this is a tragedy because; a healthy working population would mean higher GDP. Flip the coin- a crippled population would mean lesser hands to work. More mouths for the government to feed and additional tax burden on the working class. Is this what you would gift your child on his / her 21st birthday? Think about it.We have all, at some point, wondered about dinosaurs and other extinct animals. I pity myself for having missed an opportunity to see the dodo and the saber tooth tiger and maybe a few million species. If I was born today, by the time I was 21, 760,200 species would be extinct. Its startling but true everyday a hundred species cease to live. Why and how?? That seems to be the most basic sort of curiosity that these facts invoke. The plain and simple answer is - deforestation. Every time a tree is cut a bird loses its yearly nesting place, an ant loses all its eggs that it had laid in hope of creating a colony of the strongest workforce known to nature, a squirrel loses its storage space and a few million other species that somehow had made survival possible because that one tree existed.So the next time you put pen to paper, think hard before you ink a word. Think hard before you toss a crumpled bit of paper into the dust bin because a few million species will die so you could write on their dead and mutilated bodies.......

Heartbeatgoa.memories -TIME ERODES MEMORIES: REDISCOVERING THE GOA WE ALL FORGOT By Victor Hugo Gomes

The author is in the process ofsetting up a new museum inBenaulim, called the GoaChitra. It looks at the Goa ofthe yesteryears, and what madeit so different.While collecting the agricultural implements that forms themajor display at Goa Chitra, I realized that Goans werelosing much more than historical artifacts -- they werelosing evidence of their forefather's wise lifestyles.Our heritage, just not our culture, had a system of self-rulecalled the gaunkaris, which is thought to have originated inthe 1st century B.C. These were primarily agrarian societies. The principal role of these local governing bodies was to maintain and upgrade land quality, protect fishing ponds and waterways, and maintain an intricate system of embankments (bunds) that protected reclaimed land known as khazans, from inundation by saline tidal waters.This system produced not only an effective means toadminister the communal lands but developed intricate andecologically sound system of agriculture. It utilised bothfertile and barren lands for the benefit of its people.Farming methods were based on the prevailing season and thequality of the soil. Agricultural activities and techniqueswere adapted to suit the soil, rainfall, level of solarradiation and other elements of nature, a process referred toas gott and loosely translated as photoperiodism.Farming implements were carefully and intelligently developedto suit soil types and with a healthy respect for theenvironment and animals that ensured that the system wassustainable and ecologically sound. Over the years the gaunkari institution went through various phases of transition and its evolution in each phase was dependent on the ruler of that time. But never in our history was this system ever tampered with. During the Portuguese colonization it came to be known as Communidades.Being part of this rich heritage, it saddens me that todaythe Communidade system is completely undermined. Landconversions both illegal and legal have led to largedevelopment projects with scant regard for sustainability andsevere degradation of the eco system. Lesser recognised butequally devastating is the loss of hundreds of years ofaccumulated wisdom in agrarian practices, the rich traditionof implements, tools, arts, crafts and heritage of ourancestors and their sensitivity to the environment.The conception of Goa Chitra -- a museum that is currentlytaking shape in Benaulim -- is based on many dynamics. Oneamongst them is my love for Goa. The other is combating dailycriticism whether my investment has been futile. Whatenergies the project are stories that I encountered while onthis sojourn. Each implement has a tale woven with the fabricof our rich history.FROM THE DHANGAR OF NETURLIOn my many visits to Neturli (Netravali), I encountered animplement with the Dhangar community that looked like asieve. It was beautifully crafted and had seen many years ofwork. It lay in a corner near the Gotli, a fence made fromsticks called Corvam.I was instantly drawn to it. I wanted to acquire it.Following my gaze, the dhangar Baburam, who was proudlydisplaying his herd, seemed reluctant to part with it. Oninquiry I learnt that the cane woven basket was known asDhali that was used to heat Nachni (Millet) during monsoon.It was kept on a wooden frame called Ottu to heat nachnebefore processing. This implement was last used in the early 60's.Dhangars are nomads who travelled and camped near hillyareas. They would clear a 50 to 100 sq mts patch of naturalforest and then burn it on site to provide natural manure.The land was then cultivated, usually with coarse grains likezonlle and nachne (millet), their staple food, for a periodof one to three years. Than it was abandoned and thecultivators moved on to another patch of forest. They would return to cultivate the same area only after a period of 15-20 years, which would give the land sufficient time to regenerate. This is referred to as kumeri farming. Many of the implements they used for such harvest were indigenously designed keeping in mind the land, environment and their animals.Though the Portuguese wanted to stop this practice in Goa,their policy remained largely on paper as no alternativearrangements were made for the rehabilitation of the kumericultivators.Kumeri was banned again after Liberation in 1961 but thegovernment then decided to allow the practice in certainareas of forest because it had no alternative livelihood tooffer the cultivators. In 1964, the government banned kumeri altogether without making any alternative arrangement. The government felt that such farming was a devastation of the environment and they banned it under anti-deforestation law. The government also felt that in order to protect the environment this land would be best given for mining, making a few people very rich and other hopelessly poor. Of course, excavations due to mining would mean that there would be less land to protect!What I saw in Baburam's eyes that day was hope that somedaythe law may get reverted and they would cultivate again. Itravelled back to Neturlim many times before finallyconvincing Baburam to sell me his implement only with apromise that if ever he needed the implement, it would beimmediately returned to him. Incidentally nachne is no longer cultivated in Goa and what is available in the market today comes from outside the state, grown with chemical fertilizers.DATA AND FACTSWhile collecting and later restoring the implements andartifacts on display at Goa Chitra, I realised the need forcollecting data and facts to support my histology as there isa dearth of research on our ancestry.Changes in the Goan economy and society had rendered themobsolete. All this information, knowledge and wisdom of ourancestors were going unrecorded. I was scared of the threatthat these implements were being replaced by things, modernor imported, as being true depiction of Goan material culturefor posterity.So, I consulted elders, some of whom were familiar with someof the implements and had actually seen them being utilised.These trips also helped to widen and complete my collection,especially of farming and household implements. Our ancestors had a keen knowledge of indigenous materials, and were self sufficient using material found in the vicinity of their settlement. Each implement was premeditated keeping in mind suitability of the substance which was environmentally friendly.Most of the ropes used in agriculture have a distinctivefeature of being woven using various natural fibers of treeslike kivann, sutachi/redeachi-anas (wild pineapple) and amedium sized evergreen tree known as komai, kombio or komyo.This tree is found in shade and wet sites near streams in theforest, up to 500 mts in elevation. The trunk is often flutedwith smooth or rough and scaly bark, crown conical withspreading branches and leathery, dark green leaves. Leaveswere used to make rain covers called kondo.The fiber of this tree is soft and cooling and is woven todesign ropes for different tasks; shale used by fruitpluckers, davon used during thrashing, canni used to tiepaddy sheaves, davem and zupni used as a halter andcollar for animals.This craft is almost extinct and I was thrilled when one ofthe Dhangar demonstrated his skill at making ropes with thesenatural fibers. One theory why kombio and not coconut fiber was used to make rope could be, simply unavailability of the coconut tree in these parts; coconut proliferated more along the western coast. Today this fibre has been replaced by coir made from the coconut tree and more recent the invasion of plastic culture, the nylon rope, that has wiped out eco-friendly technology, thanks to hard core promotion by the nylon lobby.While I was gathering pictorial evidence of the kombio treein Sanguem Taluka, I could hear at a distance enchantingmusic that felt very soothing. Some moments in your life areunforgettable; this was one such moment in mine. I followedthe sound and was pleasantly surprised at what I saw.A Dhangar named Zumo Dhaku Varak, in his 80's, was gatheringhis herd playing on something that looked like a hugeup-right flute. It is made from a hollow velu bamboo, havinga reed made from shirat (a small hollowed bamboo branch).The notes have a calming effect on the listener. This instrument is known as konpavo and is indigenously designed to calm aggressive and disturbed animals, or to gather the herd. Today there is a lot of research evidence (Peretti & Kippscludi, 1991) to point that certain pitch and sounds effect animal behavior, something that Dhangars knew a long time ago!It is not just love. This knowledge comes from anunderstanding about animal behavior and their sensoryperception. Dhangars were inventors; they tilled, toiled,lived and loved their land, their flock and their material.Thanks to Zumo Dakhu, the konpavo, davon, cannio, kondo,davem or zupni and shale, are prized pieces on display at GoaChitra. But it is all fast dying. What I saw perhaps, arethe last lucky glimpses of the Dhangar way of life. Today, their mainstay, the cows and buffaloes and goats have depleted in numbers. Their grazing grounds are being either cleared for developments or have been converted into mines. A dear friend who visited us at the museum opined that we should not hope to go back in time instead move to the future. The essence of Goa Chitra is to highlight the wisdom of the ancestors that we have taken for granted. It's not about retreating but using this storehouse of knowledge to answer questions that are of global concerns and leading a healthier lifestyle.ARTIFACTS, NOT ANTIQUESBenaulim's Goa Chitra museum does not contain antiques butartifacts that manifest the social creativity of skilledgroups to contemporary society. Most of the implements at GoaChitra have stories woven around them. These are tales of abygone era. An era when wisdom accumulated over generationswere passed on and evolved. Every skill was a specializationwith trade secrets and respect!For instance, the jaggery implements on display at Goa Chitrahave one such tale:Once on my way to Agonda, I met an interesting personality, a70-plus Amaral Pereira, at one time a much sorted afterjaggery producer. He seemed excited with my project andshared with me valuable information that would otherwise havegone unrecorded like most trade secrets.He would go from ushel (sugarcane plantation) to ushel withhis gano (sugarcane grinder), a bodvonno, a heavy woodenhammer used for installing the gano, and other implementsused for making jaggery. They worked on site till thecompletion of production. Often they would camp on site.They found indigenous methods to cope with various hazards.For instance, when there was no crockery, they would takefresh banana leaves, warm them over a fire, then dig a holein the ground. This pit was layered with these banana leavesand used as a canso (bowl). The pez (rice gruel) or ambil(nachne dish) was eaten from this pit! Jaggery production is a lengthy process. Freshly extracted sugarcane juice is filtered and boiled in a wide cail, a shallow iron pan. It would be continuously stired with a dhai (spatula). Simultaneously soda or bhindi juice is added as required. While boiling, the brownish foam coming on the surface is incessantly removed with a chalno (sieve) to get golden yellow colour of jaggery. After the juice thickens it is poured into a bed called van, a shallow square pit lined with lime and rammed with a wooden bat called a petni.The thick jaggery paste is spread with a small wooden spadecalled pavdi and after sufficient drying, it is cut intosmall blocks with the help of a wooden trowel called athappi. This van was later replaced by small or medium sizediron or aluminum cans where blocks of jaggery are formedafter cooling. Size of the blocks varied from 1 kg. to 12kgs. Finally, these blocks were packed in gunny bags. From100 kgs. of sugarcane, approximately 10 kgs. of jaggery wasproduced.Getting clean golden yellow ushichem godd (sugarcane jaggery)is an art. Since every occupation was a inheritedspecialization, most of the trade secrets were handed overfrom generation to generation. A trade secret developed overyears of working with given material.So what was Amaral's secret? It is not easy for a man whoselivelihood had to be given up for love, to smile so veryoften, but his eyes sparkled as he said, "While boiling thejuice I would drop a couple of sea shells into the pan. Ithelped to draw dirt and brownish foam in one place to make iteasier for scooping."That same year, he lost his wife. An accident before his veryeyes took her away. He quit jaggery production. She was hisgreatest support. The demand for jaggery declined since sugarreplaced it. Simultaneously most sugarcane farmers fell for afalse dream sold to them by the palm oil lobby. Ushels becamepalm oil farms.... Every implement now on display at the Goa Chitra -- gano, bodvonno, cail, dhai, petni, thappi and chalno -- has a tale to tell. I saw myriad memories in the tears which trickled down Amaral's face while parting with those implements. I promised him that I would keep his implements and his vast knowledge for posterity as a testimony to the agonies and ecstasies of the simple jaggery producer from Goa.THE HOWS OF COCONUT FENIThe sap is extracted and collected by a tapper. Typically thesap is collected from the cut flower of the palm tree. Acontainer is fastened to the flower stump to collect the sap. Palm toddy also forms the base for a drink popular in Goa, known as Goan Feni. In Goa, toddy (sur), the sap of the coconut tree spadix, is distilled into liquor, made into vinegar or used for making jaggery. One coconut tree yields about 432 litres of toddy a year, and collecting it was the chief occupation of the Bhandaris, Komarpaik and toddy tapper (rendeir) communities.Tapping toddy involves various stages and implements. The sapof the coconut palm is collected in an earthenware pot calledzamono or damonem, which is fitted over the spadix (poi) thatgrows out of the base of each coconut leaf. In order toproduce toddy, the spadix is tightly bound with a rope(gofe/gophe) made from filaments (vaie) cut with a smallknife (piskathi) from the base of the leaf, while remainingattached to the pedicle.The spadix must then be tapped all around very gently withthe handle of the kathi (a flat semi-circular sickle) everyalternate day, until it becomes round and flexible, a signthat the sap is ready. The tip of the spadix is then cut offto let the sap ooze out into the damonem.Toddy is collected from the damonem in the morning andevening and carried down the tree in a gourd-shaped containercalled dudhinem, before being poured into a clay pot called kollso.The spadix is sharpened at noon by slicing a small piecehorizontally off the top, called cheu, so as to reactivatethe flow of sap.Incidentally, the kathi was sharpened on a plank (follem) oferound wood with marble powder. My collection of toddy-tapping and distillation implements was incomplete since I had trouble tracing a dudhinem, also called dudhkem.Originally made from a konkan dudhi (sponge gourd), like somany other implements over the years it has disappeared andbeen replaced by containers made from non-biodegradable plastic!I grew up in the neighbourhood of many toddy tappers but mysearch for an original dudhinem took me far from home and allalong coastal Goa, once the habitat of toddy tappers. No one had preserved a dudhinem nor knew how to make one. This bothered me because it meant that we had lost yet another piece of traditional knowledge. I was finally lucky enough to not only acquire a dudhinem but also find out how they were made, thanks to an accidental encounter with Baba, a farmer in Sanguem.I met Baba while documenting a metal-smith's tools inSanguem, a taluka where many toddy tappers had settled fromCanacona specially Agonda. Agonda is known for the bestquality of distillation of palm feni or madel.When Baba showed up to have his plough repaired I asked himabout possibly finding a dudhinem in the area, and he told meof his experience years ago while ploughing his fields."Very often," he said, "my plough would get stuck in gourdsthat were buried in the fields." By chance I had stumbledupon a trade secret! In the olden days you could tell a toddytapper's house by the dudhi creeper growing over the roof oron matov, a bamboo framework.It seems that once the dudhi had matured and dried, they wereburied in the fields till the inner flesh rotted away andonly a hard shell remained -- and this was used as thereceptacle for toddy.--This is part of a series that the author has been writing forthe Weekender/Gomantak Times each Sunday.THE WRITER, Victor Hugo Gomes, can be contacted at House No.498 Pulwaddo, Benaulim Salcete, Goa 403716 M: +91 9850466165 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting +91 9850466165 end_of_the_skype_highlightingP: +91-832-6570877 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting +91-832-6570877 end_of_the_skype_highlighting victor.h.gomes@hotmail.com

Heartbeatgoa.memories -THE TRAGEDY OF OUR TIMES - John Eric Gomes

I was born, bred and buttered so to speak in Poona (now Pune). From my school days, when we used to come during the summer holidays to Goa, I vowed to settle down in our ancestral place in Margao. That was not to be since I wanted nothing to do with the inheritance infighting amongst my parents many brothers, sisters and relatives (most of them settled outside Goa), and I eventually settled in Porvorim. Many goan families had the same problem, as those days they generally had big families, also cultivable land (given for tilling to mundcars) and huge houses to maintain. Everyone generally lived in peace and harmony satisfied with their lot, but everything in life has its pros and cons. Goa under the Portuguese was a Paradise in as much as life was laid back and filled with prayer, song and dance, living close to nature. Compared to the availability and costs of mangoes these days (I used to eat 10 to 12 big juicy ones per day) when I cannot afford even one per month, plenty of fish and unpolluted mineral well water, the contrast is terrible. Specially when one has to endure the comparatively rude and selfish people all around, traffic and other congestion, robberies and crime, and the rape of the land and villages by unscrupulous builders and scheming politicians. Progress has been there of course in bridges, roads, educational institutions, industry and consumerism. However money and power has corrupted everything and every body. The laid back goan has woken up too late. Right from Statehood , the RP 2012 agitation to the latest anger bursting from the Sao Jose Areal villagers Union against what they say is the corruption and arrogance displayed by the government which is hell bent on complete destruction of their hill range. They cannot practice natural and sustainable activities like agriculture and animal husbandry any more. They have lost all their grazing lands, forests and healthy living due pollution, industrialization and planned mega projects are now being rammed down their throats. All over Goa there is shortage of basics like water, reliable electricity and garbage accumulation. The Centre ignores Goa in its Tourism Campaign whilst the Tourism Department of Goa finalises a Rs 74 crore project without consultation with the Tourism industry! The stake holders and even the Courts are taken lightly by a corrupt and arrogant establishment. Unfortunately the people too are getting corrupted with rule of law and justice in jeopardy. . Hitting the nail on the head, successful goan IT entrepreneur Neville Chico says “No IT bigwigs want to come to Goa where there is no IT policy, no proper infrastructure, and procedures warranted for entrepreneurs to set up shop is just impossible. We are banking on bad quality tourism, on casinos that are breeding grounds for all unsavory activities and selling mud to China”. The basics are wrong. Corruption has become endemic. Administration is the pits. Take the GMC. Huge queues at the registering counter, only one person manning the two counters, who makes himself scarce for tea and other breaks. X-Ray taken can be collected only after a week, medicines not available at the pharmacy, cleanliness and garbage problems. The sufferings of poor patients due slackness in basic administration is pathetic. Recently a ceiling fan came crashing down on a patient and a portion of the false ceiling in another ward collapsed in the newly commissioned medical block. There is leaking from plumbing fixtures, broken hardware on doors and drawers, seepage of water from walls and faulty electrical fixtures as reported by the Dean Dr Jindal. In short shoddy work by the GSIDC creating fear psychosis and demand by staff and patients to shift back to the old building! There has to be a complaint or agitation for any action by the authorities. Complaints are stonewalled, not acted upon or there is denial after cover up. Transparency and accountability are alien words! Nobody in the government is punished or even chastised for wrongdoings. People generally fear to complain, as the information is leaked to the defaulter and there is no one to protect the righteous citizen. In fact if permissions are given by the Panchayat or TCP, never mind if illegal, the people are forbidden to challenge it by the Panchayat minister! In fact a Bill or Ordinances are brought into force to regularize and in future prevent dissent! Yes, everywhere people are protesting and shouting against every development by a Government that cannot see or hear and now cannot be trusted! Commenting recently on governance, Dr Manmohan Singh said “There is growing concern over corruption in public life, and civil servants not being mindful of their duties”. He asked everyone to work for inclusive development with a human touch and integrity of the country. Coming to the Lok Sabha elections, the example set by our national parties is a portent ofthe political climate being generated for the later State elections. Democracy is not only elections, but government via institutions that work in public interest. Institutions like CBI, Income Tax, Police, and Government Departments are politicized to look the other way instead of doing their duty. With corruption, built up vote banks and criminalization of politics at an all time high , plenty of black money and big business interests, it is to be seen whether a more aware and educated electorate can swing the tide to keep India as a respected democracy . Effective leaders are not threatened by change, but see positive value in resistance which can be a source of new ideas and innovation .This works well in a climate of trust and confidence built up by a sensitive and caring leadership that value peoples ideas and concerns. It enables people to identify and resolve their own doubts and reservations. The world is in peril because of the global recession and dangerous global warming. The financial situation is grim, so is the environmental degradation. The peoples protests outside the G-20 summit in London , the terrorists and naxal movements gaining ascendancy should clearly bring home the message that “business as usual” to support the lifestyle of the rich and powerful , the trade and commerce which has brought us to this sorry state of affairs, will have to drastically change! If this is not realized, which unfortunately appears to be a pill difficult to swallow by those in power, either nature will strike back with earthquakes, tsunamis, pestilence and climatic disasters or human calamities like revolutions, violence and wars will devastate this planet.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -I remain grateful for my strong Goan heritage...by Elizabeth Pires - London

I remain grateful for my strong Goan heritage, rooted, as it was, in a simple life that revolved around church, family and village. Where time was marked by the basic and the ordinary---the baker who called round each morning with fresh bread, the fisherwoman who passed by with her basket of fish later on, the twice a day Angelus bells, the rosary in the family chapel each evening…… l have warm memories of those days long ago…..and much of the confidence and the security that I enjoy today comes from that simple upbringing, by a simple people, who loved life and lived it to the full. The center of the universe was the balcony. Sitting there was like visiting your favourite club. Every passer by visited for a chat or shouted the gossip from the street so you were in touch with everything in the greater neighbourhood. The once-a-week Friday bazaar in Mapuca was another highlight. We used to walk there from home and along the way you met up with other families all making our way to the same destination, each Friday. Some days we needed nothing and bought nothing, but it was a social event and a time to see family and friends. Late-morning, you stopped for a cold lime and soda, enroute to what was then Casa Bella, in the middle of the market, for the tastiest fish curry and rice I have eaten, You knew everybody and you looked out for each other. We celebrated births and marriages, and mourned together in death and illness. And then there were christenings, and first communions, village feasts and chapel feasts, and the long rosaries night after night in different homes and around different chapels in the village. There were warm summer evenings spent on Calangute beach, when music and song filled the air, and later on when I was older, dancing on the rooftop of the Royal Hotel……The piano occupied pride of place in our homes and we did not need an excuse to open it up and play and sing. It was a life that was lived by nature and the seasons. You did not need weather forecasts. You knew the signs that forecast the imminent arrival of the harsh monsoon. So, early in May, you bought and stored salt, well in advance of the monsoon. If you missed the deadline and the first showers had appeared, the price of salt went up—enough to cause a dent in most people’s pockets. You bought large quantities of toddy to make your vinegar and, not forgetting, the sausages, dried fish, and the harvesting of the coconuts and rice -- all to create a storehouse against the harsh rainy months. Faith defined us as a people. And Faith gave us a strong code of ethics, serenity and peace. No matter how bad a problem, you could always turn to your list of saints and pray. We are a mixture of many virtues – and a few vices – respected globally for our pioneering spirit, for being tolerant, open-hearted, happy and peace loving.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -I am sure it was some Goan fish..anyway.. Gloria Rozario, Australia

When we were growing up my Mum used to tell us about this fish that had its mouth on one side..and I wanted to ask you for the name. I am sure it was some Goan fish..anyway the story was and I am sure my Mum just fabricated these stories! haha - that this fish was growing up and every time anyone said anything to it, it made this sour puss face and twisted its mouth onto one side of its face; and then one day because it twisted its mouth so often, the wind turned and the face stayed that way with the mouth twisted on one side..so the moral of the story according to my Mum was don’t twist your mouth if you don’t like something as it might stick there and you will always look like the fish!

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Goan Sunday Short Story - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

Tales of The Unexpected======================= "LISBOA" Mumbai, January 1992. The peddlar met her just as she was leaving for the airport. It washeavy, secured in a huge, jewelled box, packed in a large suitcase."Put it in the hold" he advised, "You're famous, Louna! Nobody willglance twice at your baggage, and it won't show up on the X-rayeither. It has a lovely diamond pattern, like Elizabeth Taylor'schoker and wraps itself you know!" "I'll call it Liz then" said she.At Mumbai, the Goan porters gaped in awe, and she stepped off theplane at Lisbon to admiring Customs officials who waved her through. In the taxi, she unlocked her baggage, unclasped the jewel-chest andlike lightning, refastened the suitcase. It was dinner-time when shereached the hotel Kris was playing nightly, and a bored bellhop, notrecognising her behind the shades and scarf, helped her lug the caseup to Kris' room. They placed it next to his pillow, the boy balancedthe card on it, a hefty tip ensuring his silence. She should have atleast glanced at her gorgeous gift, but was sure Kris would die for it. How possessive he could be she thought sadly, as she caught the midniteflight to London. Two days later in Goa, reading the breakfast papersshe smiled. A world-famous saxophonist had been found strangled to deathin his hotel-room in Lisbon, with no sign of foul play, the doors andwindow locked from within. Toxicology showed he'd flopped drunk on thebed after his night's performance, a fallen gift-card indicating a justopened suitcase near his pillow. A forensics expert commented thatevery neck bone had been crushed, as if by a python or boa constrictor."Ah" the singer smiled sweetly, and sipped her coffee, "My Liz...boa!"

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Genghis Khan's mother was from Goa? From: "sosegado express" sanchescyrus

The Mongol leader Temujin (AD 1167-1227), better known by his title Genghis Khan (Universal Ruler), was a man of strongly Nordish racial ancestry. According to the Persian historian Ab ul Ghasi, the tribal clan to which Temujin belonged, were known as theBourchikoun (Grey-Eyed Men). [Gunther (1934) 185; Lamb (1928) 22.] The ancestral mother and founder of this clan was known as Alan de goa (beautiful Alan). According to the Mongol and Chinese legends on the subject, she who made spicy pork food, never worked in the noontime, and served a strong wine at dinner, was said to have been visited in her tent by a divine being, who possessed golden hair, a fair complexion and grey eyes. Shortly after this visitation, she gave birth to the first member of the Bourchikoun clan. [Gunther (1934) 184.]Now we all know why Genghis started his campaign, he was searching for his maternal home, He got pissed off when they kept telling him Goa "Lagin ha" and butchered all those who had not heard of his beloved Goa, alas the dear departed fellow goenkar never reached our shores. It seems that the goan migration started much earlier then presumed.ps: I have edited a bit but the mothers was indeed known as "Alan Goa"

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Death in the family - Antonio Menezes

When a member of a family expires (in konkani toh bhair podlo or tohpiddear zalo ) itis undoubtedly a very sad occasion not only for the other family membersand for theneighbourhood as well.Amid general sadness there is a touch of humour. I believe our tiatristsdraw a lot ofinspiration from it. In poor families when a husband dies. his wife takes to''verse galta''.when surrounded by other women from neighbourhood. The widow simply poursout allher emotions in a sing song session often in rhyme.A lot of secrets comeout much tothe astonishment of other women present. But the best I have ever heard wasone from awidow from somewhat elite background who wailed over the dead body of herhusbandhusband thus : ''Now that you are gone, Tony Joe darling who will openwhisky bottles ? ''

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Cotton world - from Deepanjana Pal

Deepanjana Pal chases down the story behind 'I Went to See My Darling'.The nights were awfully silent when Fleur D'Souza was growing up in the East Indian village of Cherai in Thane in the the 1960s. In the era before television, the hours after sunset were broken only occasionally, by the odd wail of a beggar or the call of a wandering salesman. On some nights, however, a burst of song would fill the neighbourhood. A woman in a dress would belt out a tune that began, "I went to see my darling last Saturday night." D'Souza's mother would often join in and finish the song.D'Souza, who is now the Vice Principal of St Xavier's College, and her mother didn't know that the tune was actually called "I Ain't Nobody's Darling" and had been composed in 1921 by an American named Robert King. They had even less idea that the same song was frequently heard in Christian neighbourhoods all across the city or that it would still be sung 40 years later, presumably by a relative of the woman D'Souza had heard.Over the years, the mysterious woman of D'Souza's childhood has become the stuff of urban mythology. Thousands of people who know nothing about her have heard her singing "Daisy, Daisy", "Irene Goodnight" and "You Are My Sunshine", the melody clear and true even though most of the words apart from the first line of the refrain are gibberish.In an internet posting, a Toronto resident named Roland Francis recalls a woman whom he knew as Cotton Mary wandering through Byculla in the 1960s, "cupping her hands for the bullhorn effect, turning her face towards the sky and singing in a loud and raspy voice". In his novel Afternoon Raag, novelist Amit Chaudhuri writes of a "Christian woman who, wearing the same tattered white dress, stood outside the building gates [on St Cyril Road in Bandra] every week and sang a tuneless song in disjointed English" in the mid-'80s. More recently, a blog titled Bandra Buggers reports that the woman who sang "I Went to See My Darling" has been replaced by a man with a harmonium. "Where did he learn his signature tune?" the blog asks. "Where did he learn to play the harmonium? Where does he come from? Where does he go? And for how many years more will we see him?"It took Time Out more than four months to obtain some answers. We called dozens of people across Mumbai to ask for help. At the end of October, a staffer's mother called from Kurla late one night and we finally had a date with Cotton Mary. Only, when we met up with her, she insisted that her name was actually Carol Lollipop.?? Wearing a cheap, shiny sari instead of her trademark dress, Lollipop said she'd learnt the songs from her mother, Mary.It soon became clear, though, that Lollipop's stories about herself are as hazy as her listeners' memories of her. Speaking in a curious pidgin of English and Hindi that bordered on the incomprehensible, she was unclear about where exactly she lived, indicating only that she lived on the seashore in Bandra. She supplements her income by working as a labourer on construction sites. She didn't even seem to be sure of her name: on the phone the previous day, she'd said that her name was Carol Anthony. Lollipop said her mother was Anglo-Indian and that her father was "Madrasi". Later she said her mother was Goan. She insisted she was Cotton Mary's child and that her mother would wear skirts and dresses ? sometimes even lipstick ? before heading out to sing with her in tow.Lollipop looks like any other homeless person until she breaks into song. When she does, her strong voice filling the street, there's no mistaking her for anyone else. In addition to the songs we'd heard before, she sang several bhajan-esque Hindi hymns, including a bouncy tune with a chorus that went, "Byculla mein hallelujah".Some of these tunes have been familiar on Mumbai's streets for at least five decades. The woman who many knew as Cotton Mary would appear around Christmas and Easter in Bandra, Parel, Byculla and other Christian neighbourhoods, singing ditties that were popular with the city's English-speaking Christian and Anglo-Indian communities. Songs like "Irene Goodnight", "Daisy, Daisy" and "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" are thought to have originally come to Mumbai with homesick Allied soldiers stationed here during the Second World War. While many of them continue to be sung (and are enshrined in Pop Hits, a 1970s book with lyrics and guitar chords for "singsong" sessions at Christian parties), almost no Mumbaikars have heard any other version of "I Went to See My Darling" except for the ones by Cotton Mary and Carol Lollipop.Patricia Nath, who grew up in Bandra in the early 1960s, remembers her entire family joining Cotton Mary in singalongs. "My father played the harmonica, my mother and my sisters, we'd all join in," she said. Nath says that "the original Cotton Mary" performed tunes with perfectly correct lyrics. "She told my mother and older sister that she had learnt them while working as a domestic help with an English family," said Nath. When the family left India, Mary was abandoned by her husband and forced to take up singing for her supper, literally. "In Bandra, I know many people would invite her to come up and have a meal, depending upon what time of day it was," said Nath. "So she would begin at about 10 in the morning and start going from street to street, taking whatever she got whether it was food, clothes or money."Carol Lollipop told us that the songs she performs were taught to her by her mother, Mary. But it seems likely that by the late 1960s and '70s, other street performers were also singing these tunes. They looked similar ? the women wore dresses; the men carried harmoniums; both genders were accompanied by young children ? and sang the same songs. The difference lay in the lyrics. The duplicates sang gibberish. The Cotton Mary seen in Thane singing nonsensical lyrics was clearly different from the English-speaking woman heard in Bandra and Mazagon.Nath said that the original Cotton Mary disappeared in the late 1960s. But after a few years, the familiar tunes wafted in one day and the Naths saw Cotton Mary outside the window, dressed as before in a skirt, blouse and hat. They called her up and when she was at their doorstep, they realised it was a man in women's clothes. "He said his name was Anthony," recalled Nath. "She apparently said she had earned lots of money singing, so when she didn't show up for a couple of years, it seems this boy decided to try his hand." Why he did so in drag remains unexplained. But it does offer a connection to the sari-clad Lollipop, whose body language is distinctly masculine.While Lollipop's recollections are a cocktail of memory and delusions, she's the inheritor of a street singing tradition that's fast disappearing in the roar of city traffic. When asked how she remembers her lyrics, she said, "My mother Mary left me these. How can I forget?" With that, she picked up two pieces of broken tiles, fashioned them into cymbals and began to sing "I Went to See My Darling". With inputs by Rosalyn D'Mello.

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Churchill Relief - Sent in from Robert Gonsalves

Guys How good is your Konkani At last - homegrown Goan jokes...don't have to depend on Sardars, etc. Churchill is flying to New Delhi. An air-hostess comes over and asks, "Sir, what would you like to have? Tea, coffee?..." Churchill replies, "Black tea...... with milk..." The Air-hostess politely says, "With pleasure sir..." Churchill shouts back, "No, not with pleasure...with sugar..." The air-hostess comes over after a while and finds Churchill writing on a pad. Knowing that Churchill is a famous personality, she asks, "Sir, what is that you're writing?.... a new speech?" Churchill: "No..., I am writing a poem." The air- hostess is curious, "Poem?" she says "wow...do you write on Nature, sir?" Churchill: "Ofcourse not...I write on paper!..." Churchill attends an advanced English course where he is asked to translate a few common sentences in Konkani to English. *Salvador, tum novem ghor kaddta zalear, hea bashen kadd. Churchill: Salador, if you are taking out a new house, take it out in this language. *Atanche dakte bhurge cigeretti vodtat. Churchill: Nowadays these small boys are pulling cigarettes. *Zonn eklean ap-aple poixe moddun ghor bandunk zai. Churchill: Each one should break their own money and tie the house. *Aiz hanv sarko thoklam, nidd eta. Churchill: Today I'am very much tired, sleep coming. *Aiz-Kal zata tem sonspachem? Churchill : Today-yesterday happening can we bear? *Mhaka vhoddlo 'shirt' dhi. Ho mhaka zaina. Churchill:Give me a bigger shirt. This is not happening. *Aiz mojea jivak borem disonam. Churchill: Today my life cannot see good. Churchill is at a hospital. "Nurse, I am very eager to know my blood group." The Nurse politely says, "B positive!" Churchill:"Nurse, please tell me soon...." The nurse replies again, "B positive, sir..." Churchill gets hot. "Madam, I am positive, but just eager to know the blood group...Will you tell me!" Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon once met our great Churchill. "Mr.Churchill, are there any Jews in Goa?" He inquires. Churchill replies quickly, "Plenty!...which one are you talking about?...we have pineapple juice, orange juice, mango juice....you name it and we have it...." Ariel Sharon smiles and says, "No...No Mr. Churchill, I don't mean this type of juice...I mean...." Churchill interupts, "I know what you mean....but i'am sorry... cashew juice is not served at five stars...but i can arrange..." Churchill goes for a computer course. The Instructor questions, "Sir, you must have heard of Windows." As usual Churchill is quick to reply, "Yes!...In most government offices we have the single window clearance concept. The computer teacher: "Have you installed Windows at home?" Churchill: "I have sealed all windows due to increased burglaries." The teacher is confused, "Then what is the system you operate on? Hope you are familiar with the internet." Churchill: "Oh Yes! Due to increased mosquito problems we are sleeping under the net these days..." The teacher (feeling very uneasy): Sir, do you regularly use Laptop?" Churchill: "My brother's son sleeps on top of my lap sometimes..." The teacher sweating, "The new Minister knows quite a lot about RAM and ROM. Churchill: "RUM? I doubt...He might know more about Caju Feni...He hardly drinks Rum."

Heartbeatgoa.memories -Bombay & The Swinging Sixties - by STANLEY PINTO

Bombay & The Swinging Sixtiesby STANLEY PINTO,An old Bombay boy and night club pianist, describes the rocking times that the citywas witness to in the 1960s.A man called Chris Perry died in Mumbai a few weeks ago. The news didn't send eventhe tiniest ripple out onto the turgid waters of this restless megalopolis. In itsheadlong rush into tomorrow, Mumbai has become a city uncaring of the yesterdaysfrom which its today is cast; constantly moulting, constantly and unconcernedlyshedding memories of times past.Chris Perry is one such forgotten memory of the great jazz age of Mumbai that oncewas Bombay. Alongside Hecke KingdomIndia's entertainment world in the 60s, 70s and80s. I discovered this exciting world as a 16-year-old in 1959 when I ran intoDorothy Jones on Colaba Causeway. Dorothy was the pianist who accompanied all comerson the late great impressario Hamid Sayani's Ovaltine Amateur Hour over RadioCeylon, the FM radio of its time. Teetering on impossible stiletto heels, her redhair crowned by a magnificent tres chic turban, she enveloped me in a deliciouslybosomy hug. Hello luv, how lovely to see you, do you still sing, how is your pianoplaying, you must come and see us at Berry's, come to the jam session next Sundaymorning. And she was gone in a cloudburst of Channel No. 5.Sunday morning couldn't come around soon enough. When it did, I ducked my saintedmother after church, dashed off to the nearby railway station, and ten minutes laterthere I was at Berry's little restaurant, just past the Tea Centre on ChurchgateStreet. The band was already swinging: Dorothy at the piano was the MarianMcPartland of Bombay's jazz. Her son Robin on drums, the elegant Percy Borthwick onbass and behind the largest dark glasses I'd ever seen, Dennis Rosario, amagnificent guitarist in the Barney Kessel style. A reed of a man, Georgie Rich, wholater became a good friend, was doing a Mel Torme on Sweet Georgia Brown.The joint, to use Cab Calloway's signature phrase, was jumping, and in ten minutesit changed my take on life in the fast line. I'd discovered the magical,mesmerising, unashamedly decadent and just slightly seedy world of life and dark.At the far end of Churchgate Street, just across from today's Jazz by the Bay (whichdidn't exist then) was the bistro Napoli. No live band but with Bombay's first andonly juke box, very popular with the college set.Almost next door was The Ambassador hotel, lair of Jack Voyantzis, it's Greek owner,a beautiful woman always on his arm, a giant Havana ever between his teeth. Therestaurant at the hotel was called The Other Room and India's most reputed jazzagglomeration. The Tony Pinto Quartet, was in residence. Tony Pinto was a short,bald martinet of a man who drilled his band to perfection in polished, if somewhatpre-meditated, jazz arrangements. The quartet was fronted by Norman Mobsby on tenorsaxophone, as aggressive as Coleman Hawkins, as gentle as Ben Webster.The Other Room was where the well-heeled went to dinner. Every night was black tienight, and you were Social Register if Jack knew your first name and your wife wellenough to kiss her gently on the mouth. The wives seldom resisted, I might add.Fifty yards down was Bombelli's, Swiss Freddi's eponymous restaurant. Advertisingmen gathered in its al fresco forecourt each evening, sipping the only genuine (orso Freddie said) cappuccinos in town, made from a shiny, hissing coffee machine. Atrio played at nights. It was all very Continental.Right next door, over a fence so low you conveniently held conversations andexchanged criossants for pakodas across it, was Berry's. As Indian as it's neighbourwasn't. The Tandoori Butter Chicken to die for. And the Dorothy Jones Quartet withMarguerite at the mike, as the advertising said. A few years later, after Dorothyand all of her band had emigrated to the UK, I led my own trio there.Across Berry's was the original Gaylord restaurant. The band was led by Ken Cumine,India's only jazz violinist, replete with soft suits of pure cashmere, a shiny whiteviolin and radiant daughter Sweet Lorraine at the microphone.Around the corner, just across from the Eros cinema, was the Astoria hotel with itsfamous Venice restaurant. Famous because this was the jazz musicians' jazz hideout.For years, the diminutive trumpeter Chris Perry led his quintet there. There was theincomparable Felix Torcato on piano; years later he moved to Calcutta, first leadinga wonderful quarter and later a big band at the Oberoi Grand, with his spectacularwife Diane as partner and singer.On tenor saxophone with Chris was his brother Paul, a happy laughing buddha of aman. And out in front was Molly, a singer in the Sarah Vaughn mould, one of the bestwe've ever seen in the country.Some years later, the Astoria opened a second restaurant. They called it Skyline andit opened with a young alto saxophonist who was continued over the next threedecades to dominate the Indian jazz scene. The man was Braz Gonsalves and what aheart-stopping quartet it was. Xavier Fernandes, the most cerebral pianist of histime, Leslie Godinho, the 'dada' of the Hindi film percussionists on drums and.dashed if I can recall the bassist. I think perhaps it was Dinshaw 'Balsi' Balsara,advertising art director and clothes horse who later went on to become one of Asia'smost successful commercial photographers in Hong Kong.When Chris Perry moved on to Calcutta, Braz shifted to the Venice. The quartet grewinto a quintet with the addition of a tenor saxophonist. Leslie made way for Wency,the most dynamic young drummer of his era, and BombayAcross the road at the Ritzhotel was The Little Hut. Neville Thomas, one of the most dashing men around town,led a group called Three Guys and a Doll. The luscious Shirley Myers was the doll.(Thirty years later I met Shirley one evening at Jazz at the Bay and she's still adoll!) Later, when Molly returned from Calcutta to marry her piano player sweetheartMervyn, they took over at The Little Hut for many years.>From that spot, it was a brisk walk past Flora Fountain, where, plumb oppositeAkbarally's, were Bistro and Volga, the two most popular haunts of the younger set.Seby Dias held court at Bistro, with my school friend Johnny at the piano and ahugely talented young lady called Ursula at the mike. She was the daughter of one ofIndia's only baritone sax man, a grandfatherly man, gentle and wise. In delightfulcontrast, the trio that backed him was more mischief than a tribe of monkeys. RichieMarquis on piano, Percy on bass and Maxie on drums. But what an unbelievableprolific trio it was. There probably hasn't been another like it since.Off the beaten track at Kala Ghoda, around the corner from Khyber restaurant,suddenly, from nowhere, a restaurant called La Bella opened in 1961. And it openedwith a British sextet called the Margaret Mason band, with Margie Mason herself onan enthralling instrument we had never seen before: the vibraharp. As college kids,we s wiftly became habitues of the 11.00 a.m. coffee session. All it took was 75pfor the Espresso, not to mention the continuous acts of petty larceny to find thatprincely sum six days a week.And finally, across from the Yacht Club at Dhanraj Mahal, there was the Alibabawhere now stands a Chinese restaurant. George Fernandes on piano, Cassie on bass andLouis Armstrong vocals. Wilfred on drums.In time, riding the crest of the jazz juggernaut, these niteries were joined byclubs at the Taj Mahal hotel, the Oberoi, the Nataraj on Marine Drive, the Shalimarat Kemp's Corner, the 2Sundowner at the Sun'n'Sand, and restaurants like the BlueNile at New Marine Lines, the Talk of the Town on Marine Drive and the secondBombelli's at Worli.With them came new young stars. Iqbal Singh, the turbaned Navy ensign doing hisfrantic Elvis Presly thing. Bonnie Remedios, India's Fats Domino. Sunder the GayCaballero. Not quite jazz but what the hell.And there was this callow, beardless fellow, barely out of short pants, who sat inon five minutes' notice for pianists all over town when they called in sick. TonyPinto gave him lessons in jazz progressions so he'd stop inventing 'Chinese' chordsof his own. Hecke Kingdom advised him to think long and hard about wanting to makethis life a profession, not for someone who has a subscription to TIME magzine, he'dsay, only half jokingly. And the cabaret girls were inordinately protective of himbecause he accompanied them on the piano impeccably, not asking for 'anything' inreturn. Then, when he inevitably did, they'd grown to like him enough to gleefullyacquiesce.Life was grand. Till one day it was gone. Suddenly, unexpectedly. Sadly. And much,much before it changed its name, Bombay metamorphosed into Mumbai.We were left with a handful of memories. Now they too have faded. Sic transitgloria?

Heartbeatgoa.memories -BULLOCK CART - Tony Fernandes

The ‘gaddo’ is a 2-wheeled carriage drawn by trained bullocks commonly used in Goa till today. It is constructed fully from wood. Its fastest travelling speed could be compared to the usual leisurely walk of a steer.My earliest memorable experience in travelling on this sort of conveyance was when I was young, hitching a ride on my way home from school. This type of carts were privately-owned and almost every village had one or two.The two large iron-rimmed square wooden-spoked wheels serve a dual purpose - as fly-wheels and riding wheels combined, giving the cart the needed momentum. It seems it is effortless for the bulls to haul these carts once they get rolling. These carts are used to transport a gamut of goods from firewood, furniture and laterite stones to roof tiles, sacks of paddy, coconuts and lumber. Quite often we can see a few school kids getting a free ride home just for the fun of it in the villages.Among my earliest memories in witnessing something valuable delivered to our house by this versatile cart was in the early nineteen sixties. The furniture it carried was a wooden cupboard or almirah (almar in colloquial Konkani) with a full length mirror, chairs and a folding dining table that my father had purchased from the huge annual fair held at the feast of Nossa Senhora de Milagres in Mapusa.This sort of a cart was also used by the ‘gaddekar’ from Nagoa, Bardez, who plied through the villages at dawn selling salt just before the onset of the monsoon season, with his high-pitched and very distinguished call: ‘Hey Mitt’. One of the most audible continuous sound that emanated from it was the crunchy and grinding noise produced by the turning of its wheels, and its most outstanding visible feature was the huge pair of wheels. And of course, I can still recall its unforgettable and discernible trademark – its peculiar musty odour.These flat-bed carts provided a cheaper means of transportation of goods and other provisions such as the ones mentioned above. They did not have any springs for suspension - hence the ride was bumpy. The fixed rigid axle consisted of approx. 6 in x 6in wooden beam with a track width of about 6 feet, and was fitted to the underside of the flat-bed made up of butt-jointed wood slats and side beam fitted with side-rails. A canvas or hessian bag slung over the outside of these siding would hold the drivers personal belongings, and of course his lunch tiffin. Often a bucket and a net containing hay was tied to the longitudinal beam. The wheels were of about 6 ft. dia. with large hubs (around 12" dia.) and iron rims (about 2-1/2" wide). The fully timber-crafted wheels were locked or stopped on the outer edge by means of drop-pins into well-greased axle ends. The outer iron rims were 'shrink-fitted'* to the wooden wheel that comprised of the assembly with 12 wooden spokes, hub and the wheel segments that made up the entire wheel itself.During the rainy season an arch-shaped high covering would be fitted over the cart in order to provide protection for the safe transportation of merchandise or goods.The front end consisted of a double bow yoke that was placed on top of the longitudinal single centre-piece that ran along the full length of the cart itself, forming a cross at the head. The yoke was fastened to the longitudinal beam by means of a rope thereby giving it the flexibility of pivoting it to some degree, and giving it a marginal swivel action between the pair of bullocks. This feature aided tight turns. The yoke was harnessed over their necks in order to pull the carriage. The centre-piece curved and extended downward at the front so that, without the bulls, the cart would rest at a least possible slant.Braking on these carts was unique, provided by a cleverly designed device. It consisted of two wooden poles, fitted parallel across the front and back of the wheels. They were connected into an intricate double acting trapezoidal contrivance of ropes. This device was in turn connected by a longer rope from the rear to the front. The master of the cart perched himself sideways on the longitudinal beam whenever the cart carried a full load, whereas when empty he made himself comfortable on the front edge of the flat-bed. The driver himself acted like a mechanical master cylinder - and by means of applying pressure on this rope with his leg or some his whole body weight he would be able to slow down the cart, while going downward on a slope or bring it to a stop in an emergency. This was achieved by the action of the parallel wooden poles pressing against the outer iron rims of the wheels. These wooden poles that acted as 'brakes' were slightly flattened at the point where they came in contact with the outer iron rims of the wheels. In overall action the whole system resembled the opposite of caliper drum brakes of the present day.Additional stopping or braking power was provided verbally, or with gentle 'ho-ho'. The rest of the maneuvering and negotiating was done by means of touch or contact conveyed to the bullocks by the driver with a stick - a slight nudge here and a slight tap there - on their backs. If parked on a slope the wheels were chocked with a stone. At most times the bullocks seemed ever obedient, gentle in nature and never seemed to be in a hurry, but there were the odd instances when they got unruly and didn't pay heed to any commands. These animals were held in reverence by the owner and his family members, and respected for the work and sustenance they provided.The yoke rested over the necks of the bullocks, and in hauling it stopped short just before the ridge of their shoulder blades. In some cases bells hung around the bulls’ necks rang constantly as they passed by on the road. These bells had a distinct sound and acted as warning bells to others, or merely let the people know about the presence of the ‘gaddo’ passing through the area. They sound of the bells 'kinni-kinni' could be heard far away and long into the quietness of the night as the lone hard-working driver returned home. A gently swinging hurricane lamp hung low in front, beneath the main beam and between the bulls. The light from this lamp was more to warn others of its approach to oncoming motor vehicles rather than a light to guide itself or light up the road.They are less common nowadays and are gradually being pulled out of service as their popularity goes on the decline due the increasing number of motor transport vehicles, commonly known as ‘tempos’. They were mainly confined to their own districts and seldom made long trips over the hills.Another impression stuck in my mind is that people walking briskly along the road often overtook them. Among my childhood memories are the ones that the bulls usually seemed to make a good team: faithful, quiet, with their downward and humble gaze, always seemingly engrossed in their own thoughts, and also the very rare sight of the driver asleep, with the bridle reins and stick in his hands. But there were one or two instances that I recall of the runaway cart, when the disgruntled bulls ran uncontrolably fast to the utter dismay of the driver, but to mischievous glee of the youngsters.There was certainly an advantage in having trained bullocks so that way the driver could be assured of reaching home safely by taking the shortest route possible after a long and hard day’s work. Having trained bullocks meant like putting them on auto-pilot and be on the right track. And without a GPS system he could still reach home while he took a short nap.The era of these types of slow but fairly reliable vehicles is slowly making an exit, replaced by the 'tempos' or trucks or rickshaws with a trailer.Those were the days of innovative ways of another period of yore. It is now just a childhood memory - gone but not forgotten.Tony Fernandes

Heartbeatgoa.memories -BEGIN THE BEGUINE:THE MUSIC OF "EL DOURAD" - Francis Rodrigues, Toronto

BEGIN THE BEGUINE: THE MUSIC OF "EL DOURAD"By Francis Rodrigues"When they begin...the beguine....,It brings back the sound...of music so tender...,It brings back a night...of tropical splendor...,Tt brings back a mem--ory of green......"[Cole Porter - 1935]*A rich rain roars outside, roiling red rivers of recollection....His hands were marble-veined leather, the fingers squat andspatulate. When his husky bow rose to their bidding, rosinedstrings sang in powdered counterpoint to his giggling gaggleof solfeggio students, who fled before its wrath. But with mehe was gentleness itself, and when he raised his belovedAmati to pour out those liquid notes of molten metal, I couldnaught but christen him my "El Dourad". I knew him really for just a couple of years, but what a magical time it was -- and coming across Keith Antao's tribute on Goanet [http://tinyurl.com/aqh94n] last Sunday, for a moment the mists of memory melted and Martinho Dourado smiled at me again. Three decades ago; and yet surely it was yesterday?The rain thunders down, and a late seventies' memory comesalive....I slipped from the stage to the hearty embrace of gushing,raucous, nubile teenies, most flown out from England for acousin's wedding. Moments before I'd struggled back-upharmony with a couple of them who insisted on singing thelatest pop hit onstage with Johnson (and His Jolly Boys),unannounced and unrehearsed.Clube Nacional reeled before their gawky gung-ho, but theypressed ahead with more gumption than rhythm, andtriumphantly finished two glorious bars ahead of the JollyBoys. I squirmed, and gasped. Johnson was livid. "These, these, this...!" he spluttered, his dark tan purpling. "If you don't know.... timing... aaaaargh, you, you..!" He never finished.I sank onto a warm lap, nosed into another's rich tresses, asthe belles laughed uproariously at Johnson. Then I saw Martinho."Of all people.... you, Franchic, how could you allowthem....to do this to Joaozinho?" I hadn't noticed Martin wasa wedding-guest too.For a moment, two dozen invitees at adjoining tables froze,then a couple of stifled guffaws escaped. In a furiouswhisper, I tried to indicate to Martinho he was ruining me inthe eyes of these lovelies, but his lips whitened, and hurteyes glistened."You are ashamed of us... old musicians... and me.. your oldfriend???" That did it. My bravado melted and I untangled myself, walked over and put my arms around his broad shoulders. No longer did I hear the laughter. We were back together, the two of us, just like old times. Bound by the abiding love for jazz, inculcated in me by this wise and wonderful man. There would be other, softer girls.And he, who was this enigmatic fiddler, Martinho FilipeDourado?Lightning sizzles through the rain-sheets in a pyrotechnicdisplay.Last Sunday I went down to the San Francisco Conservatory ofMusic, six floors of terracotta splendour on Oak Street, offVan Ness. A Goan lad (he co-founded the Goa Guitar Guild) isstudying conducting there. The hour was late, we'd beenpartying all afternoon at the waterfront, and by the time weclimbed Oak, Devang Mehta had left."I'm sorry," the security girl quivered, "He did wait anhour....">From the vestibule, faint stirrings of melancholy stringscarried on the still air, so we tarried awhile and slippedinto the hall off the foyer. A small orchestra was rehearsingthe Bruch G minor violin concerto, but it was the soloist whowas attracting attention. Compact and concise, his sinews rippled as the great Westphalian's score yielded to his facile technique. Smoky eyes flashed beneath tendril overhangs of dark hair, and catching his swarthy Armenian complexion, it suddenly struck me what the young "Dourad" must have been like, for here was an incarnation of similar temperament."Without technique," Martinho often remonstrated, "You arenothing!"That image stayed with me for the next few days though avague sense of unease lingered, simmered and grew as I flewon back to Toronto, reminding me of a companion flight fouryears ago when I touched down at Pearson on New Year's Day2006 to a similar foreboding, only to learn that my belovedmentor and muse was no more."Dourad," my mother's dulcet tones crackled across thetransatlantic lines, "Passed away the night before. Thefuneral's Friday."The rain grumbles, globules glisten, gather and glide downthe pane.... I'd spent most of my early education abroad, where I was born. Then a decade of forays into and out of India, "enriching my perspective"! Goa mostly, lots of Bombay. And much wandering of the subcontinent."Travel toughens the timid," my father said, "And hones the haunches!"A medical man, he was a fine violinist, passing on hisburnished Strad (a copy of course) to me, and a love for theart. So I had lots of music. And girls. Which is how thestory begins -- of Martin and the beguine.Fr. Camilo Xavier taught me the classical guitar in the lateseventies at Margao's musty Escola Da Musica -- which iswhere I met mando magus, Fordham's Jose Pereira -- bermudas,rucksack et al, in one of his yogic incarnations. But Idigress. To pry me out of a torridly escalating romance hedisapproved of (the siren was a 'mistis' mix), Fr. Camilodespatched me to meet a brilliant young pianiste, all of 21,who'd just arrived from Kuala Lumpur. Pure Goan too, he stressed.At a distance of three decades, I have to apologise to Tracy-- the chemistry just wasn't there, though she did try. And Iwas horrid. She came from Majorda, to teach young neophytesin Froilano Machado's cavernous basement on Mangor Hill inVasco, where the "Chocolate Highway" band practised. Mydriver had no difficulty locating it."The chick is chikna" he reported back irreverently, "And juicy!"If he thought I would drool, he was mistaken. And besides,Tracy already had the coveted piano LRSM diploma, which I wasstill two years away from, working with Hyacinth Brown atDadar's Five Gardens. But we hung and chilled, even as hersoft brown eyes left me cold.The storm gathers momentum, drumming, as it did that basementlong ago. An arresting tone, sensuously keening, wet and smoky in timbre was making its way from the motley gang of solfeggio kids gathered round the table-tennis table -- its author a squat, powerful violinist. We hit it off immediately -- and when everyone had left, Martinho and I started to make music together -- the schmaltzy pop of the day, Abba, The Eagles, The Bee Gees. Ever so slowly he began to edge me outward.Classically-trained, I suspect Martinho was a closet-jazzman,his leanings known to but a few. Yet he introduced me to acool idiom, spectacular in its brilliance. I was fascinated,a moth to a flame. The guile of Gillespie, the elegance ofEllington, the magic of Mingus. Never a great violinist, Idid however know my way around the piano, and from thefigured bass Martinho scored for me, got to play keyboardfoil to his scintillating violin. And so we began.Mondays and Thursdays. And if the piano was otherwiseunavailable, my guitar subbed, to create our version ofReinhardt and Grappelli. Yet, he was never one to be overawedby the the adventurous West. "Many," he elaborated kindly,"Posture, without having even the faintest notions of swing,even bebop! You and I must know better!"The rain is possessed now, screaming, as if mocking Martin's words. I was embarassed. Fats Waller or Thelonius Monk I was not. And then there was the little matter of Dourad's view on interpretation. Right from his favourite, that earthiest of staples, Cole Porter's "Begin The Beguine". Liquid four-four time, opening three notes of the scale bedded in syrupy-sweet chords - C, C6, Cmaj7, Dmin7, G11."It's meant to be swung, not bent... out of shape!" Douradraged.It's a blenchingly trite melody that rises above its originsand mutates often into compound and irregular time avatars --much to Dourad's dismay, despite the apparent commonality ofrhythm. Physics teaches us the entropy of a system isinviolate, and this was the crux of Dourad's views on jazzinterpretation, as it were."Syncopate the swing as far as you dare" he said, "But not ahalf-beat more, nor less! Listen to 'Atishoo' to hear howit's done!"'Atishoo' of course was the peerless Artie Shaw, whosemagical 1938 clarinet recording of "Begin The Beguine" hasenthralled generations. And so he began to write arrangements for me -- violin and piano parts, painstakingly by hand, in his beautiful script. One every week, for almost three years -- loosely-bound together in an elegant manuscript. A veritable gold-mine of jazz arrangements in all genres. El Dourado!"L. Dourado you call me?" he grinned wryly, "But really, I"mM. Dourado!"A light vapour rises from the rain, a seductive mist tinglingof Circe.Allied to his eclectic tastes, we shared a love for theRomantic Latin. We spent gorgeous hours exploring Pablo deSaraste's Spanish Dances, Op. 22, exquisitely scored by thatvirtuoso, for violin and pianoforte."When I am going, Franchic," he smiled pensively once, "Ishould like to hear this one -- number three -- the RomanzaAndalusia. In my last moments on earth, I can think ofnothing so beautifully moving."Of course I understood. Despite its virtuosic nature, theRomanza Andalusia was deeply heartfelt, if overly lush. Thewonderfully expressive bass opening statement leads into theearly and later middle sections that describe not merelyIberia, but our lilting Goa even. The challengingdouble-stops voicing our ladainhas, step directly into agorgeous mando-like dance section, before tackling theethereal harmonic-laden finale, so celestially evocative. Despite his equanimity, I never knew (nor enquired) of his antecedents. There were allusions to a film/recording industry past, hotel/big-band years. A murmur that he had recently arrived from Calcutta to retire. He spoke fondly of four sons, and I did meet his delightful wife once.Soft snow cottons the raindrops now, and that forgottenEaster returns....Sister Dolores, a vivacious organist friend from Karwar,visiting her nunnery in Majorda, invited me over for Easterlunch. I took "Goldie" along. Nelson "Goldfish" Rodrigues --that sobriquet bestowed on him by Vasco beauty queen NormaDias -- gaped at the sight of any pretty face, blowing widebubbles to reveal serrated chalky canines.I enjoyed his brazen effrontery -- once performing as his owncomposition (on All India Radio), a tear-drenched soliloquy"While My Guitar Gently Weeps", and subsequently expoundingat length to the unknowing A.I.R. interviewer Mr. Subramonyon the angst that inspired this gem! Never mind that fourlads from Liverpool actually 'stole' this from Goldie earlier!We got off the chuffy rail at Majorda, walked to Martinho'spretty place at Utorda. Antonette, gracious and charming,invited us in, but Martin's presence had been requested atthe convent. Sister was thrilled, and we made merry mayhem ofBach and Verdi. At lunch, Goldie surpassed himself."Oh my God! "giggled Sister hysterically, "It's SomersetMaugham's 'The Luncheon' all over again! Do you rememberFrancis?" Do I remember???"I'm sorry Sister, I can only eat a tiny morsel, I've apigeon's stomach!" was Goldie's gargantuan refrain throughfour courses, a sparkling port and two desserts. One can onlyhope Goldie, a Gulf ad agency exec today, has exceededMaugham's protagonist's twenty-one stone. Martin was traumatized."Pigeon's stomach???" he gurgled in disbelief, "Mhunis haathimere saathi!" Six months later I was gone, a lawyer now, through a wet Europe, past sunny African ports teeming with dark mercenaries. Left behind was the priceless manuscript and a whirlpool of memories. I visited often, but never met Martin.The rain is murmuring now, eddying and tugging at mydelinquent conscience.A dozen years later, my father was stricken. I flew back tosee him at the Port Trust Hospital. His face bound up, he washeavily sedated and there was barely a glimmer ofrecognition. My old driver drove me morosely back through theteeming streets of Vasco. Suddenly he slowed."Do you know?" his face lit up, "Dourad teaches violin at thePort Institute?"We parked and ambled slowly to the little billiard-hallannexe from which was emerging once again, fainter butunfaltering, that smoky, tangy tone. The years had beenkinder to me than most. I'd lost the Lennon glasses andMagnum moustache, and, bronzed, muscled and jeaned, looked inmy teens.My driver shuffled in to enquire of violin lessons for "Bab".An instant of recognition, animated conversation. Martinlooked out tentatively, withdrew."Ah, this is the younger one...," I heard him say, "Oh my,you remember the older one... he was so talented, what heplayed!" I was numbed, mortified.>From the corridor outside, I began to warble softly, in slowsyncopation. "Doh-doh-re-mi-sohhhh... mi-mi-re-mi...doh-doh-re-mi-lahhhh" I held the note. "When they begin.. thebeguine... it brings back the sound... of music so tender.."The door creaked, the student chatter dimmed. Martinappeared, teary. "Is it really you Franchic??" he quavered,"It's been, what, twelve years?!"We waited an hour for him to finish. The unspoken yearssmiled between us, as we drove to my old place where mybeloved Kastner piano still waited. In my bedroom closet, Ifound the yellowed manuscript book, tattily beloved.The decade melted away as the old songs came alive again,even the Kastner valiantly riding through broken strings.Strangely, the "Beguine" was missing, so we improvised. Wemust have played for at least two hours before Martinhorefused my offer of dinner and a ride, to catch the 5:30local to Majorda."You must be with your father!" he insisted firmly, with aglinty foreboding.The soft rain picks up, as though hurrying to a seeminglyinevitable climax. I never saw Martin again. Father passed on early the next morning, the service was hurried, crowded and weepy, and if Dourad was amongst the mourners, I was shielded from all, but family. I flew out immediately and the world changed.It's early spring in Toronto -- the lawns green, bluebirdssing. Unexpectedly, the snow returns for a couple of daysthis week as I write long past midnight, echoing the chill inmy bones. The steady rain has journeyed with me, swirling andtwisting by turn, providing a constant syncopatic refrain tomy keyboard staccato. Thirteen summers have come and gonesince I saw Martinho, and three of those he has spent deepbeneath the earth of the land he loved so dearly. I'm done. The catharsis has been wrenching, but true. Dawn is yet a couple of hours away, and the house is still. A light gleams in the nether regions, so I pad down to the study, and reach up for Father's lovingly-preserved Strad. Affixing the mutes, I reach for the nearest volume..... of course! Sarasate's Spanish Dances, opens quietly again to Romanza Andalusia. Did they remember to play it as they lowered Martinho for the last time? I wasn't there.I lift the Strad and hunt around for the rosin. There is afaint bulge beneath the duster. I reach under and a foldedmanuscript falls out, the script faint, Martin's calligraphystill exquisite in the early dawn... "Begin the Beguine".Outside, the mist steals softly away.--Francis Rodrigues, a young Toronto attorney, divides his timebetween the U.S. and Canada. Having lived around the world,he moved to North America three years ago, where amongstothers, he founded the Goanetters Association of Toronto --who successfully organised the 2008 International GoanConvention. He's currently putting the finishing touches to amuch-awaited seminal work, the "Greatest Konkani Song Hits",a unique resource of sheet-music, etc. His contact:416-510-1347 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 416-510-1347 end_of_the_skype_highlighting / 647-232-6014 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 647-232-6014 end_of_the_skype_highlighting (Toronto); 408-256-6923 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 408-256-6923 end_of_the_skype_highlighting (San Jose).