THE NATION AND THE MARGINS

The almost month-long ‘anti-national’ saga played out from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) and the newsrooms in Delhi has brought some problems within India’s national identity forcefully and violently to the fore. The public spectacle that was created out of the alleged seditious speech of some student leaders of JNU has damaged the thin veneer of secularism and liberalism that Indian nationalism claimed to represent and embody. Thus the questions of what does it mean to be ‘Indian’ and who can be rightfully Indian is now being debated furiously in the national press and the national centers of power and learning. Though these debates seem to be reinforcing the ideals enshrined in the Constitution of India, one can arguably see the superficiality of these if we think about the JNU incident from a politicized Goan Catholic perspective. After all, were not Goan Catholics suspected of being ‘anti-national’ decades before this event?

Let’s start from the beginning. Goa was not a part of the Indian state in 1947. Thus, Goa was not part of the founding moment of the Indian state and the debates surrounding the formation of the Constitution of India and the linguistic re-organization policy. Thus also, the Indian identity of Goa and Goans had to be fitted in almost 15 years after the establishment of the Indian state. This identity was largely negotiated through linguistic markers. Though tourism also played a part later on, I will not dwell on it in this article.

Let us consider how the Konkani language in the Nagri avatar was recognized in the ’70s and ’80s by the Indian government and its national body of letters – the Sahitya Akademi. Konkani as a language had to produce a classical and Sanskritic past in order to be recognized as a legitimate Indian language. This was a blessing for the proponents of the Nagri script as the superficial similarities with the script would easily allow them to latch onto a Sanskritic norm defined by Indian nationalism. So in effect, what we have here is a nation that would only accept the Konkani language as belonging to the illustrious lists of ‘national’ languages only if it had a justification in a Sanskritic culture and past, as Rochelle Pinto observed, while participating in a session on ‘Rewriting Goan History’ at the Goa Arts and Lit Fest, 2015. Thus there was a scramble to find and publish Sanskrit classical texts that were rendered in Konkani. The Konkani renderings of the Ramayana and Mahabharata were obtained from the Municipal library of Braga, Portugal, and published in Goa. And what is also interesting is that somehow the Konkani language could produce such a Sanskritic heritage only thanks to the Catholic missionaries, who had written down these renderings in the Roman script, in the sixteenth century!

This Sanskrit-privileging linguistic culture and policy in India was also very much disrespectful of the diversity and history of the Konkani language. We have over the years witnessed the scorn that is poured on Romi Konkani and the cultural artifacts that are produced in that script. Romi was (and is) considered ‘foreign’ (read as not Indian) and hence it is argued that it had no space in the cultural/literary life of India. Thus, the largely (but not entirely) Catholic users of the script were asked to give up Romi in favour of the more Indian, though artificial, Nagri variant. In the ’70s and ’80s, people like the Gandhian Konkani litterateur Ravindra Kelekar was quite blatantly making such arguments.

Unfortunately, the project to expand a Nagri and Sanskritic culture, like other national projects, was not an innocent one. It was marked by a considerable degree of cultural violence against the Catholics in Goa. Catholics in Goa – especially from Bahujan backgrounds – were subjected to casteist and communal abuse. Further, they were told that they were culturally inadequate, or carriers of a culture that was fundamentally flawed and impure. All for the purpose of making Goan Catholics better Indians.

Merely demanding that the Roman script and its cultural productions be recognized within the culture and constitutional rights of the Indian state earned Goan Catholics the ire of the Hindu upper-castes, and it also led to Catholics being branded as ‘anti-national’. In fact it is not just the Roman script, but Catholic food-habits, dressing, and life-styles which have come under tremendous attacks for being deviant to the established Indian norm.

So, the issue is not simply about who is a ‘patriot’ and who is an ‘anti-national’. When groups in Delhi that are aligned to the left and center-of-left political ideologies, in other words the traditional guardians of Indian secularism, claim that the Hindu-right has no business in issuing certificates of nationalism and patriotism because they are nationalist and patriotic enough, it seems that there is no regard and concern for the pernicious effects of Indian nationalism on several thousands of communities for over half a century. The marginalization that Indian nationalism creates needs to be confronted; and precisely at a time like this, when the confidence of the secular-liberal Indian elite is jolted. Goans have to think about the nation through their own experience rather than passively accepting a national discourse.

The fact that none of these ongoing debates would consider the Goan Catholic experience as important would tell us how blind they are to multiple experiences in different parts of India. Once again, what it means to be Indian and nationalist/patriot will be defined by those who are unaware of and uninterested in our experience. The question ultimately is, do we have a choice and a say in this national politics?

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 16 March, 2016)

DIFFERENT, NOT UNIQUE

It can be said with a lot of certainty that Goans straddle many worlds. Owing to the differences between the colonial styles of the Portuguese and the British, and the interactions that Goans have with these two Empires, the historical and cultural experiences of the Goans are diverse indeed. With migrations to Africa, the Gulf, Europe and now increasingly to North America and Australia Goans seem to be a part of many worlds. This diversity of historical and cultural experiences has been ignored with attempts to fit Goa’s history within Indian national narratives with the region’s integration into India. Rochelle Pinto’s book Between Empires: Print and Politics in Goa draws attention to this fact and also explores it in greater detail.

So why is this diversity of historical and cultural experiences important? It is for the reason that, as many scholars have emphasized, the nature of Portuguese colonialism was ‘different’ to that of the British, Goa’s history need to be looked at from its own standpoint. Recognizing this difference would also provide valuable insights into how the Goan identity came to be constituted. The argument that can be advanced is that it is due to the ‘different’ Portuguese colonialism that Goa acquired its exceptions with regards to its culture and history. For instance, such a difference can be observed in the political structures, its religious experiences, and food practices.

To recognize Goa’s ‘difference’ is not similar to asserting a ‘unique’ identity for it. Indeed, a distinction needs to be made between viewing Goa as ‘different’ and viewing it as ‘unique’. Asserting uniqueness is opposed to the idea of Goa’s difference from the established norm of British colonial and Indian national experience. This idea of uniqueness is largely used by groups who held positions of power and authority during the colonial regime as well as in the postcolonial times. Though originating in elite locations this very seductive idea is not restricted to these groups alone. The significance of asserting ‘uniqueness’ becomes clear if one starts thinking about how the idea of Goa’s uniqueness animates and sustains many popular political mobilizations in contemporary Goa. The movements to protect the environment, the demand for Special Status (to name just a few) have a very strong sense of Goa as a unique space.

If a departure from Indian national narratives can enable us to appreciate the possibility of opening up various worlds to view them as part of the Goan experience, the assertion of a unique identity itself isolates us from the possibility of creating networks with these diverse worlds. Thus, the fact that there might be other groups that are an exception to the norm within India, for instance, may get subsumed by the assertions of Goa and Goans as unique. Such assertions leave no space to forge new alliances with groups whose experiences may not differ much from that of the Goan.

To take tourism as an illustration, while we may recognize the manner in which Goa is reduced to an ‘exotic’ pleasure periphery for foreign as well as Indian tourists, what often gets left out is that there are other places within India itself that function as ‘exotic’ pleasure peripheries. If Goa is the ‘escape’ for many urban Indians from everyday troubles, in a similar way many of the hill-stations in India as well as places in the Northeast serve as ‘escapes’ for the nearby urban population. By ‘escaping’ to such ‘exotic’ locales one just does not leave his/her professional roles behind, but also their social norms and behaviour. The fact why Goa is seen as more liberal, Southern European, and Catholic than the other pleasure peripheries, is the result of its ‘different’ colonization. But this fact in no way separates or isolates Goa from these other pleasure peripheries within India. 

The ‘difference’ that we have discussed above is the product of the last four-and-a-half centuries. This ‘difference’ opens up new vistas and avenues for thinking about the road ahead for Goa. But to ignore this difference so as to solely view Goa within the frames of Indian nationalism would be to limit Goa’s potential and that of its many worlds.

(First published in  O Heraldo, dt: 10 October, 2014)

OF PRIVILEGE AND LOSS

In her study of print politics in nineteenth and twentieth century Goa, Between Empires: Print and Politics in Goa, Rochelle Pinto observes that “[i]f there was a single dominant perspective through which Goa’s Catholic elite viewed their nineteenth century, it was as a condition to be mourned.” These elites, through newspapers, novels, pamphlets, and books gave vent to this sentiment and, thereby, also produced a “prolific output [that] not only served as a critique of the Portuguese colonial state, but it also stapled the nineteenth century into historical and cultural frameworks that would outlast their moment of origin, to become resilient filters through which the century and its aftermath would be received.” Pinto’s observation is crucial in understanding Maria Aurora Couto’s latest book Filomena’s Journeys: A Portrait of a Marriage, a Family and a Culture.

Couto is no stranger to Goans, as her writings and her persona are well known and celebrated. In 2010, the Government of India also honoured her with a Padma Shri for her contributions in literature and education. This book is a biography of her parents – Francisco (Chico) Figueiredo and Filomena Borges – making it as much a ‘daughter’s story’ as her first book, Goa: A Daughter’s Story.

            If her first book on Goa was a cultural history of the elites, suggesting in the process that this elite culture embodied Goa in all its diversity, her second book has a much more restricted focus. Filomena’s Journeys does not actually set out to reconstruct the entire historical milieu in which the story of Couto’s parents is situated. The literary flourish with which Couto reconstructs not just the life of her parents, but also the social and cultural interactions of the elite class is remarkable, her prose matchless, and the book reads like a well-crafted novel. While recognizing the privileged location of her parents, Couto also dwells on the ill-effects of the selfsame privilege on the class of landed Catholic elites as well as the tenant class. Because of her ability to create a vivid picture before the eyes of her readers, Couto’s book will be immensely helpful for students of Goan history in understanding the society of the elites, particularly of Margão and Panjim. Yet, the overarching metanarrative and texture of Filomena’s Journeys is one of a world that was lost, a world much loved, and cherished by Goa’s Catholic elites.

Although Filomena and Chico came from a bhatkar (landed), Catholic family, later circumstances, especially Chico’s alcoholism, brought hard times on the family. Thus, despite Chico’s resistance and protest, Filomena decides to move the family to distant Dharwar in Karnataka. Chico’s inability to adjust to changing times and his frustration at not finding any outlet for his musical talents, though he taught music at the Lyceum in Panjim for a few months, only makes matters worse. Chico struggled to make a mark in the field of music and his anguish at not finding his dream fulfilled forms a major and important part of Filomena’s Journeys. During these difficult times, it is the patience and perseverance of Filomena – the eponymous protagonist of the book – that keeps the family together.

             It is clear that Chico’s untimely death caused great suffering for the whole family consisting of seven children. It was Filomena who made ends meet, took great risks, and was always the rock of the family. Couto’s aim appears to depict the brave and strong woman that Filomena was, one that is captured on the snapshot of the cover: strong, determined, gazing out with a steely resolve through a grainy, monochromatic picture. But one cannot help but notice that Filomena, for most of the book, remains in the shadows; the whole story is told in a manner that treats the father as central. Indeed, it is Chico who emerges in boldly etched and sharply defined detail.

            It can be suggested that the reason why Filomena gets pushed into the background may be because of the fact that Couto preferred to keep a distance from the narrative and the story, as the memory of her father’s eventual death was painful for Couto, as suggested by the third-person narrative. This distance seems odd at times as the author, who is herself a very crucial element in the story, refers to herself in the third-person: “Maria Aurora remembers his [her father’s] capacity for self-absorption, moments when his gentleness was lost to despair and frustration, and she wishes her father had been able to step out of himself more often than he did.”

            Filomena’s Journeys depends on the memories of the author as well as the recollections of friends and family. To that extent, one finds it a bit difficult to separate the life of Filomena and Chico, and the details, feelings, and emotions that Couto adds as a writer. To reconstruct a narrative from memories also involves research and understanding of the cultural and social history of a bygone time. The issue of memory and research brings us to the question of historical interpretations and perceptions that Couto makes or suggests to her readers. However, like her previous book, this book too does not seem to have been able to shake off brahmanical frames of reference in perceiving and understanding the past milieu, a milieu in which both her parents were born, raised, married, and had a family of their own. The wider intellectual thought from which Couto draws is apparent in the manner in which Couto discusses the “historic importance” of Raia, her mother’s village. The pre-Portuguese dynasties such as the Kadambas and the Vijayanagar kings (who are allegedly believed to have protected Hinduism against Muslim onslaught) are invoked, along with the “Muslim rulers” as impacting the history of Raia. Similarly, Hindu and Christian traditions, for Couto, create a syncretic religious identity by the fusing of the mother goddess cults with that of the Virgin Mary. “Filomena may have been aware of the history…only in a subliminal way, as a woman who found strength in female deities – Santa Filomena, Santa Teresinha, the Blessed Virgin… [and] the spirit of Kamakshi, the mother goddess of ancient times…,” Couto suggests. This pre-Portuguese past is erroneously assumed to be Hindu in various discourses of Catholic and Hindu elites of Goa, and is not just confined to Couto’s work.

Couto also idealizes the village and the tenants with whom her mother shared a mutually-respectful relationship; the tenants “thought they had never seen any bhatkar’s wife who looked so kind.” But what Couto does not factor in is that, much throughout the history of Goa, as in other parts of South Asia, the village was (and is) a site of caste-based humiliation and oppression. Instead, Couto asserts, “It was a feudal lifestyle, but greatly blunted in close-knit rural society, for there was warmth and affection all round.” During the course of writing this book, Couto visits her mother’s former tenants, who fondly remember Filomena spending the night in their houses when she would come to collect “the family’s share of the produce.” Couto feels happy at the prosperity of her family’s former tenants. Filomena may have indeed been a generous and sensitive landlady towards her tenants and her tenants may have truly remembered her as such, yet the tenants get represented as humble beings recalling with fond nostalgia the past which was filled with hardships overseen by the benevolent bhatkar. The fact that Couto recognizes the oppression by the bhatkar class, but at the same time upholds a certain imagination consisting of the benevolent bhatkar and the humble tenants, negates the possibility of a radical critique of acts of omissions and commissions of the landed as well as the tenant class.

The women in Filomena’s Journeys can be viewed as simultaneously negotiating and subverting the strictures and mores of the elite society.  While the women were subordinate in a patriarchal system they still could in many ways benefit from the same. Take the case of Propercia, who was Chico’s cousin. Couto’s celebration of Propercia, who through her writings advocated “the importance of the Konkani language [and] the Indian woman,” does not take into consideration the conflation of  ‘Indian’ and ‘Hindu’, as an undifferentiated historical and conceptual category. While noting the importance and uniqueness of Propercia’s role as a woman public intellectual, her support “of the importance of the mother tongue, Konkani, in primary education,” suggests more than meets the eye. Education in Konkani was advocated to maintain a hold on the labouring Goan Catholics, as Pinto notes in her book.

            Couto’s portrait of Filomena tries to establish the singular and herculean feat that her mother accomplished. While it is clear that Filomena certainly faced challenges in moving her family to Dharwar which she was unfamiliar with, she does seem to rely on such resources like caste and family networks to aid the remarkable move. While this does not diminish the issues Filomena faced, it reveals that she was able to take stock of her situation in such a manner that allowed her to effect change while also maintaining her ties with a privileged system.

            This book could have benefitted greatly with a family-tree as the numerous names of aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters, brothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, granduncles, etc. become confusing. Though beautifully written, Filomena’s Journeys struggles to make peace with the the past, with history, and with memories that deeply unsettle.

Filomena’s Journeys: A Portrait of a Marriage, a Family & a Culture, by Maria Aurora Couto (New Delhi: Aleph Book Company), 2013; pp. 290, Rs. 495/- [ISBN: 978-93-82277-04-0]

 
(A version of this article appeared on Gomantak Times (Weekender), dt: February 2, 2014)