TEACHING TROUBLES

Savia Viegas, the author of two previous novels Tales from the Attic (2007, Saxtti) and Let Me Tell You about Quinta (2011, Penguin) has recently self published two graphic novels, Eddi & Diddi and Abha Nama. The latter, which deals with the life of a Goan Catholic college lecturer in the big and mean city of Bombay, is under review here.

            For those of us who have previously enjoyed, what I have called elsewhere, her quaint portrayal of an eccentric Goan Catholic household, are in for a double treat, as we now can more intimately familiarize with the painter that Savia Viegas is along with her writing. This book is crafted on the lines of the namas that were produced, with much ornate finesse in the Mughal kitabkhana (royal atelier). Though its primary template is borrowed from the namas, Abha Nama goes in to reinvent the form and structure of the modern-day graphic novel (though the author claims that her work is not a graphic novel), much like Bhimayana: Experiences of Untouchability. With its thick and crude lines complementing bold, solid colours, Abha Nama can be considered to provide two different yet mutually dependent narratives.  

           Let me focus first on the text. The story opens with the protagonist suffering from a heart attack and trying to stay alive in her crumbling old house as “[t]hat is all a cretin on the edge of life could do!” She is delusional and sees the images of her younger self, at which point the story takes off. A young and rebellious girl, wanting to escape from her overbearing parents, Abha Dias decides to move to Bombay. To keep body and soul together as well as pay for her education, she is forced to do part-time jobs as her mother could not forever pawn her jewellery to meet her expenses.

            Abha then gets a teaching position at the Raisingani College – first as a temp and later full-time. It is here that the young (and what appears to be an idealist) Abha gets exposed to petty and parochial staff-room politics. Abha also has to negotiate and tread carefully due to the larger political currents that were being ushered in the Indian economy post-1990, a time in which this novel is set. Savia Viegas briefly hints at the commodification of education and a large part of the novel deals with how a red-carpet welcome was given to foreign exchange programmes for some believed that the “new G and L buzzwords” would “shake the portals of education.”

            Abha is reduced to a frustrated teacher, whose idealism is time and again defeated by a lackadaisical administration and disinterested students. In fact the system is so messed-up that Abha has to teach Ancient Indian History to commerce students, who naturally don’t give a damn. Abha’s repeated attempts to infuse fresh ideas into the courses she offers are being frustrated by one entity or another. Thus, the irony of Abha’s personal and professional life is beautifully brought out by Savia Viegas, “I had left home because my father was overbearing, my mother rigid. I had believed in a kind of freedom but had wound up in a work situation that was not offering much. I ended up making all sorts of compromises.”

Despite the odds, she perseveres and gets a modicum of institutional rewards and hence also has to deal with the fact of her Catholic identity coming under discrimination (“I don’t know where they come from all these Catholics – beef and pork eaters, who snivel their way up through bedrooms and boardrooms.”).

When one thinks that students are the only ones who suffer due to the ‘system’, Abha Nama provides an alternate view: that we are both in this together. Abha has to always assess thousand-odd answer books in 10-15 days and as a result some errors crop-up in her mark-lists. Abha is asked to explain herself in writing. With the letter in her hand and burdened by loneliness in a big, bad city, she climbs the flight of stairs and fifteen years of devoted teaching comes to an abrupt end with a massive heart attack.

            Savia Viegas does not tell us why a Catholic lady lecturer from Goa, who is trained in Indology decides to tell her story in a markedly Islamicate pictorial idiom. I claim that this work needs to be viewed in a larger context of Savia Viegas’ interests where her work tries not to imagine Goa through a brahmanical framework. Indeed, when I had read her first novel I realized for the first time that Goa could have a ‘Muslim’ past (with her skilful use of those “green eyes”). Hence, one can also argue that this work is a Goan Catholic claim on their Islamicate past.

Abha Nama, resplendent with illustrations, though engaging, also provides the texture for the gloomy setting of the novel. The colours change as per the emotional crests and troughs of Abha. Sometimes, the lines become so chaotic and hackneyed that one is unable to make sense of the illustrations – compelling the reader to build his/her own narrative, for there surely is a method in this madness! This Abha Nama was produced in a kitabkhana situated in the lovely and sleepy village of Carmona, Goa – Savia’s residence. Hence the narrative of the novel situated in a metropolitan setting is also, at the same time, not a metropolitan one.

Abha Nama brings many periods of history together – the ancient, the medieval and even the modern. Perhaps, her illustrations with the chaos and rough edges might hide a metaphor for thinking about our history.

 Abha Nama by Savia Viegas (Carmona, Goa: Saxtti Foundation), 2012; pp. 128, Rs. 250/- [ISBN: 9788190398540] 

  

(A version of this article appeared on THE BOOK REVIEW, Vol. XXXVII, No. 6, June 2013)

FROM THE ATTIC TO THE MANSION

Tales from the Attic was the debut novel of the Carmona based writer, Savia Viegas. One may recall the review I had done of the same in this very newspaper a few months ago. Five years after her first novel, Savia Viegas has returned with another novel called Let me tell you about Quinta. The rigors and travails of self publishing, it seems, has taught an unforgettable lesson to Savia as her first book did reflect a certain rawness in its binding and printing. But her second book is published by a multi-national publisher is neatly packaged. Publishing matters apart, Let me tell you about Quinta would be welcomed by all the Goan bookworms!

            Savia’s second book on some levels seems to be a sequel to the first and at other times gives the impression of being a prequel. Call it a sequel, a prequel or whatever; this novel fills in the many gaps from the previous one. Tales from the Attic, it was noticed, ended abruptly. Quinta seems to be making up for every detail that was left out in the first book.

            In the true sense of the term, there is no protagonist in the story. Mari (spelt Marri in the first book) is no longer the main character (which is why I doubt this book is a sequel). Some parts of her second novel will only be understood clearly if the reader has acquainted him/herself with Savia’s first book. However, a sprawling mansion called ‘Quinta’ is where the whole story unfolds. If one may be permitted to expand the scope of the definition of ‘protagonist’, then Quinta, in a way, becomes the ‘protagonist’. It is an old, dilapidated house that is mired in litigation for many years. Yet the crumbling edifice does not lose its monetary value for there are repeated attempts to buy/appropriate the property.

             The book opens with the arrival of California, Mari’s son Suraj’s Russian-American wife, to Carmona. In connivance with Suraj (or Sun as he is known), she arrives with a hope to usurp Quinta along with the property, which Queirozito (same as Tito of the previous book) had so painfully won through litigation. The role of California just seems to be a very short one being that of a usurper with no major consequence on the overall story. Since she fails in circumventing the alert Queirozito, she flies back to America empty-handed.

            In this novel, the genealogy of the maternal and paternal family of Mari is explored in greater detail. Quinta brings all the skeletons in the cupboard and sins of the landed family in the open. The conflict between the bhatkars and the mundkars is a theme that is constantly running through the novel. Although attempts are being made to bring this theme to life, enough, it is felt, is not done by the narrative. A critique of the position that the bhatkars and the mundkars occupied could have been woven in the narrative. Tish Ximeao, a bhatkar, laments about the mundkars not tilling their lands and going off to the Gulf to clean the “…toilets of Arabs.” We all hear such tirades, in one form or the other against the migrating Goans, a major chunk of who were presumably from the lower-caste Catholics. And this resentment could be located to emanate from this class of landed, upper-caste bhatkars. This binary division of a village society into a landed class and a non-landed, tilling class leaves out the caste factor that influenced (historically speaking) the acquisition – or rather – the usurpation of land in the first place. It is this caste equation that had the scope of being discussed in this novel.

            There are a host of lovable and quirky characters in this book – some continuing from the old book and others newly introduced. It is when Savia constructs the characters of this novel and while describing the natural beauty and features of the village of Carmona that the writer is at her literary best. The book is actually a series of sections where the biography of each major character is discussed and there are these moments (just a few!) when one cannot help but notice some raw spots in the book. But because Savia has a way with words, one does not feel that the narrative drags or falls short in the literary department.

            This novel also touches upon all the major political events that occurred in the last hundred or so years. There is the mention of Fanchu Loyola, the ‘nationalist’ who fought for Goa’s independence from Salazar’s dictatorship, the liberation of Goa, the Tenancy Act whereby the landed class lost its power and finally to more recent times: the land grabbing by the rich and fat builders from the north and the metros. It is only the elite characters who are seen reacting to these political changes. But to me, the illnesses and eccentricities of the characters is what takes the novel forward rather than the immense political changes providing the reader with subtle, humorous moments.

            At the end of the novel, Robby the son of Piedade who was a mestiço orphan brought by Mari’s maternal grand-mother from an orphanage, returns back to Carmona, takes active part in local politics and goes on to win (with the ardent help of Preciosa, the mother of Mari) the panchayat polls! Robby is faced with conflicting situations where he is expected to check the many irregularities that take place in the village and comes out as a deeply disturbed and confused person. It is in the last few pages the author seems to lose her grip on some of the characters and their actions become hard to understand.          

But, all said and done, I enjoyed reading Let me tell you about Quinta for the way it is written. The prose and tasteful descriptions of the picturesque village can be an added incentive for a lazy Sunday afternoon.                                                                                                         

Let me tell you about Quinta by Savia Viegas (New Delhi: Penguin), 2011; pp. 254, Rs. 299/- [ISBN: 9781-0-143-41522-0] Web: www.penguinbooksindia.com 

(A version of this article appeared on Gomantak Times, dt: December 30, 2011)

A NOVEL FROM THE ATTIC

In 2007, Dr. Savia Viegas, a Senior Fulbright scholar, published her debut novel Tales from the Attic, a story set in the village of Carmona around the time when the last vestiges of the Portuguese colonialism in South Asia were about to come to an end. Self published under the banner of Saxtti Foundation, Savia’s novel was a welcome addition since not much fiction was published from Goa. But times have changed, it seems, for the better, with a lot of books, including fiction, being published and forums on the internet actively engaged in discussing various topics pertaining to the written word from Goa.

            The novel opens in a hospital, with the protagonist Marri (who was baptized as Maria Dominica Viegas) recollecting her past during a delayed return to consciousness after a surgery to remove her infected uterus. The story is written with gentle and subtle humour and wit. The eccentricities of the Goan catholic life are brought out in very broad and prominent outlines like the invocation of a plethora of saints by Marri’s Xamai, is one such example. 

              Marri was a child who was born after many years of marriage, and many prayers later, to Tito and Preciosa Viegas. Being the only child and falling frequently ill, she was pampered and could have her way any time and any how she pleased. Her Xamai, grand-aunt and Coincao, the maid were always ready to look after her every ailment and need.

Marri spends her entire childhood with the support of medicines. Due to her frequent illnesses, she is only dressed in petticoats (64 in all!). When Marri is around 10, a migrant family from Karnataka comes to Carmona. The migrants were lovers, who had eloped because the man was low caste and the woman the wife of a Brahmin. The priest and some villagers take it upon themselves to bring these non-believers into the Christian fold. Coincao, the maid, at the behest of the village priest, agrees to be a godparent to Jose, one of the children of the migrant couple.

            Jose is a young boy with a powerful physique and equally powerful sexual urges. In the course of games with Marri (as Marri had no company of children of her age), he molests her. Marri suffers in silence. Then a few years later, while cleaning the attic with Jose, Marri, tired of the abuse and unable to take it anymore, pushes him off the ladder, thus killing him. (Although, everybody thinks Jose slipped and fell off the ladder.)

            The Konknni and Portuguese words and phrases in this novel are not italicized or indicated in some other way. Why is this so? It is simply because this novel is written for the people who are already familiar with such words. This is a novel which Savia has written for her own people; which means for us! The text in some of the pages is arranged in a way that reminded me of Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things. For instance, on pp. 17-18, rather than the normal paragraph, a big list is given about the various diseases that plagued Marri. The narration is also as delightful as that of Arundhati’s novel.

            Marri is also a girl who is born with grey-green eyes. The question of the Aryan migration is discussed, one day, in her class. Marri feels that she too is an Aryan owing to her grey-green eyes, her fair-skin and aquiline nose. Shanta her friend gets were angry and says, “All Catholics come from the lower jatis. The pr-o-s-el-y-t-i-s-i-n-g priests gave land to the shudras and m-le-ch-h-a-s and converted them to Christianity.” The grey-green eyes, it is revealed, resulted from the miscegenation of a distant relative of Marri and an Arab trader who had grey-green eyes. When I had first read the book four years ago, it occurred to me that the genetic pool of Goans possibly may have many more influences than the Aryan and Dravidian and Portuguese.

            Turning around 20, Marri finds her parents’ ploy to marry her to a distant cousin of hers (the ‘Kissing Cousin Plot’). She refuses much to the chagrin of her father. The conflict and tension in her house makes her withdraw to the attic. Finally, she realizes that she has to get away from her house and everybody and everything. So she moves to Bombay where attending college she falls in love with Azad, a student involved in organizing unions for the working class. Azad flushes an idol of Ganapati in the commode to fully imbibe the ideology of the political party he is associated with. They get married and two kids later (Swapna and Suraj), Marri divorces Azad because she feels stuck in the marriage.

            It is in the final few chapters that the narration seems to end abruptly. I felt that Marri’s years in Bombay could have had more details thus augmenting the novel some 20 or 25 pages more. The decisions that Marri makes and the emotions that she experiences while in Bombay are not exactly explained, leaving the reader groping in the dark.

The attic in the novel is a symbol for the physical as well as the mental and/or emotional place. Just like the things that are stored in the attic, emotions and secrets too are tucked away in it. Whilst I was reading this novel a thought struck me. Since many of the details (social and religious) of catholic and village life are so well portrayed, this novel could well be made into a film. I guess a film on the lines of Poltoddcho Monis by Laxmikant Shetgaonkar on Savia’s novel will be a treat to watch!

Tales from the Attic by Savia Viegas (Carmona, Goa: Saxtti Foundation), 2007; pp. 129, Rs. 200/- [ISBN: 81-85569-74-6]

Web: www.otherindiabookstore.com, www.saviaviegas.in


(A version of this article appeared on Gomantak Times, dt: August 18, 2011)