DANCING TO THE SAME OLD TUNE

A few weeks ago, in the columns of this very newspaper, I had suggested that projects which dealt with the documentation of traditional practices unwittingly or not become enterprises where modernity was interrogated. I had also suggested that such an enterprise, therefore, should also interrogate traditions in the same token. In this review of a documentary Dances of Goa directed by Nalini Elvino de Sousa and produced by Sociedade de Fomento, I shall try to grapple with such narratives in the selfsame framework.

            Dances of Goa, in Konkani, English and Hindi, is resplendent with colour-rich images and soulful, mellifluous sounds of many of Goa’s traditional dances which are largely performed by the SC/ST/OBC population of Goa such as the fugddi, bhonvaddo, morulo, goff etc. Also featured are mando and khell-tiatr. In the technical aspects such as camera-work, sound and editing, this documentary is not lacking in any way. However, it is the narratives that are offered to the viewer by this documentary which need to be critically analyzed and thus will form the meat of this review.

           

The documentary, a series of 12 episodes, opens with the narrator observing that “…much has changed and life is no longer simple.” Thus, this sets the stage for a binary opposition between tradition and modernity; with the two worlds distinctly separated from each other. Traditional practices here are seen as fossilized, ossified entities, which I would argue creates problems as traditions do change.

            The gaze that is directed largely at Goa’s tribal population is one in which the tribal is projected as ‘essentialized’ and ‘othered’ being. In the episode which deals with fugddi, we are told that “…the Velips can proudly boast of setting a fine example of living eco-friendly and self-sustainable lives. The harmony which they share with their environs is a lesson, urban man can learn from.” Elsewhere there is mention about Quepem as being “…one of Goa’s still green talukas with hills and thick vegetation…” One only has to drive towards Maina-Pirla to see what mining has done to these hills and the green cover!

Further problems emerge because this documentary tries to understand Goa’s traditional practices through a nationalistic lens where one origin is sought and where Christianity is understood and is brushed aside as an historical accident. Take for instance the comments of Pandurang Phaldesai, (then) Member Secretary, Kala Academy, Goa: “Our ancestors have the same roots. Same culture. Due to historical accidents (itihasik apghat) two religions emerged. But our culture remained the same. Our heritage is the harmony that we have maintained.”

            Bhonvaddo is a form of dance that is practiced by persons of the Mahar caste. We are told that although not many persons from the Mahar caste are engaged in their traditional occupation of weaving baskets “…members still continue with the folk performances they were associated with.” Also what is interesting is the fact that when the narrator refers to the “Mahars”, the subtitle has the term “‘Harijan’”. We need to recognize the fact that Dalit groups have rejected this patronizing Gandhian term today. It is through such subtle techniques, I would claim, the seriousness of the role of caste is elided and erased in this documentary.

            Since this documentary clearly understands tradition through nationalist biases, how would one fit in mando given the fact that the mando resulted due to the colonial encounter? The argument falls back on a dubious revision of history in which, “During 451 years of colonial history Catholic Goans used music as a mediator of identity negotiation. In a political context repressing musical sonority of Indian flavour, in which Portuguese was the official language, Catholic Goans created their own music, sung in Konkani and performed according to Portuguese models. Mando is a good example of this and was able to acquire an emblematic status.” Information on the mando is given through an interview by Inácio Sardinha who chose to speak in Portuguese. I am not against anybody speaking in Portuguese, but the specific context in which Portuguese is used tells us something: that an attempt is made to reclaim the mando to the elite Catholic locations in which it had emerged and have since been considered to have fallen from grace. Perhaps, the ideological under-currents that are reflected in this documentary are best illustrated by an article that Nalini Elvino de Sousa, the director of this documentary, wrote in 2012 (See The Goan on a Saturday, 28-12-2012). Being surprised that “a bunch of people jumping all around, clapping hands to the sound of a kind of Konkani rock song with lyrics of a Mando…” at a wedding she attended, de Sousa tells her husband that this is “murdering the Mando”. If people want to sing and dance to the mando de Sousa argues that there is only one way and that is to “do it the right way.” Therefore, a certain conception of ‘purity’ is demanded from all of us and any innovation, such as “jumping and clapping” is to be frowned upon.

           

My final comments will be on khell-tiatrs. An interesting observation that Rafael Fernandes, professor of English at Goa University, makes in the context of tiatrs is “…that as long as Tiatr is alive, the Konkani language doesn’t have to worry.” What I would like to point out is although the documentary acknowledges the contribution of tiatrs, the crucial issue of tiatrs being viewed as lacking standard and thus, delegitimizing the cultural productions of the larger realm of the Roman script is glossed over. The fact is that cultural productions in romi are considered to be ‘polluted’ by the dominant discourse in Goa and hence not capable to represent the mainstream Goan culture. While on the subject of romi, it is quite troubling to observe that the subtitles in the Konkani version are only in the nagri script.

            The images and narratives that are presented in this documentary are uni-dimensional. While confining such traditional practices to a fossilized museum, the performance in contemporary times is expected to be mechanical and static. Can we look beyond such notions?

(A version of this article appeared on Gomantak Times, dt: July 30, 2013).

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF STIGMATIZATION AND DISCRIMINATION

India is a diverse country of varied heritage where Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Christians live in peace and harmony; this is an oft heard refrain. But did it ever occur to us that in this country there are other identities that are not Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Christians? Tribal groups, low castes and host of other subalterns do not fit the broad categorization mentioned above. They are so isolated from us socially and politically that one never has any idea about their existence and their miserable plight. Crushed by grinding poverty and the caste system, their voice barely reaches our cities – big and small – where all the power is concentrated.

            The Branded: Uchalya is the eye-opening autobiography of Laxman Gaikwad, translated from the original Marathi by P A Kolharkar. Gaikwad belongs to the community of Uchalya/Pathruts, a tribe notified by the British Raj as criminal under the Criminal Tribes’ Act, first passed in 1871 (but now denotified). They generally engage in odd jobs that are seasonally available. Due to crushing poverty and the stigma of belonging to a ‘criminal’ community, the tribesmen of Laxman Gaikwad has no choice but to resort to stealing or theft. Gaikwad tells the story of his early life along with the people and the significant others who surrounded and shaped him. Gaikwad prefers his book to be read from a sociological perspective rather than a literary one.

            Gaikwad’s community involved themselves in pick-pocketing because the caste-ridden hierarchy had rejected this group and consigned them to live as animals. Every novitiate ‘thief’ is initiated into the art of stealing. Since a gang member should not reveal his accomplices to the police, a novice is deliberately subjected to severe beatings that make them ‘immune’ to police torture. Gaikwad gives a terrifying picture of such an initiation. The Bharat blade used to cut the pockets is always worshipped like a deity before a thieving expedition because it provided them their livelihood.

            Gaikwad gives a crude and at times graphic description of the pitiable condition that he and his extended family had to endure, the difficulties his family faced to get proper meals and how they were beaten, harassed and hounded and their women molested (generally on false pretense) by the police. Such a description in coarse and crude language of the atrocities caused by the system in which these groups are forced to live would not go down well with people who are used to the luxury of shiny cars and air-conditioned buildings or who are just born in an upper caste family.

            The Pathruts never usually school their wards. So when Gaikwad finds himself in a school because his father believes strongly in education, they both have to face adverse reaction from the family and their community. One thing that struck me about Gaikwad’s schooling experience is that the ‘ideal’ is far removed from (his) ‘reality’. Consider this, “When I used to open the text-book for Marathi, on the first page, I used to see: ‘India is my country…proud of its rich and varied heritage.’ I used to wonder why if all this were true, we were beaten with false allegation of theft…I often wonder why if Bharat is our country, we are discriminated against, why our race is branded and treated as a thieves’ community.”

            While in school, Gaikwad is attracted to bhajans and kirtans and excels in performing them. Participating in these religious functions, the effects of Sanskritization start affecting his mind. “I began to say that eating crabs, fish, pigs every day was a sin. I began to observe Fridays and Saturdays in Shravan month as fasting days,” he says.

            In due course of time, Gaikwad moves to the nearby city of Latur for employment in a textile mill. The urban organization of society, to a certain extent, does not support the rigid patterns of discrimination of the rural areas. Gaikwad says that he, “…remembered the days when I was spurned and even shouted at: ‘Lakshya! Pathruta!’ But here in Latur I was addressed as Laxman Gaikwad and that too by Maratha [upper caste] boys…What was I once, I thought, look at the respect I am getting now!”

            In the textile mill, Gaikwad starts speaking on behalf of his colleagues for better working conditions and wages. As he was used to public speaking right from his school days, he stands up and publicly denounces the mistreatment by the factory management. He gets ‘noticed’ and becomes politically active. All this while, his family is living a hand-to-mouth existence. Money is always short but his idealism to work for the betterment of the oppressed never wavers. Their financial and housing situation is so bad even in Latur that when his father dies he writes, “…his eyes are covered with ants. I brushed away the ants with my hand and closed his eyes.”

            Due to his protests against the factory management (or capitalists) Gaikwad loses his job and has to do many odd jobs wherever he can find them. But when any news reaches his ears about any tribal being harassed (as by now he is an established leader who helps people), he immediately pays a visit and tries to bring about justice and remedy the situation.

            Towards the end of his story, Gaikwad is approached by the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) to contest the Lok Sabha seat. BSP promises him funds and other necessities for campaigning. But the money never pours in. Still, with his loyal supporters Gaikwad hits the campaign trail but there is no food for his campaigners and money to pay the pending bills. Eventually, he decides to lend his support to the Congress candidate. Dejected, he says, “I had learnt my lesson. In this country it is not enough to possess good workers and volunteers to win elections; you must also possess wealth, social prestige and the quality of having been born in one of the higher castes.”

            The overall translation of the book lives up to a fairly good standard. But on some occasions it falls prey to literal translation. The numerous typos in the book could have been corrected considering that this is the third reprint that I read.

            After reading the last line of this engrossing book, I could not help but ask this question: Who stole what? A hapless tribal a pocket or a dominant class/caste the right from a human being to live in dignity?

Name: The Branded: Uchalya

By: Laxman Gaikwad

Translated from the Marathi by: P A Kolharkar

First published: 1998; 2009 (third reprint)

Publisher: Sahitya Akademi

ISBN: 81-260-0486-X

Web: www.sahitya-akademi.gov.in
(A version of this article appeared on Gomantak Times, dt: June 14, 2011)