Goa Diaries — The Goan Identity
“Ganeshotsav is a big festival in Goa. It is like how you celebrate Diwali in Maharashtra.” One of the priests at the Mangeshi temple candidly shared why the temple was closed on the first day of Ganeshotsav. I must admit that I was amused. Why would he tell the importance of Ganeshotsav to someone from Maharashtra? However, moments later, after a subtle dissection of his statement, I realized the following — a) despite the two states sharing Ganeshotsav, he chose to uphold his Goan identity, and b) he ‘othered’ Maharashtra from Goa.
I was not offended. There was no need to be. Perhaps, it was a subtle lesson for a Maharashtrian like me who has always seen Goa associated as an ‘extension’ of his state. People from my state often candidly say that the Goan Konkani is just like Marathi, and nothing could be further from the truth!
Identity is a complex phenomenon in the Indian sub-continent. What is often projected as an identity has numerous contributing micro-identities. Most of them are apparent and visible. But a considerable number of them are invisible and yet continue with enriching the concerning region or community. If Goan Konkani had been just like Marathi, then I would have understood every word from Lorna’s songs! But I did not. And this is precisely the reason we should be trained to appreciate diversity.
The Portuguese were the first European power to reach India and were the last to leave the country. And yet, Portugal’s influence on India is underrated and poorly documented. For example, Christmas in Marathi is Natal (नाताळ), borrowed from Natal in Portuguese! Similarly, Batata (बटाटा), Pagaar (पगार — pay) are Portuguese words. If a few prominent Marathi words trace their origin to Portuguese, we could then imagine the richness of the Portuguese and the Konkani syncretism!
An article on Wikipedia shares some exciting insights. There are many words in Goan Konkani — and it includes phrases, culinary items, food products, daily-use words, professional terms etc. — which are almost identical to Portuguese and very different from English. Apart from language, the Portuguese also brought Maize, chillies, cashew, capsicum, potato and peanuts. And more importantly, the Portuguese brought the Pao — bread — to Goa, and from there, it made its way to the rest of the country. In addition to the language and the food, the Portuguese influence is visible in Goan music, the peppy tunes, the guitar and the trumpet performed in a Jazz setup. Unfortunately, it seems that most of these songs remained restricted to bands who performed in Hotels, and probably, like other identities termed as regional, they met the same fate of getting overshadowed by Bollywood and never attained mainstream status.
The Goan identity adds another cultural dimension, and it reflects why the priest from Mangeshi, mentioned in the beginning, ‘othered’ Maharashtra from Goa. Culturally, Goa shares a lot of things common with Sindhudurg in Maharashtra and Karwar in Karnataka. In fact, a very senior colleague of mine, who hails from Sindhudurga, told me that cuisine in Sindhudurg is ‘Goa without the vinegar!’ Chitpavani was a prominent language of the temples in this region, but very few people communicate in it or understand it today. A more curious search on Google displays a few interesting and intriguing results. An organization named Goa Konkani Rajya Ekikaran Manch demands the merger of the Karwar and Joida talukas of Karnataka into Goa. An article on the internet, written in 2010, tries to narrate why Sindhurdurg and Karwar should be a part of Goa to establish a Konkani state.
Goa resisted the imposition of Marathi in the eighties before attaining statehood, and a similar sentiment exists to resist the Kannada imposition in Karwar. Language, and not religion, binds people of a region together. The Goan identity is Konkani, and they proudly display it through their music, language and food habits.
Unfortunately, Konkani does not have an independent script. It is either written in the Latin script or the Nagari script. But do scripts define the identity of a language? If the Nagari script makes Konkani just like Marathi, then shouldn’t it also make Marathi just like Hindi?
Have I ruffled a few feathers from Maharashtra with that last question? If yes, then you could imagine how the Goans feel.
More later…
