7:07 AM
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Francisco never regretted the fact that his room window wasn’t made of glass. When the morning sunlight seeped in through the mother-of-pearl windowpanes, it transformed into streams of misty light that fell on his study table in overlapping circles. Francisco believed his home in Velsao was the best home in the whole of Goa.
The use of the nacre of the mother-of-pearl shell to cover windows may have originally come to Goa from Gujarat via Bassein and Diu. Using inferior quality timber, the Goan carpenters slid the shell cut into lozenge shapes into wooden battens – completing the windows. Though these have largely been replaced with glass windowpanes today, one can have such windows custom – made from areas like Duler in Mapusa in North Goa.
Such windows also allowed one to forfeit the use of curtains, as they were translucent enough to allow the transmission of sunlight without bringing with it the eyes of prying neighbours. Due to their special structure, it was also difficult for the neighbourhood children to cause these any damage with their amateur cricket matches.
The mother-of-pearl windows look like enchanting pieces of art – not mere obligations of furnishing Goan homes.
5:37 AM
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Owing to the humid climate of Goa, you’d find more flowers printed on a woman’s dress than in a well-maintained garden.
It surprised me to notice that floral patterns seemed to be the frequent clothing choice of middle-aged Goan women. I decided to make a note of all the different floral prints I’d come across that day. I ended with a bunch of literary descriptions that hardly captured the beauty of the dyed flowers.
At the entrance of the roofed fish market in Panaji, I found an interesting subject. She was approximately in her forties. Her knee-length umbrella dress was made of shiny nylon, with tiny orange flowers printed in alternate rows. From a distance, I almost dismissed her dress for a striped one. Looking more closely, I recognized the flowers as the ones that grew in my very own garden. Every morning my neighbour plucked the little orange beauties to offer them as a garland during her puja. I didn’t think they’d look this pretty on someone’s dress.
The next subject was waiting for someone outside a church. She was dressed in a skirt and a blouse. Against the black background of her clothing were printed enormous white periwinkles. They stood out so strongly against the inky black that one couldn’t help but notice her clothing. For a second I wondered why she hadn’t chosen another colour for the flowers. I then realized – she was wearing black and white. Someone she loved had just passed away.
I was just going to infer from my observations that women preferred the simpler range of flowers printed on their clothes when I noticed her - a rotund woman with velvet clothing talking loudly in the compound of the house across the street. From the way the house was decorated, it looked like they were going to celebrate a marriage soon. Thermocol hearts with an R and an S (most probably the couple’s initials) intertwined on them were pasted all over the walls. The woman appeared to be the host. She was wearing a full–sleeved velvet blouse with blood red roses covering her blouse with two-dimensional vines. They shone so brightly under the humid sun that I almost expected to smell their fragrance from the distance.
‘You look so beautiful,’ I heard someone compliment her. ‘Just like the roses.’
So that is why the women prefer floral prints and patterns, I thought.
Because if you can’t beat beauty, you have to befriend it.
9:02 AM
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Watching the chipped, silver – painted statues overlooking the rocky waters, the honeymooning couples suddenly got very jittery. They sincerely hoped the eternal love story of Dona Paula didn’t outdo theirs with its legendary glamour.
The guide screamed out, ‘If the Taj Mahal, the greatest symbol of love exists in Delhi, we have our very own legend of Dona Paula here in Goa.’ He pointed to the statues of the couple that were built on high rocks.
‘Dona was a woman of high society who was madly in love in Paulo, a poor fisherman. They wanted to be married, but were too afraid of the ridicule the society would inflict upon them. Unable to face the parental opposition to their love, they committed suicide by jumping from this very cliff. Ever since then, their love has been immortalized.’
A few credulous women sniffed and wiped their tears with the end of their saris. But not all were convinced.
Mario, a student of history, who was just passing by, heard the guide’s ‘story’ but he knew way too better than to believe it. The legend of Dona Paula had just been the topic of discussion in his history class and he had thus learnt that Dona Paula was no myth but a well-proven, once existent entity.
Paula was the daughter of the Portuguese Viceroy of Jaffnapattam in Sri Lanka. Adhering to the Portuguese tradition of addressing a married lady, she was called ‘Dona’ Paula. She was the wife of a Spanish fidalgo, Dom Antonio Souto Maior, who was a part of the defense service of Portuguese Goa. Dona Paula was an exteremely charitable lady who helped the villagers in times of trouble. Thus, they renamed their village of Oddavell as Dona Paula, a name that stays to this day.
Mario smirked at the confidence with which the guide narrated the legendary love story to the tourists. Legends are always more interesting than facts, he thought. But the real Dona Paula ought to be appreciated for her generosity rather than her ‘immortal’ love affair.
9:01 AM
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Before we had the flashy songs of Bollywood, ever wondered which songs played in the minds of novice lovers? Before we had artificially coloured roses, before we had shimmering heart – shaped cards, we had one of the greatest auditory wonders of our culture – the Goan Mando.
During the 19th and 20th centuries, the Mando began gaining its popularity amongst the Goan Catholics. It was an exemplary personification of the welding of the eastern and western cultures. The men, dressed in well-ironed formal coats, complemented the golden-bordered blue (sometimes red or green) sarees worn by the women. The women also carried a fan each that added the final touch of elegance to their costume.
The melodious singing ranged right from a woman’s proclamation of loyalty to her lover Jimmy, the sorrow at the departure of beloved Rosa and many such themes. By the time the singing was done, the audience was already teary-eyed.
Mande are usually in the monologue form, with the theme revolving around love or sometimes even historical, social or political issues. Occasionally a Mando is a musical conversation between two lovers. Every time a Mando is sung, a novel emotion subtly emanates from the melody and encases the mystified audience.
But for those who are too springy to be affected by the music of romance, the Mande
(Mando in plural) were usually followed by another form of Goan folk songs – the Dulpod. This fast moving, amusing form of singing usually has no specified theme. The songs are simple snippets from everyday Goan life strung together with music to spread good humour to its listeners. One very popular Dulpod which is taught very early to Goan children , Undir Mhojea Mama – is about the singer warning a mouse not to become friends with a kitten. The simplicity of Dulpodam is what wins the hearts of the listeners, refreshing them with their easy-to-catch words and rhythm.
Even though Mande and Dulpodam are glorified as the best form of original Goan music, it’s a newly begun trend to choose contemporary music over traditional. Where will the Mande and Dulpodam go then?
If we think it’s enough to have them mentioned already by our grandparents and scrupulously written encyclopedias, then we might soon lose out on the joy that we can have just by listening to our usual Goan life sung in a variety of melodies.
8:58 AM
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It was a beautiful postcard I’d bought from Paris, depicting a woman eating her breakfast of coffee and a crispy croissant. How heavenly a delicious breakfast can be, I thought.
I scavenged the fridge for something to eat. Packets of bread and a glass jar of sugary jam stood like retired sentinels on the rack. Tired of the monotony, I prayed that I’d find what I was guessing would be there – and luckily, I did. Somewhere in the recesses of the fridge, I found a neat package of brown paper. Mãe had visited the Da Cunha’s recently. They would never let her go without a brown package of half a dozen sannas.
After I’d heated them in the microwave, I watched the steam rise like conspiring ribbons from the white bread. Sannas looked very similar to idlis, only that they were a little bigger in size. They were made of a mixture of rice, toddy, coconut and jaggery ( that showed in brown patches on the ready sannas.) It was a common practice in Goa to prepare sannas to celebrate various religious feasts and occasions engagements and weddings. A week before the feast, one heard the clamouring symphony of the gigantic copper vessels that the older women used to steam cook the sannas.
I savoured two of the sannas, letting the sweetness of the jaggery linger in my mouth as an aftertaste. After a cup of hot tea, I was done.
A postcard perfect breakfast, I contentedly mused. Just two sannas and some tea.
10:35 AM
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It takes the perfect union of seven wonderfully unique colours to make the colour white. The effervescence of White stirs the latent emotions of serenity, calm and peace which seem to be easily overwhelmed by the noise of the numerous competing identities we hold in our hearts and in our society. White is a symbol of the symbiosis of the various cultures that make India what it is – a mélange of various colours combined only to produce a very peaceful White.
Thus, White Vermillion is an effort to bead together the delightful flashes of Indianness that India embodies.
White Vermillion will take you on a journey you will never want to forget.
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