Being Goan Criteria

-- from the chapter on What’s so special about Goans anyway? 

Our three dogs Roo, Rusty and Haruki

I have spent extended amounts of time over the last twenty years in Siolim before moving here full-time. Over this period, I have made some anecdotal observations and have manufactured my own criteria for being Goan. I need to emphasize that these are all tongue-in-cheek observations. While there is much research on Goans, our history, migration and diaspora, I rely on none of them.

Also, here I am talking about Goans in their true salt of the earth, ‘children of the soil’ avatar living in the village, not the global diaspora who may identify as Goans in spirit but may have never lived here, or the more sophisticated Goans living in cities.

I fulfil some of these criteria but aspire to all:

• You speak Konkani.
  

• You notice car number plates and are suspicious of every car that does not have a GA (Goa) registration.
  

• You have at least two dogs and/or two cats. You may also have some pigs, hens, goats and cows.
  

• You eat fish, at least five days a week if not seven, and know what is seasonal and how it needs to be cooked— fried or curried. You know what fish is available in the market that day, how much it costs and how fresh it is just by looking at the gills.
  

• You know when all the religious festivals take place and how they are to be celebrated—the prayers, the customs and what to cook. There are a few every month—all celebrated with great pomp and pageantry—food, music and flowers.
  

My basketful of homegrown mangoes

• You can recognize not just the fruit but also the leaves of the mango trees in your neighbourhood. You know not only your own trees but also your neighbour’s trees, who have the best Mancurad, Manghilar, Maldez, Bishop or Fernandinho. You track the flowers every year. You covet your neighbour’s Mancurad tree, even breaking a commandment. You know which mangoes are to be just cut and eaten, and which ones you need to make the popular korum,* miskut,† or mangaad.‡ This also extends to other tropical fruit and berry trees—jackfruit, jamun, bimli, tamarind and carvanda.
  

• You have an encyclopaedic knowledge of all local flora and fauna and can identify birds and their sounds.
  

• You know exactly when the urak/feni supply starts each year and you have the best source. You drive for hours to get it but it’s worth it. You brag about your source but don’t share the contact as it’s a closely guarded secret. You insist that only yours is genuine, ‘the real stuff’.
  

• You sing with great gusto—in the shower, in church, at all celebrations, in a choir or a band. You play at least one musical instrument, usually a piano, guitar, violin or drums, and love music.
  

• You have love/hate relationships with your neighbours and your family. You are either not talking to them and/ or you know too much about them, or both. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ is the mantra you follow.
  

• You know all your living and dead relatives at least up to the last five generations; who married whom, who was supposed to marry whom, where they live, when and where someone died, where they are buried and so on. You also know these details, including any scandals and dirt about your neighbours and friends.
  

• You know how to make (or who in the village makes) the best coconut oil, sausages, vinegar, bebinca,* xacuti and samarache† masala. You know which gaddo‡ has the best street food—cutlet pao, choris pao, ros omelette§ and patal bhaji¶ breakfast in your village/ state. You have no interest in any other food or cuisine and look dismissively as new restaurants and cuisines debut in Goa.
  

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• You refer to the months of October to March as the ‘season’. It was historically the time tourists descended on Goa.
  

• You have a good appetite for and very strong opinions on local politics that you are always willing to share. You get your news only from the local papers (usually OHeraldo) and news channels (often Prudent media).
  

• You attend more funerals than wedding masses and wear black for funerals. For Christmas and weddings, you pull out your polyester suits or shiny, synthetic, sequined, lacy dresses and gowns.
  

• Lorna belting out ‘Bebdo’* is your favourite anthem. In fact, you love anything Lorna sings. You sing, laugh and cry out loud every time you watch Nachom-ia-Kumpasar.†
  

• You religiously follow and play football, and support Brazil in the World Cup.
  

• You have jet-black hair, no matter your age.
  

• You have a healthy distrust for all outsiders. An outsider is a generic term used in Goa that covers anyone who is not Goan by ancestry. It does not discriminate based on socio-economic status, how long you have lived here, if you speak Konkani, have the required legal government identification and documentation, or own property. It’s somehow beyond that.
  

* Bebdo means ‘drunkard’ in Konkani. The song speaks about serious issues of drunk husbands but has a fun, lively tune. In Goa, artists portrayed serious societal issues in a lighter tone to make more people aware.

† Konkani for ‘Let’s dance to the rhythm’. It is a Konkani musical drama directed by Bardroy Barretto based on the lives of two jazz musicians, Chris Perry and Lorna Cordeiro during the height of the Goan music scene in Bombay in the 1960s–70s. The title is the name of one of their songs.

I have made a start to claiming my local Goan—Niz Goenkar* status. I now complain, as well as the next Goan, about the rapid overdevelopment, pollution, politics and corruption at every level across the state. And of course, about outsiders.