Michelle Mendonca Bambawale’s just-published book ‘Becoming Goan’ (Ebury-Penguin, 2023) is a story told at three levels. First, it is the story of a return to Goa by a daughter of the soil whose family has been out for
generations.
Secondly, it tells you about the rapid (sometimes destructive) changes Goa has been going through, as it becomes a victim of its own charm. Everyone (and their dog, literally sometimes) wants to settle here, triggering off intense real estate speculation, which is a changing the place, its profile, and its politics. It also has implications related to corruption and
(mis)governance.
The third level you could read her book is that of a guide to some positive things — village initiatives, arts showcases (some genuine, others hyped up) and must-visit spaces that any visitor to Goa might like to discover.
Pune-bred Bambawale (her mum was a headmistress at St Ann’s, the prominent girl’s school there) starts her Goa story in the midst of the dramatic 2020 pandemic. Earlier, she’s visited here often, like many an expat Goan. But, this time it was returning to Goa for real. Not a task for the faint-hearted.
With the first chapter titled ‘Who Am I? A Real Goan or a Pandemic Migrant?’ (p.1), you have no doubts where the story is headed. Cut to chapter 11 ‘Juggling the Joys and Challenges of Managing a Home in Goa’ (pg. 167), and the Goa reader could easily identify with it.
She makes the very valid point that visiting Goa on a holiday is one thing; but actually living here is quite something else. It’s certainly not “lying on a beach or in a hammock, eating seafood, listening to great live music, sipping a cocktail with a flower…”
Life in Goa means continually answering friends’ queries about real estate and travel. Leaking roofs. Monkeys breaking tiles (this is Siolim). Caring for pets. Watching out for snakes. Creepy crawlies of various kinds. Plucking coconuts, and getting pluckers. Stray cows. Big bulls. Keeping the garden green. A never-ending list of daily chores. Fighting spotty village phone networks. Struggling to get work done on schedule and within budgets.
As Bambawale puts it: “I used to believe that by taking care of babies and puppies, I had learnt all the crisis management skills I needed to survive in the big, bad world, till I had to manage a house in Goa.” (pg.190).
One aspect of the book which struck the Goa book collector in me was its focus on Siolim. This historic village has had some modest booklets and souvenirs published on it (notably by the late sacristan Sebastian D’Cruz) but nowhere what it deserves. Bambawale’s book kind of fills this gap.
Four chapters deal with this theme — Chs 5-8. These cover Siolim’s stories and legends, and the author’s own reminiscences of visiting it as a young girl in the 1970s and 1980s. But, things change too; it’s not just nostalgia.
Chapter 7 is titled ‘Siolim Now — Angsty Urban-Rural Purgatory’. That this charming village is now a mix of hell and heaven comes across depending on whom you listen to. In Ch 8, she also suggests that there are “many” Siolims and Goas, and one can see the diverse sides of each.
If one wants an update of how an uncontrollably-urbanising space works in today’s Goa, this is it.
Bambawale takes us through a whirlwind tour of this “fish-laden” land on the Chapora River, its feni-making skills and pioneer as a centre for girl’s education. Besides its shrines, she introduces us to prominent Siolkars (Johnson & His Jolly Boys, Remo, Reginaldo Fernandes, the king of the Konkani potboiler, among many more). She offers an old, redrawn map of the village, tells us how some of Goa’s “sweetest mangoes” were created in this village, and that football was probably born here. We also encounter the “only Beethoven statue outside of Europe” in this village itself.
She introduces her villagers through stereotypes, which she admits to sketching. People you can find in Siolim today include locals, returning Goans, long-term ‘foreigners’, those ‘finding themselves’, musicians who moved to Goa, the “creative cohort” (chefs, writers, artists, designers, filmmakers, photographers and architects), retired folk, entrepreneurs, activists, working professionals, Russians, “luxury (vanity) homeowners”, investment homeowners, celebrities, urban and middle-class single-women, the LGBTQIA+ community, and the “Covid city escape crew” or “pandemic migrants”. Each is described in an almost tongue-in-cheek manner.
Without doubt, two critical chapters for anyone wanting to understand Goa better are the ones on Portuguese property law (‘The Devil Is in the Details”), and another on how “Assagao Became Gurgaon”. By now everyone knows what happened to one of Bardez’s outmigration-prone charming villages, which till recently had many closed and ruined homes. Not forgetting the case of Suella Braverman’s family there.
But this is not a book that is only critical. It has a mix, offering many things to many different readers.
The fifteenth brief chapter of this book is titled ‘Living Local — Finding My Go-To Places’. In it, Bambawale has a rather up to date and snazzy listing of contemporary Goa, probably with a coastal North Goa bias.
At times, often times, she is blunt. She cautions: “Over the last two years, good old Siolim Taar has started to become gentrified. The tiny bars with Goan uncles hanging out in the evenings for their feni shot and gossip, and the large stores selling cloth and fishing supplies, are now glamourised with a Japanese restaurant, organic handmade stores and a big Russian store.”
You might feel like asking — who is the book for? As noted, it explains everything Goan in quite some detail. It doesn’t assume you’d know Goan sweet names or basic Konkani terms. But, of course, the Granthams of ‘Downton Abbey” need no intro.
This would suggest it is aimed at a wider audience, the welcome numbers of book-buyers that come in from beyond State borders. But for local readers too, finding all the information (some of which they may have come across earlier) between one set of covers, makes for an interesting read too.
Bambawale’s “my Goa tourism story” (pg.28) is a short but insightful introduction to how this sector came to Goa, and took root here. One could go into greater detail, though the critical aspects of this topic might not interest the average reader.
The book has its writer’s story peppered across many pages, which at once triggers off the voyeur in the reader, and also makes it easier to identify with her story. One suspects the expat reader, in particular, will find this an interesting introduction to their “home” which they can find quite confounding to understand.
The style of narration is interesting. Its author confesses: “My storytelling is based on strong emotions, romantic memories, sweeping generalizations and shameless eavesdropping. I may also have some propensity for exaggeration and sarcasm. Conversations and characters have been created for effect,” she writes (pg.13).
Her story of life in the homes for the aged is touching and true. Illustrations add value in the book, but I couldn’t make up my mind whether I like them or expected something that more reflects the Goa one knows.
The last sentence of the Epilogue is telling: “As I look ahead, I wonder what lies in store for Goa. Which Goa will exist for my children and their children?” The scenarios she paints are of fields and beaches; bright lights and crowded casinos that never sleep; Portuguese passports or golden Dubai visas…
She ends wondering if “one day in the future, Goans will be like the indigenous population in the New World, whom we visit through museums and curated experiences”. She cites what a judge said, calling Goa “an extraordinary State… a land truly worth fighting for”.
Expat Goan writing is an intriguing genre. It tells us what we know, in ways we often don’t realise. Which is why, this reviewer takes it seriously, collects it carefully and won’t dismiss it too hurriedly. Worth a buy.
First published in The Navhind Times – Michelle’s Goa, a story told bluntly | The Navhind Times
