EDITORIAL
Possibly decentralised, village-level festivities would help preserve the culture Before one could say ‘Jack Robinson’, two months of the year are already over. Upon us is the Carnival, the festival that once spelt fun and mirth, and some mischief too. More recently, it plays the role of being a tourist magnet, extending the season after the year-end rush abates.
To many old-timers, the changing face of the Goa Carnival (or the Carnaval, as it was earlier known) marks the wider changes in local life, the place many knew, and were used to. Derived from Carni vale, meaning farewell to meat in Latin, the three days were meant to be fun before the commencement of the 40-day Lent period. Those were the days when, due to lack of entertainment, one would look forward to Carnaval for three days of fun and frolic.
To exaggerate the ‘good old past’ is only a partial recall. Yet, undeniably, memories of the past Carnavals are replete with memories tinged with some regret. The same can be said of other festivals. In the case of the Carnival, the boisterous festival got tamed and replaced with urban parades, starting in Panaji and then spreading out to other towns and semi-urban areas and even beach areas. What some considered a ‘nuisance’ and others saw as fun—spraying coloured water, tossing sachets of powder (‘cocotes’), and revelling in the festival’s merriment—was gradually restricted and eventually brought to a halt.
Pop star Remo Fernandes reminded us of those times when he shared a photo of himself dressed as a seductive lady and another of his lady friends dressed as a haughty ‘bhatkar’ (landlord) on social media. Remo said that the Carnival was “beginning to lose its spirit of pure fun” by the early 1980s, with commercial aspects creeping in. With his ringside musician’s view, he should know. Floats grew “massive, on huge trucks, with deafening mammoth sound systems and long corteges of dancers dancing in choreographed unison steps (not in wild abandon), dressed in identical ‘uniforms’; floats were beginning to be product advertisements.” His (and percussionist Bondo’s) response was to join the parade on a bullock cart!
For every Remo, there would be at least some who feel the neo-Carnival helps boost their talent and spurs creativity. But, along the way, there were also some controversies, with the religious authorities disowning the festival and getting upset over some of its aspects. Somewhere in the 1980s, a ‘junk car rally’ had to be organised to stave off growing criticism.
Everybody likes the good things that go with life on the fast lane, and yet, most will lament the loss of the simplicity of the yesteryears. But going back to a Goa without mass tourism, or a place where local culture and identity were strong, is today perhaps a pipe dream, as are hopes for traditional festivals and folk traditions.
At some level, the strengthening of village celebrations—though with floats—could decentralise the festivities in helpful ways. The ‘zomnivoile khell’, the impromptu and roving theatre productions organised at this time of the year, seem ubiquitous again. Is that because they’re just better publicised online, or the support of the Tiatr Academy over the years has helped, or just because there are actually more of them being staged (mainly around Salcete)? For a society that cares about its culture and its future, more thought is definitely needed over these issues. Institutions, researchers, etc., need to also pitch in.
