Frederick Noronha
Few books, if any, surface from Goa these days in the Portuguese language. That is not surprising, given the post-1961 trajectory of that language here. In this context, two recent slim works perhaps need to be noticed, and given the attention deserved.
One is the translation of the work by Portuguese author Gonçalo M. Tavares. The other is a discussion on some Konkani issues, written in Portuguese. Both come from the pen of professor-lawyer and translator-researcher Ave Cleto Afonso. Many from the earlier generation would know the author-translator of these (and quite a few other) works.
To understand the context, it might be useful to first look at the other work taken up by Afonso, and begin with some background. Ave Cleto Afonso (b.1943) studied at the Lyceum, did an MA in Philosophy and later a LL.B. In the 1960s, way back, he was a journalist with A Vida (Portuguese) and Divtti (Konkani), and spent a lifetime as a professor (1971-2000) in Philosophy.
His writings have covered studies on tourism and panchayati raj in Goa. A workbook for environmental sciences followed. Translation of the decades-old The Hindus of Goa and the Portuguese Republic (originally written by Antonio de Noronha, in 1922), and other books on The ‘Portuguese’ Law of Goa–Succession and Inventory (2009) and even a Konkani-Italian dictionary (2009). For the last, he had to pick up some understanding of the Italian language. He also authored a response to the Camoes’ Lusiadas from a ‘desi’ perspective (2013), which drew some attention both in the land of Camoes and Brazil.
Afonso has also published work on Portuguese citizenship (a translation of the text by Miguel Reis). He has to his credit the translation in Portuguese of anti-colonial campaigner Mohan Ranade’s memoir as ‘A Senda do Dever’ (The Path of Duty). Many of these titles are available at Broadway-Panaji.
But to get to two of the ones that came this columnist’s way recently…..
Gonçalo M. Tavares is a contemporary Portuguese writer. Online information explains that he is widely regarded as one of the most original voices in modern European literature. Born in 1970 in Luanda (then it was a part of Portuguese Angola), he later moved to Portugal and became a professor of epistemology (the study of nature, sources and limits of knowledge) in Lisbon.
Tavares is known for his highly inventive and philosophical style. He has often been noted for blending fiction with reflections on history, violence and human nature. Among his most notable works are Jerusalem, The Kingdom series, and A Máquina de Joseph Walser. He has been widely translated and awarded major literary prizes, including the José Saramago Prize.
We learn: “Tavares’s writing is often compared to Central European modernists and is admired for its intellectual depth, experimental structure, and unsettling exploration of the darker aspects of society.”
In this work which gets translated into Konkani (Os Velhos Também Querem Viver), Tavares focuses his gaze on ageing, dignity and the human desire to remain fully alive despite physical decline.
Since this work has been widely noticed worldwide, we get to know that this book portrays elderly characters who resist being reduced to passivity or irrelevance. They assert their needs, desires and individuality in a society that often sidelines them. They show their will to live meaningfully, even as the body weakens.
Os Velhos Também Querem Viver has been translated into Konkani (Romi) as Mhâtaryankui jiyêvúnk zai. Or, it could perhaps be roughly rendered as The Elderly Too Need to Live.
‘Konkanni — a língua de Goa e a alma do seu povo’, the second work here, is a brief description of the Konkani language undertaken in Portuguese. This 40-page book (or booklet, should we say ) is devoted to the artist Vamona Ananta Sinai Navelcar (1929-2001).
One might wonder what utility such a work would have in today’s Goa. Yet, texts like these, however modest and whatever the struggle to get into print, do keep the connection open between two regions of the world that have been long connected in the past. For better or worse, or both.
Afonso’s work here has varied sections titled: Konkani — the language of Goa and the soul of its people; Indian/Eastern Goa shaped by Konkani; Vicissitudes turned into opportunities; Marathi, a misunderstanding?; The frank link between us; A curious way of learning Konkani; The genesis of Konkani?; Borrowed or imposed vocabulary; and Dialects of Konkani. You can thus guess what this 40-page text focuses on.
Afonso also discusses, in one section, the different dialects of Konkani — Chitpavani, Malvanni, Antruzi, Bardezi, Saxtti, Karwari and Mulgluri. In a sense, this short work introduces some nuances of the Konkani language to speakers of Portuguese.
In the appendices, there are polemical poems, and statistics which give us hints about the spread (or mysterious decline in Maharashtra and Gujarat) of Konkani in diverse parts of India. It also looks at the different languages spoken in Goa, going by the last-available figures from the last-available 2001 and 2011 censuses.
Don’t miss the slightly differing writing style that Afonso uses for his rendering of Konkani in the Romi script. This is not the first time such an attempt has been made; in our times itself, Thomas Stephens Konknni Kendr and others have also attempted similar initiatives in the past.
Afonso explains that he has adopted a style and rules which is capable of making “more exact equivalences” between the Roman and Nagri alphabets, and which also allow for easy use.
He uses í (i acute) and ú (u acute), and circumflexes over a, e and o (â, ê and ô). The acute accent indicates long i and u; the circumflex indicates closed a, e and o. This logic he briefly explains in the Tavares translation, and more in depth in his Konkani work.
These slender books add to our understanding of the Konkani language, and what all is available in it. Even if it opens up debate over our attitudes towards language in Goa, the perspectives do contribute to our understanding on the whole.
