Those days gone by so beautifully elicited by Mr. da Silva. The younger generation has unfortunately, moved on to foreign shores. Goa is, for them, a place to visit once a year or perhaps once in 2 or 3 years. Most of those who are here just want to exploit and concretise the land for material benefits.
Bernice Pereira Sent from my iPhone > On 11-Feb-2019, at 4:08 AM, Goanet Reader <goanetrea...@gmail.com> wrote: > > Bridges and barriers: a village eye view > > Nazar da Silva > nazardasi...@gmail.com > > In the tidal waters that embrace the beautiful village of > Moira, a number of little islands dot the stunning panorama. > > Like the banks of the rivers, the little isles too have been > manually shored up with hunks of laterite rock. Truly, that > was a marvellous feat of engineering undertaken by our > ancestors not very long after the wheel was invented! > > In this idyllic serenity, marine life, even now, > continues to abound peacefully. The plop of a > playful prawn vaulting joyously on the surface of > the water, the plaintive cry of a bird in the > mangroves, the ever-present screech of crickets in > the background and the sound of distant traffic, > all are singing: "It is well with my soul". > Perhaps, with a little bit of imagination, you can > hear the deep velvet voice of Whitney Phipps as it > rises to a heart-rending crescendo when he sings in > Carnegie Hall: "It is well. It is well, - - - with > my soul". > > Flipping through the many photographs taken of Theen Manos, > (the popular triple sluice-gate), one can see an island in > the background. At one time, our family cultivated rice in > those paddy-fields of happy memories. > > The process, after the harvest, was to par-boil the paddy in > great copper vessels, sun-dry and store the un-husked paddy > in a very large 'khondoh' (a bottomless basket) made of woven > bamboo matting. Both ends of this huge container -- that was > erected in our 'dark' room -- were sealed with dry straw. > > Usually that 'khondoh' was used to store a year's supply of > un-husked rice: rice was a staple for breakfast, lunch and > dinner. Small portions of the grain were periodically husked > in a shallow punning hole carved out of a solid rock that was > buried in the kitchen floor. > > The husking tools ('musar') were simple shafts of smooth, > highly polished wood, about 4 ft. long and 2 inch diameter, > each tipped with a sharp metal ring at one end. The 'musar' > was effectively used with a pounding action. Usually two > women with 'a ear for music' were employed to do the husking > together. Like a two-stroke engine, each of the women > equipped with her own 'musar', had to strike alternately at > the same target in split-second succession and with a sure > aim. It was fascinating to watch them work: once they got > into their rhythm, they sang like canaries, and work > progressed in perfect unison and harmony with an occasional > verbal prod from 'avo' (our Grandma)! > > I would not be digressing if at this point I injected my own > story as the accredited captain of a ship: Well-l-l-l: My > 'ship' was nothing to write home about. It had neither keel > nor outrigger. It was a simple canoe made from the hollowed > out trunk of a tree. The wood was treated with the resin > exuded from roasting raw cashew-nuts. > > The boat was hired out by the day for little or nothing. We > used it to ferry the field workers to the island fields and > back. I won my laurels to man the boat almost a century ago > when I was still just pushing my teens. > > The trick was to keep everyone calmly seated on the > deck -- without deck chairs! If anyone moved, it > shifted the centre of gravity and the result could > be hilarious. I witnessed such a scene and still > get a laugh out of it. Passengers and crew, all > dripping wet, not with sweat, but with salt water. > It was a scene that Mario Miranda (God bless his > soul) would have revelled in, had he been there. > > My stint 'on the boat' was short-lived but memorable: in my > youth, an old salt taught me how to manoeuvre a dug-out > canoe. His instructions for keeping course were simple: use > the paddle on both sides of the boat. According to him, if > you use the paddle only on one side, you'd be going round in > circles. So everyone I knew paddled three strokes on one side > and then switched sides to paddle three strokes on the other > side to maintain course. > > Like a true Moidecar, I discovered there was a better way of > paddling. Seated on the stern, I used the oar, both as paddle > and rudder. Simple! Three or four strokes to move forward, > then one 'stroke' on the same side, but as a rudder, to > maintain course. > > Guess what? At the time, I did not think too much of my > 'discovery' and failed to share the knowledge until one day > when I was ferrying an old man across. As we approached the > banks at a good lick, he got quite agitated. He threw his > hands up: "What are you doing?" he loudly exclaimed in > exasperation. I guess he was expecting the canoe to crash > into the bank. But to his utter surprise the canoe veered > gently to accomplish a perfect docking in port. No 'Seven > Short One Long; alarm! No panic buttons to abandon ship. At > the crucial moment, I had used the oar as a rudder. He > couldn't believe it. That was my Dad! > > I guess I am older now; and I am seen as 'old-fashioned'; but > the truth is apparent in what we do and how we do it. We move > with the times, but we don't let the times rule us! The motto > seems to be quite innocent: 'Build bridges, not barriers'. > > But the intent is ominous. Conversion, (for the fanatics), > means nothing less, or nothing more, than conversion of > land-use. The 'manos' (sluice gates) are our bridges. The > 'baans' (bunds) are our barriers. > > The cultivation of paddy was once our livelihood. > Systematically, our way of life has been undermined > and destroyed to make way for a frantic frenzy of > extreme construction: Two international airports > within hollering distance of each other and > consequent crazy infrastructure! Superfast Highways > (presumably with sound barriers on either side), > over-passes, underpasses, a second track for the > railways, golf courses, casinos, top-heavy > hospitality industry. All for the tiny State of > Goa! > > This is legalised rape. Nothing less. And it is called > development? Not a thought in the world for the common > citizen. We are displaced, discredited, demeaned, and > marginalised. Our livelihood, our way of life destroyed, > ecological constraints totally ignored and our ethical > values, severely under threat. What on earth has happened to > Freedom? Is 'licentiousness' the only description of Freedom > in this age of horrific violence? Has that become 'a way of > life' for simple souls? > > Too tiring: too depressing: to describe the havoc wreaked on > this hapless land. I am tired; I am weak; and I am worn. But > I have hope. I always have hope. I count on the new > generation. Surely they will pick up the gauntlet. They never > will give up the struggle. They will help us 'overcome'. They > will restore sanity. They will restore tranquillity. > > God bless us all. > -- > Moira-based Nazar 'Naz' da Silva is a senior citizen who has > spoken his mind on many issues of much relevance to Goa. > > Goanet Reader is compiled and edited by Frederick Noronha, > who invites insightful, descriptive and well-argued articles > related to Goa, its people (including its diaspora) which can > be sent in for consideration via fredericknoron...@gmail.com. > > Goanet, founded by Herman Carneiro in 1994, completes > 25 years later this year, in 2019.