What all grew in Granny Leopoldina's backyard Aloysius D'Souza, whose book 'Homeward Bound' is being released today 5pm (Dec 16, 2016) at the Sainik Gymkhana, Defence Colony, Alto Porvorim, Goa, talks about life in Goa in the 1950s and thereabouts. He can be contacted at smhsda...@gmail.com or +91-96-57-12-60-48. This book focuses on life in Goa about half a century ago, migration and Goans in Burma.
Granny (Leopoldina Isabel Sequeira e Souza, 1883-1975) had a sort of market garden in the *moiee* (plateau). To get to it, we had to go down hill through the jungle behind our house and then through the small narrow track that went towards Moira. This *moiee* was a fairly large levelled agricultural field with two wells and tamarind, coconut and bin'na (kokam, or Garcinia indica) trees. In this field, Granny cultivated paddy during the monsoon and vegetables from September to May. On the upper portion of the moiee, which was a relatively steep hillside, there were mango and caju trees and a dense grove of bamboo. Paddy cultivation is laborious work. Manure (clay from the creek bed mixed with dried cow-dung and fish manure) would be deposited in little heaps evenly spaced in the whole field. In the first rains towards the end of May, when the soil became soft, the ground was ploughed using two bulls and a wooden plough. The soil was thus thoroughly turned over so that the manure and roots of previous crops got mixed into the soil. The field was then divided into large squares with earthen walls about six inches high (bundhs). During the monsoon rains these squares filled with water. Paddy seeds (stored in special straw bundles from the previous year's crop) was sprinkled evenly in two of these small plots. Then, two bulls dragged a plank behind them on which the ploughman stood. This ensured that all the seeds went into the soil and did not get washed away with the next rain or picked up by birds. These two plots were carefully monitored to ensure that there always was standing water about three inches deep. If there was no rain for a couple of days, these squares were filled by drawing water from the well. Paddy seedlings sprouted in these plots and after about fourteen days they were transplanted into the other small plots in neat rows with about six inches between each seedling. Transplantation was really back-breaking and was usually done by women labourers. Water depth in all plots was maintained at around three inches -- gifted by the rain, or drawn from wells. By mid-September the crop started to ripen, the green ears of paddy turning golden. This was a beautiful sight when a light breeze blew these golden ears of paddy. Since the rains stop about this time, the fields dry and the ears of paddy fill. By September end or the first week of October, the crop was harvested, tied into sheaves and left to dry in the now dry fields. Since our crop was relatively small, the grain is separated from the stalks (threshing) by being trodden underfoot by labourers. [As children, my sister] Iza and I helped. But at the end of a couple of hours, our legs up to our knees became red and itchy. In large fields, the paddy is threshed by bullocks going around in a circle over the sheaves of paddy. The stalks are then lifted off the ground after thorough shaking and paddy grains mixed with chaff are left on the ground. These grains are then filled into *sup* or *supra* (baskets shaped like large dust pans). Each filled *sup* is held up to the full height of a man's outstretched hands and facing away from the wind he allows the grain to fall to the ground. Full grains of paddy fall almost vertically, while chaff and empty paddy husks are blown a little distance away, in a process called winnowing. This cleaned paddy is then filled into sacks and taken home, where it is again dried in our angan (a small patch of beaten earth plastered with wet cow dung and allowed to dry) during the day time, and refilled into sacks at night. After about four or five days this dried paddy is stored in our *bahn*. The stalks of paddy (straw) were left to dry in the *moiee* and then either sold or built into a haystack. In later years when Granny kept buffaloes, the haystack would be erected behind our house easily accessible for the buffaloes to feed themselves. After the paddy was harvested, the field would again be watered. The same organic manure mix was added and then completely ploughed up, destroying the small *bundhs* and ploughing into the soil the roots and stalks of the recent paddy crop. This field was then split into small sections separated by low earth walls (about three inches high) with water channels spreading through them. Granny grew a number of vegetables like red and green baji, *vosunde* (black eyed beans), chillies, onions, potatoes and sweet potatoes. Granny, or a workman, would draw water from the well using the kerosene tin fixed with a long bamboo to the large heavy bamboo or timber lever with counter weight at the end. The person drawing water would hold the bamboo at the required height and put his full weight on it. This would pull the tin down to water level, where it would fill and then get automatically drawn up by the counter-weight. This tin was emptied into the stone trough, from where channels carried water to the various sections of the field. As each small section got its ration of water, the branch channel would be blocked with earth and water allowed to flow on to other sections of the field. We enjoyed helping Granny, watching the flow of water and then guiding water to other sections which required to be watered. This watering was carried out early in the morning and again in the evening. Granny had a small hut in the *moiee* in which she stored all the agricultural implements and the kerosene tins required for irrigating the field. This hut was 'locked' with a piece of string tying together the iron rings fixed to each half of the door. Bamboos of the specified diameter (about 2") were cut from the grove. These were immersed in the well and left for quite some time to season. They were then taken out and dried. Unseasoned bamboos were reduced by insects to white dust within a short time of being cut, but not so bamboos that had been seasoned. The colour of the dry unseasoned bamboo was a light green, whereas seasoned bamboos acquired a golden-yellowish colour and gradually deepened with age to brown. These seasoned bamboos could be expected to give five to seven years in use. About the time that we arrived, the *kokam* or *bin'nda* trees were fruiting. The ripe fruit was a dark red colour, and when opened the flesh was deep pink with four seeds. This ripe *kokam* fruit was the basis of quite an industry. The skin, from which the pulp and seeds were scooped out, was dried to a brownish colour in our *angan* to become *binda-che solaa* (skin of the binda). However, to make them attractive for the market, these skins were then dipped in the juice from the pulp to acquire a deep red colour. *Binda-che solaa* is used in fish, particularly mackerel (*bangda*), and prawn curries and other Goan dishes. *Binda-che solaa* has a definite anti-allergic property. Researchers have recently found in it many other medicinal properties, including anti-cholesterol ones. The seeds are dried after being cleansed of pulp. They are pounded in a hole in the ground with a steel tipped five foot rod or bamboo of about two inch diameter and reduced to a coarse powder. This powder is then boiled in a *morkhi* (specially kept for this purpose) in the compound using dried leaves and firewood for around eight hours. When the *morkhi* cooled, there was an off-white cake on the surface, which was *bindel* now referred to as *kokam* butter (or described as 'Goa butter' in the Hobson-Jobson dictionary of British times). This extract is further refined by boiling it in clean water, when only the pure bindel would float and all the seed powder would settle. *Bindel*, while still warm, is formed into small elliptical balls, which Granny used to sell. *Bindel* is used for frying some kinds of fish, but is primarily used to soften the skin of the soles and heels of those who use chappals or walk barefoot. It is now the active ingredient of Johnson & Johnson's 'Crack' ointment sold for this purpose. I am also told that *bindel* could be an ideal constituent of lipsticks and lip balms. Granny used the binda pulp with sugar added to make *binda-che sirop* (kokam syrup) primarily for home consumption. This healthy coolant made a very refreshing drink in the heat of the day. Years later, when I was on holiday in May there was *no kokam* syrup at home. When I asked Granny whether she had not made any this year, she informed me that a doctor from the neighbouring village of Uccassim kept sending his patients to Granny for her *binda-che sirop* as it has medicinal value in helping reduce blood pressure of those suffering from hypertension. Today *kokam* syrup or *kokam* amrut is a popular product manufactured all along the west coast between Ratnagiri and Goa and commands good sales in Bombay and Goa. Another version of *binda* juice is unsweetened and is the base for *sol-kadi*, a sourish drink served as a digestive with most meals along our Konkan coast, particularly with sea foods. The two tamarind trees in the moiee were the base of another industry. In April-May they would be loaded with fruit, brown curved tamarind. The ripe dry fruit would drop when the branches were shaken. These were collected and dried in the angan. They were then beaten with a sort of heavy wooden paddle to crack the skins which were then discarded together with the external thread-like veins. The brown mass was further dried. Then the laborious job of splitting each pod and removing the seed -- done by women using the *addo* (a rounded upward curved knife mounted on a stool on which the woman sat astride. This finished product liberally covered with sea salt is formed into large oblong balls for sale. In another field near the house, with very rocky soil, Granny cultivated *nachni* (the finger millets, a cereal widely grown in the arid areas of Asia and Africa). *Nachni* grown in our field, and for that matter all over Goa, is of a deep red colour, while *nachni* (also called ragi) grown on the Deccan plateau is whitish pink. Probably the Goan soil which is rich in iron ore is responsible for this dark red colour. All of us, kids and adults, were given *teezan* (*nachni* porridge with Goa jaggery) for breakfast specially during the months of November to February (our winter). *Nachni* gruel with salt, *vonn*, is given to a sick person as it is easy to digest and very strengthening. (When Deepika was a toddler, I introduced her to *nachni* porridge, but to make it more attractive as compared to breakfast cereals like corn-flakes, I would add fresh milk, scraped fresh coconut, raisins, caju nuts and flavour it with nutmeg, cardamom and cinnamon. She enjoyed this porridge and now feeds it to her husband and to her baby since he was six months old and started taking solid food.) In coastal Maharashtra, to increase the nutritional value of *nachni*, people sprout the grain, dry it and then powder it. This powder is eaten as porridge or added in lesser quantities to milk or butter-milk as a health drink. Turmeric (*haldi*) was grown in our own compound. August 1 is the day when Goans make *paatoyo* (ground rice paste, filled with scraped coconut mixed with jaggery coated in *haldi* leaves) which are steamed to make a wonderfully flavoured sweet. (My daughter got married in Goa on August 4, 2007 and the caterer, on his own, provided us with typical Goan food, in addition to the various fancy foods which formed the wedding buffet lunch. Among these were *paatoyo* of which I was fortunate to get the last one.) Haldi tubers are dug up around end-September, cleaned of earth and boiled. These are then dried thoroughly in direct sunlight in our angan for at least five days. Then these rhizomes are rubbed between sacking to remove the outside skin and what is left is *haldi* that we get in the market. Today most people only know *haldi* powder, very rarely do you see whole fresh or dried *haldi* for sale. Gujaratis incidentally make a pickle of fresh *haldi* tubers. *Amba haldi* is a different type of turmeric which is not used as a spice, but as a medicine. I was told that the famous singer, Lata Mangeshkar, would chew on a small piece of *amba haldi* early each morning and this helped to keep her voice pure. *Amba haldi* ground into a paste with vinegar and feni is most beneficial for sprains, etc. Granny also grew ginger in our compound. Fresh ginger is always used in food, but some dried ginger is used in medicines, particularly for coughs and colds. There is a large demand for fresh ginger from European countries, but because ginger rots when packed (pressure on the rhizomes) it has been very difficult to export fresh ginger. In Rangoon, milk was always available, probably delivered by the delivery man direct to the kitchen early in the morning, but we had never known that a cow or buffalo or goat was the actual producer of milk. At Nachinola, Granny had two goats and she milked them in the morning and again in the afternoon. There was just enough milk for our coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon. Plus there were their kids to play with, but we had to keep a wary eye for the mother goat, as she would charge and butt us if her kid bleated and she thought it was in danger. To prevent the kids having extra feeds, the goat's udders were covered with a cloth bag. Granny Leopoldina kept some fowls. Eggs were collected every morning from the small hen house in the back portico. We were amazed to watch one of the hens sit on a dozen eggs and hatch out beautiful little fluffy yellow chicks. When the mother hen took her brood out into the compound someone had to keep watch as kites would swoop down to grab a chick. It was beautiful to see how immediately when she sensed a kite in the sky, the mother hen would cluck, calling her brood and they would all run and shelter under her wings, with sometimes one who was bolder peeping out through the top of her mother's wing. These fowls were of the local breed. In 1947 when Gerry shifted from Dandeli to Shivrajpur he brought Granny his flock of Rhode Island Reds -- beautiful birds, much bigger that the local breed. The Rhode Island Red rooster was a huge fellow and was named Booty by Granny. When he walked through the house, his footsteps on the tiled floor of the sitting room sounded as though a full-grown man was walking in. As recounted earlier, caju feni was another home industry, but the feni manufactured was only for home consumption. Caju fruit was collected from the hills, care being taken to separate the seeds and leave them on the ground for the owner to collect. Granny Leopoldina had a special sort of walking stick with a nail through the end. She would stick this nail into the caju fruit and thus pick it up remove the seed and then place the fruit in the basket which she carried. Caju feni has a very strong and distinct flavour and if one drinks it regularly, your whole body, particularly your urine, reeks of this odour. The Germans, marooned in Goa when their ships were sunk in Mormugoa harbour in 1941-1942, enjoyed caju feni but did not like the odour. They tried various methods to remove the odour, but the resultant product, though odourless, was not at all appealing to their taste. Now caju feni is available off the shelf in fancy bottles, but Anju swore that none of these came anywhere near Granny's matured-in-the-well product. He preferred caju feni to imported whiskeys like Johnny Walker Black Label and Chivas Regal, which I brought back from the duty free shop at Heathrow. I am told that caju feni is now being exported and has been given a sort of GI (Geographical Indication) -- the name can be applied only to the product distilled in Goa. Thanks to these agro-industries, Granny had by and large managed for herself from 1917 when Grandpa Sylvester had gone to France till 1945 when Grandad's insurance money reached her after his death. Anju and later Gerry had sent her money from time to time, but for her basic requirements she was largely self-reliant. Later she organised quarrying of laterite stone from the solid rocks to the right and behind our house. This stone, being hard, was in demand for house building. One holiday Granny asked me to check her accounts of payments to the workmen who cut the stone and the cartmen or builders to whom she sold the cut stone. Basically there was a profit margin, but considering the rice, liquor and other household necessities she gave the workmen and their families who resided in our out-houses, I personally believe she was really doing social service. I had hoped that we could have used stone from our own quarries when building our house at Porvorim in 1970, but by then Granny was too old and the quarries were no longer in production. In 1946 when we were on holiday in Goa, we found that Granny Leopoldina had given up breeding goats and instead now kept a buffalo. This buffalo was bought by Granny in Belgaum and one of the men staying in the outhouse went with her and led the buffalo on foot all the way from Belgaum to Nachinola. The buffalo was pregnant when Granny bought her and she had calved just before we arrived. Iza and I had a new pet with whom to play. The mother buffalo would be taken to the fields to graze after being milked in the morning and would be brought back around 16:00, when she would be bathed at the well and given plenty of water to drink. As soon as she entered the compound she would call to her calf and the young one would immediately respond and both Iza and I together could not hold her back. She was again milked at about 18:00 when she was fed with a mash of bran and oil cake. Then she would be tied up in her stall with plenty of hay to chew on. Granny Leopoldina named this calf Mogra. Every afternoon, after she and all her animals had had their lunch, Granny would take her siesta in her bed (located in the dining room). All her pets, the dog, the cat and Mogra would come into the dining room and distribute themselves around her. The cock, a huge Rhode Island Red, called Booty, with his harem would perch on the head rail of Granny's bed. She would talk to them. As Mogra grew she found it more and more difficult to enter through the narrow back door. Finally she was too big to come through the door and she would stand in the back porch with her head in the doorway piteously calling to Granny. When she had grown quite big, she would go with her mother to graze in the fields. But as soon as she returned she would come to the bedroom window near the well, stick her head inside and call loudly. Granny would have to come and give her a snack, only then would she go to have her bath and drink water. When Anju came down for a holiday, he would take a po-ee (a circular bread made by a bakery from wheat bran) and feed Mogra when she called. Whenever, in later visits, Mogra heard Anju's voice, she would come to the window and call and refuse to move until she got her po-ee, and she would not budge if Anju offered her anything else. Granny grumbled that Anju was giving Mogra bad habits. Now with a buffalo in the farm, Granny Leopoldina had milk in larger quantities, seven to ten litres per day, most of which she sold to customers in the village. Whenever there was excess milk, she would convert it into case (cottage cheese) by putting a drop of sour lime juice in the milk and stirring it while still warm. The curd would separate and she would place this curd in small wicker baskets each lined with fine muslin, so that each cheese was 4" in diameter and an inch thick. These baskets were then stacked one over the other and a weight placed over them. This would press out the whey and form the cheeses. These cheeses would then be placed in a brine solution and sold, if not consumed at home. Manufacture of cheese from milk is something the Portuguese thought us Goans, as well as other Indians in Bandel and Chittagong in eastern India. This type of cottage cheese is the base for all Bengali sweets, e.g. *sandesh*, *chum-chum*, *rassagoolas*. Whey is a refreshing drink if we were home – otherwise it went into the dhon. Another by-product from milk was *ghee* (clarified butter). Granny would separate the cream -- buffalo milk has between 7% to 11% fat -- and churn it in a bottle with a number of fresh water rinses to wash out most of non-fat milk solids. Water from rinsing the milk fat was put into the dhon for dog, cat or pig food. She would heat this fresh butter with some added spices on a low fire with a ripe banana. All remaining non-fat milk solids adhered to the frying banana and clarified ghee was left. The fried banana with crisp browned milk solids adhering to it was delicious to eat and we would fight for it. Surprisingly Granny never turned excess milk into dahi (yogurt or curd); in fact dahi was not eaten at that time by Christian Goans in Goa, who classified it as *Koknen che jevon* (food of the Hindus). There were no refrigerators then and in Goa's heat (even during 'winter') milk would curdle within at most four or five hours, hence conversion into cottage cheese and ghee had to be done twice a day. In north India, with more severe summers, fresh milk is consumed early morning and what is left is converted into dahi latest by 11:00 hours -- dahi and lassi are served during the afternoon. Fresh milk is again drunk in the evening or night. This practice is gradually dying out since most people now have refrigerators and can store fresh milk. In spite of pasteurized milk being supplied to most Indian cities now, people still prefer to boil milk before use. Another enterprise, not really for the market, was the felling and conversion of palms and other trees into useful products. When a tree stopped fruiting or it was not a fruit bearing tree, Granny would have it cut down and worked on. The trunk of a palm tree was split into two and each half hollowed out to form channels to be used to carry water from our wash basin to the plants in the garden. Trunks of solid trees were sawed into planks by hand with one man mounted on the top of the cutting trestle and the second pulling the large saw from below. Some of these trunks were required to be cut so that it could be dragged over the seeded paddy fields after ploughing and seeding. To shape this the men used an adze, a kind of axe with the blade at right angles to the handle. It looks very simple to use, and I tried and got the blade onto my leg just above my ankle, it took out a neat piece of flesh with little bleeding. I applied Dettol ointment and bandaged it with cotton wool but, as I did not wear socks to hide the bandage, Granny was quick to spot this and I got quite a scolding. From a mango tree that was cut down she made a tuck box for me to take up to school at Mount Abu (to save me from Customs Duty at the Bombay docks). I still keep this box, which is now my tool kit. Some of the main beams supporting our tiled roof are from our own trees. Minor branches were used as firewood, which were dried and stacked in sheltered areas, to ensure availability of dry firewood during the monsoon. Green bamboos were the basis of another small industry. Wives and daughters of the men who worked in the quarries, sliced green bamboos into long strips, which were then woven into mats and various types of baskets and supras or sups. I marvelled at the intricate and numerous designs of baskets which these illiterate women could weave. However, with the introduction of cheap goods made mostly from recycled plastic, this basket weaving industry is being killed throughout Goa and in Maharashtra also. -- *Homeward Bound* is available at Rs 400 in Goa from goa1...@gmail.com Postage extra.