From Carnaval to Carnival

The festival came to Goa via the Portuguese. At first they used the word Entrudo, of which Intruz is now a Konkani corruption. But given that Entrudo means ‘introduction’ one wonders how epicurean delights can ever be a good introduction to the austerity of Lent! For that matter, the word Gordo, as in Sábado Gordo (Fat Saturday) probably referred to people’s overeating and drinking. As a child, the expression brought to mind those silly, larger-than-life characters that walked the streets on the days of Carnaval. Of course, nowadays, it is the fat profits that the season brings in that better justify the use of the word!

In town and country

Although in Goa Carnaval and Intruz are sometimes used synonymously, locals know the difference: the former is city-based, cosmopolitan, sophisticated, while the latter happens in the countryside and has a plebeian feel. Anyway, revelry begins on Saturday afternoon and ends on the eve of Ash Wednesday. The festive atmosphere is more pronounced in the Old Conquests, where the Christian presence is larger; and the celebrations in the towns are noisier than in the villages.

I remember my grandmother’s take on her childhood Carnaval in Pangim way back in the 1910s. Although it was marked by a lot of tomfoolery, ‘that fun was free of malice,’ she said. No doubt, there was a method to the madness of those who took to the streets in bizarre attires. They shook out talcum powder tins on friends and acquaintances, or used aluminium tubes to spray them with scented water. Youngsters – especially Lyceum lads staying in Repúblicas (hostels) – and the descendentes or mestiços, delighted in burning firecrackers or drenching passersby.[1] The city elite living around Garcia de Orta Garden Square, and families from elsewhere, went round in horse-drawn carriages and engaged in mock battles using confetti or streamers. In those days, even the governor-general played cocotes (paper cartridges containing white powder or coloured sawdust).

In the 1930s, the city clubs were known for their soirées and Japanese matinées. These were informal gatherings – and ‘Japanese’ because, artist and Carnaval enthusiast Alfredo Lobato de Faria once told me,[2] Goa was then flooded with dainty Japanese products that they used on the occasion. The parties were held at Clube Nacional, which had a large ethnic Goan membership; at Clube Vasco da Gama, which was the bastion of Europeans and their hangers-on; or at the short-lived Clube Recreativo that the city merchants had set up. Such events helped the old and the young alike to unwind as they made music with family and friends; but the very pleasure of partying is said to have disappeared after World War II.

In his coffee-table book titled Goa, Mário Cabral e Sá says that “Carnaval in Goa was a great leveller. Early accounts – all of them hearsay – are indeed educative. The white masters masqueraded as black slaves, and the latter – generally slaves brought in from Mozambique – plastered their faces with flour and wore high battens or walked on stilts. For those three ephemeral days, they were happy to be larger than life. And while the ‘whites’ and the ‘blacks’ mimicked each other, the ‘brown’ locals watched this reversal of roles in awe from the sidelines.”[3]

The spirit of the season in our cities, towns and villages is still marked by friendly exchanges. People mix freely in a riot of colour. Way back, folks made cardboard masks and hats, covered them with tinsel, and launched assaltos (mock assaults), that is, surprise visits to friends’ houses, amusing the household and frightening unwary passers-by with their antics. Boys used chiknollis (bamboo syringes) or plastic tubes and guns, to spray coloured powder; and they painted girls’ faces, just when they least expected it, and seized the opportunity to confess their love!

The village dramatist was a typical Intruz figure who spun humorous anecdotes and weaved a social critique at the itinerant khell (Konkani theatre play) with song and dance. The Kunnbi and Gauddi lot, presently free from agricultural tasks, were glad to perform, be it in the shade of a tree, in the balcony of a vacant house, or at the local bhatkar’s. One could watch them in Curtorim and Margão’s Gogol ward.[4]

In fact, every village in Goa has its own little Carnaval or Intruz. The picturesque island of Divar is known for the Potekar festival.[5] And in Village Goa,[6] Olivinho Gomes describes Chandor’s mussoll-khell, a pre-Portuguese dance-theatre that has evolved down the ages.

However, in the last five decades the spotlight has been on a single event – a state-sponsored parade held in Panjim and other towns.[7] The show draws thick crowds from every nook and cranny, but, unlike in the past, they now come as mere spectators, hardly inclined to participate spontaneously.

Carnaval vs. Carnival

It is difficult to say when Carnaval entered the Goan cultural calendar. What is well known, however, is that when the UN declared 1967 as International Tourist Year, with the slogan ‘Tourism, Passport to Peace’, Percival Noronha, a senior official of the Goa government, conceived the idea of the city parade that is held today, with King Momo announcing his reign of fun. The plan was executed by Vasco Álvares, long-time Chief Officer of Panjim Municipal Council, supported by his sons Manuel and Roberto, Francisco Martins, and others.

Timóteo Fernandes, another aficionado, was the first King Momo. The tableaux attracted tourists and locals alike. Hoping to take the show to another level, the government approached liquor and hotel industries, and their funding has since become indispensable. Clube Nacional’s Red & Black Dance held on Panjim’s main artery was the rage, and like Margão’s Harmonia and Bernardo Peres da Silva club balls, raked in a lot of money. No doubt, organising fancy dress contests, arranging costumes and decorating the venues was not kid’s stuff; it called for brainstorming and research, physical effort and coordination. But eventually it became a whole new ball game.

That is how and when the traditional Goan Carnaval turned into a new-fangled, commercial Carnival. Of the old-style festival, only the slogan remained: ‘Viva Carnaval!’; its soul had vanished into thin air. With the cultural agenda thus commercialized, the festival was stripped of its simplicity and spontaneity. Those who have seen it evolve say that the comic element gradually crossed the limits of decency – and turned garish and tragi-comic!

In the 1980s, the Church in Goa denounced the use of indecent attires, intoxicants and drugs under cover of Carnival. In 1987, people boycotted the festivities, protesting the delay in recognizing Konkani as Goa’s official language. The State machinery revived the festivities in the 1990s, but Carnival-weariness had already set in. Disgruntlement left a mark, at least by way of veiled messages that the floats displayed.

Even so, the Carnival bandwagon has moved on, fuelled by money, feni and more. It stations itself at Garcia de Orta Garden Square, specially renamed ‘Samba Square’ for the season. There are food and liquor stalls, music, dance and revelry galore, but missing is that authentic spirit of Carnaval…

In a bid to draw attention to the only Latin festival in an Indian setting, why conjure up a picture of Brazil? All one had to do was change ‘Carnival’ back to our very own Carnaval!