In Goa, all languages are, of course, equal; but some are more equal than others
If you were among the pretty houseful audience at Panaji’s Kala Academy on Sunday, you would have come there with a reason. To enjoy the annual festival of Portuguese music (which the organisers insist is not a competition, in the strict sense) that goes on display around this time each year.
Vem Cantar, or Come Let’s Sing, as the festival is called, is inching closer to its 30th year shortly. It seems like it was started just yesterday, and it has grown over the years. When launched, we were all younger. Many thought it would not survive.
The amazing thing about the Portuguese language in Goa is that we have been hearing for at least the past 40 to 50 years that the language here is dying. We’re often reminded that it was hardly spoken even in colonial times, and just a tiny fraction of the population knew it even at its peak. Or that it now fails to get students.
Somehow, and not because of the official policy but despite it, it has stayed on. Charming music from a distant culture keeps emerging; a tiny but determined set of folks here understand that knowing an additional language can be another priceless window to the world.
In Goa, all languages are, of course, equal; but some are more equal than others. This is true of scripts and dialects too.
Since the 1960s, after centuries of dominating Goa, the Portuguese language has been treated as an illegitimate child here. Two wrongs don’t make a right though. Even if it had a larger-than-life role in colonial times, to want to extinguish it is unjustified.
But the lack of government support, subtle discrimination or just treating it as unwanted can have this effect on a language. In the end, everyone is the loser.
On the other hand, music is one sphere which can bring down walls. Young students did put up credit-worthy performances, drawing praise from many; congratulations are due to all participants.
It would be nice if the organisers could also consider introducing both the singers and their backup musicians in a line or two. Goa’s ability to churn up musical talent, both Western and Indian, should not be taken lightly. But without this, we are left guessing who the participants are, and many might really like to know their background. This could be done while the musicians are busy with their set-up (which they do fast); it might really add value to the show besides giving all their credit due!
When Fundação Oriente, the organisers of the event, was first launched here in the 1990s, it was greeted with suspicion. Today, it has played a role in building talent and skills, especially in fields like music (among young performers particularly), short story writing (through its multilingual biennial contests) and some scholarships.
The first two have the potential of building up skills and encouraging talent to grow. While the song competition is Portuguese-language focused (and, arguably, much needed to keep the language alive among the younger generation), the short story competition is language-neutral. It accepts stories in four languages: English, Konkani, Marathi and Portuguese. It must be a nightmare for the judges, but this seems to work.
Maybe Goa could learn from organisations like this to build initiatives and events. Especially those which have a multiplier effect in local cultural life.
Often, it doesn’t take much to trigger the growth of skills. It goes without saying that the most cost-effective way to build talent in music and writing in Goa is to create community-driven, low-cost platforms that nurture practice together with exposure and collaboration. This is so badly needed here today.
Such events could be translated into open mics, poetry slams and jam sessions in existing public or low-rent spaces like libraries, cafés or community halls. Likewise, one could think of leveraging social media to showcase local talent without heavy marketing spend.
Peer-led workshops, mentorship circles and collaborations with schools or colleges could help build skills at minimal cost. At the same time, pooling resources through collectives reduces expenses. Partnerships with diaspora groups or cultural institutions for small grants can provide added support, ensuring a sustainable ecosystem without relying on big budgets.
So far, government organisations have sought to build initiatives rather than offering grants.
Because of the politics of 1961 and thereafter, the Portuguese language in Goa got step-motherly treatment. Unlike English in post-Independence India, no effort was spared to edge out the Iberian language. This is true even after the 1974 era, when a normalisation is supposed to have taken place between New Delhi and Lisbon.
It could be argued that, today, New Delhi is less hostile to the Portuguese language in Goa than are sections of Panaji itself. The lingo has come to be seen here as part of the Ancien Régime, and reflecting “everything bad”.
But this is a short-sighted point of view.
Protecting and promoting Portuguese in Goa today makes sense. It is a unique legacy that connects Goa to a vast Lusophone world across Europe, Africa and Latin America. It opens doors for education, business, cultural exchange and employment opportunities.
In addition, it is not too late to realise that the Portuguese language preserves access to a rich archive of Goan history, literature, music and legal documents written in Portuguese. Without knowing the language, these would otherwise remain inaccessible.
Likewise, the language also strengthens Goa’s cosmopolitan identity. It makes it a special part of India. And it enhances ties with the global diaspora and Portuguese-speaking countries. The latter look out for partnerships in trade, tourism and cultural collaboration with not just Goa, but wider India. Not to mention the recent BRICS connection.
If you don’t want to see it as a language of the past, that’s fine. At least be smart enough to recognise it as a tongue with potential for the future....
