Girl Gone Goa: Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues

Sure, read all about it on this blog.

I wrote over 60 stories on living in Goa as a single woman of Goan descent for this Girl Gone Goa site.

Read the lively and informative stories in any order, or start at the beginning.

Scan the popular stories sidebar for stories such as Goa Cycle Club’s First Ride, and my favourite,  It Runs in The Family.

I’m a freelance writer, so you’ll also find full-text newspaper and magazine articles that I wrote for publications including columns that appeared in Momentum Magazine; as well as a profile of Ulrike Rodrigues, an opinion piece on tourism and garbage , a discussion of NRI Commission’s “Know Goa” program, and an introduction to the Goa Cycle Club and cycling in Goa.

Enjoy, and feel free to Contact me if you have any questions, comments, or job offers so I can return to Goa!

Early days of the Goa Cycle Club

Here in Vancouver, Canada, I consider myself just another person in the city who rides a bike. I keep a pretty low profile compared to the cycling artists and advocates I admire. But something radical happened when I bought an Atlas bicycle, rode it, and wrote about riding it in Goa, India for six months. I became an accidental activist.

“Hi Ulrike,” wrote a reader in response to one of my Girl Gone Goa blog stories, “We’ve recently returned from the UK, to resettle here. I’ve brought back a bike, but as it needs some basic work, I’ve not begun pedalling here. Everyone here tells me I’d be crazy to try, so it’s good to hear of your experiences.”

“We” was Luis Dias and his wife Chryselle. They were Goan and keen to ride, though eight-month-pregnant Chyselle admitted she’d need to have the baby first. Luis and I headed to the Panjim ferry jetty and cycled and chatted along the Mandovi River. He said he was looking for a community project to dig his teeth into.

A few weeks later, a writer colleague forwarded an email from Anibel Ferus-Comelo. She was also Goan, had also lived in Europe, and defied convention by riding a bicycle around Panjim with her husband Martin and two children.

I suggested we become acquainted over tea at Luis and Chyselle’s place and by evening’s end, we’d agreed to start a bicycle club to bring people together who wanted to ride in safety. We even joked about staging a Critical Mass ride and a car-free ciclovia festival.

I whipped up a rudimentary web site with WordPress.com (a free blog publishing platform), tacked on a photo gallery and a “Contact” page and voila: the “Goa Cycle Club” was born. Now anyone – Goan, Indian, tourist – who was interested in cycling in Goa had somewhere to start.

I invited friends to come along on my weekly Sunday rides, and then added scenic, persuasive photos from the day onto the club web site. “I’ve lived here all my life,” said a new cyclist on a thirty-kilometre ride to Chorao Island, “I’ve never seen any of this!” She and her brother had borrowed bikes to come.

A month or so later, Joe Rodrigues phoned. After we settled that we weren’t related, Joe told me that he’d heard about our club, and had started a group of his own called “Goa Riders” on Facebook.com. He was a karate instructor and had already persuaded eight students to join. Plus, he said, a newspaper reporter wanted to do a story.

“Listen,” I said, “Would you consider changing your Facebook group’s name to ‘Goa Cycle Club’ so we’re joining efforts and no one gets confused?” Joe agreed.

The story about Joe appeared in Gomantak Times in April. Soon, other stories about the new interest in cycling appeared in other newspapers across India – and they listed  the fledgling “Goa Cycle Club” with established bike clubs in Mumbai, Delhi, and Kolkata!

It kept on building: a hotel owner told me she’d bought four bicycles to rent to tourists. A hostel director wanted ideas on what to do with twenty bikes he’d acquired for a tour. A neighbour and facilitator for Goa’s Regional Plan 2021 wanted to know if I’d come meet his staff, a city politician and a director for India’s Centre for Sustainable Transport at his office – as a representative of Goa’s cycling community!

I was flattered. I was awestruck. And I was leaving it all to return home in a few weeks.

“Don’t worry,” Luis reassured me when I worriedly met him for a last cup of tea. “We’ll make sure the club keeps rolling.” Sure enough, the last time I checked, the club had grown to 160 members; Luis and Joe were leading nine weekly rides; and a Mumbai news channel wanted to do a story on the club.

I’m back in North America now, and I’m back to being just another cyclist in the city. I’m not as visible or vocal as the activists here, and I wonder how me and my daily ride  actually make a difference.

But I realize that I learned something in India: that sometimes, just riding a bike is enough. People see you ride everywhere and they think you’re an expert. They come to you with questions, and the next thing you know, they’re on a bike too. You invite them on a ride, and it grows from there. Word spreads. It’s a pedal-ution.

Anthropologist Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” I’d add that a little weblog and social media D.I.Y. seems to help, too.

Ulrike Rodrigues wrote 60 stories about living and riding in Goa at Girl Gone Goa. Visit the Goa Cycle Club site.

Defence Colony neighbour Marie

I’m in the living room of Marie’s Defence Colony home. She’s seated regally – as always – in a divan. Her four-footed cane stands nearby, as do several of her staff. A stuffed toy tiger watches from a half wall behind her.

I’ve come to say goodbye to my 81-year-old neighbour of six months and – after a morning of continuously fighting, then submitting to tears – I find myself once again emptying sadness.

“Why are you crying?” she asks gently.

“I’m sad to leave,” I sniff, but there’s more to it than that.

“You have done and seen a great deal in your time here in Goa,” she says approvingly. “And,” she holds up a Herald newspaper where my story promoting cycling in Goa features on the front page of the Sunday supplement, “You have left your mark.”

This makes me cry a little harder.

It’s true: I’d made a conscious effort to get to know my grandparents’ Goa as best I could. I joined a writers’ groups, a quiz club, a bike expedition, a rural journalism workshop, and a yoga class. I’d attended art shows, music performances, wine festivals, book readings, and even started a cycling club. I’d met award-winning authors, famous actors, newsmakers, politicians and cultural icons. I’d befriended cyclists, columnists, editors, educators, artists, advocates, musicicans, and cooks. And I caught daily glimpse of the lives of inspiring, humble, beautiful strangers.

But I hadn’t started “my book,” I hadn’t met the love of my life, and I hadn’t had a revelation. For many of us travellers, that’s what it’s all about. You are willing to leave your home because you are certain that your life’s purpose awaits you elsewhere. It’s like a bargain: “I’ll give up my comfortable, predictable life for something less certain, less defined – I’m willing to do this for the greater good.”

To rub salt in the wound, two weeks previous – while I was holed up in Patnem Beach trying to write a piece on cycle culture for Vancouver Review magazine – I had received terrible news. It threw my life, my self-worth and my time in Goa into shadow.

The housemates who I shared a home with in Vancouver and who had agreed to let me sublet my room while I was gone, sent an email saying that two of them had already given notice, and two more were considering it. Apparently their enjoyment of living at the house had increased in my absence, and they were apprehensive about continuing to live with me when I returned.

I was devastated. This was personal. This was “home.” This was the first I’d heard of it, and – after almost six months of joy and discovery in a foreign country – this is what I had to return to in my own country.

It’s hard to leave a place where you’ve experienced friendship and beauty, but it’s harder to return to a place where you are not wanted. What did I have in Vancouver, really?

Purpose, love, job, home: no. Health, community, beauty: yes. Hope? Faith? Promise? Maybe.

In Patnem beach, I coped as best as I could: I drank Kingfisher beer and cried on the shoulders of strangers. They tried to reassure me not to take it personally – and that maybe this was a sign, something to learn from? I’d been asking for a sign, I agreed, but I was hoping for something a little more positive. And I’m tired of learning. They shook their heads sympathetically, and told me to hang in there.

In Marie’s living room, I cry because – I realize at that moment – I feel devastatingly alone.

Marie holds a photo in her hand. On the back I wrote, “To my inspiration, Marie”. It’s a snapshot of me on my bicycle on Chorao Island. Some cousins had shot it “action style” from their scooter. In the photo I’m pedalling and grinning from under my sunhat, hair flying out and behind.

Marie looks very pleased. “I shall put it in a frame and display there with my grandsons,” she gestures to a bureau near the front door. “It will be there for all to see, and,” she looks at me significantly, “I will always remember you.”

This touches me deeply, and my next round of tears causes Marie to tear up as well. “Tell me,” she says in a uncharacteristically Goan singsong, “When will you be back?”

This has been the question on the lips of everyone I’ve met to say goodbye to over the last few weeks. They point out how reasonable and logical it would be for me to return to Goa. My heart aches with their kind interest and I wonder myself how it could be.

Will I return, I wonder, or will I disappear as my father and his brothers did? Could Goa stand one more desertion, or would it accommodate one more returned Person-of-Indian-Origin? Someone who loves the state – what little she knows of it – and would work for a fraction of her North American salary to live amongst cashews, kind souls and people who can pronounce her name.

“Deo bore kurung,” Marie calls after me in Konkani, when I descend her front steps for the last time of this visit, God Bless You. Thank you, I call back, God bless you too.

A “Slow Goa” expedition for cyclists and activists

YHAI cycle expedition takes an early start out of Assolna, Goa (click to view photo gallery)

Visitors have toured Goa by car, motorbike, bus, boat and train; but now – thanks to the Goa Branch of Youth Hostels Association of India (YHAI) and Sports Authority of Goa – adventurers and activists  can learn about the state’s natural beauty and social issues from the seat of a bicycle.

Says Panjim-based Program Director Manoj Joshi, who added a series of seven-day, 360-kilometre bike expeditions to YHAI’s popular trekking programmes last year, “We wanted to create a tour with the activist in mind. Cycling is a sport for people who have an awareness of environmental and development issues. This expedition shows beaches, nature, and water falls but it also shows how Goa is being deforested; how the greed of the few is displacing families, and the rape of the nature.”

To that end, Joshi and his team volunteered months of their time researching equipment, attractions and routes. In 2008, they provided five groups of twenty cyclists with knapsacks and 24-speed mountain bikes for a circular route that reached as far east as the Karnataka border. Starting from Panjim, youngsters and grandfathers alike pedaled south along the Arabian Sea on Colva-area beaches, east through Balli’s terraced paddy fields and Cavrem’s mining villages; up into the ecologically significant Western Ghat mountains; and then west along the freighter-trafficked Mandovi River past Old Goa (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) and back into Goa’s capital city.

Along the way, cyclists stayed in rooms in Assolna’s sports complex, lodges in Netravali’s Tanshikar Spice Farm, tents near Dudsaghar Falls in Bhagwan Mahaveer Sanctuary, and dorms in Bondla Wildlife Santuary. Extra side trips included Budbudyanchi Talli (Bubbling Lake) at Gopinath Temple; a forest trek and swim at Savari Falls; a zoo tour of cobras, guars and leopards in Bondla WLS; and a visit to the Bom Jesus Cathedral in Old Goa.

The YHAI Goa Biking Expedition runs December/January of each year and is open to anyone who buys a membership with Hostelling International or Youth Hostels Association of India (YHAI).  Joshi estimates the 2009/2010 fees will be Rs 3000 for Indians and Rs 5000 for foreign visitors. Bicycles, rucksacks, safety equipment, accommodation, and meals are all included in the price of the trip. For more information contact Manoj Joshi, Sports Authority of Goa,
or visit YHAI’s web site at www.yhaindia.org.

• View photos of the 2008 YHAI cycling expedition in Goa, India

Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues is a Vancouver, Canada-based freelance writer, photographer and cyclist. She has published stories and photos of her time in Goa at www.girlgonegoa.wordpress.com.  She participated in, wrote stories and took photos of the YHAI’s 2008 Bike Expedition experience .

The best way to see Goa is from the seat of a bicycle

Local girls take to their cycles on a quiet Sunday afternoon in Siolim, Bardez (Goa, India)

by Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues

“The young lady wishes to ride a cycle all around Goa,” Aloysius explained to the sales clerk, “And she requires one with a basket.” Aloysius and I were standing in the entryway of a cycle shop and since I was a newly arrived visitor, my 74-year-old father’s cousin had guided me here to buy a bicycle.

I’d left my home in Vancouver vowing to buy a one-speed made-in-India bicycle, visit my grandparents’ houses in Olaulim and Nachinola, and – over the next six months -  learn about the rest of Goa slowly, from the seat of a bicycle. This, I discovered, was apparently a radical idea.

My first lesson came in the cycle shop.

“I want a bicycle that is simple, and of good quality,” I told the clerk, “And it should be able to carry stuff because I want to use it for transportation.” The fellow gave me an odd look, then led me through the dark shop and into the alley. A shipment of Barbie-pink bicycles rested against the wall, and I could tell through their cardboard wrapping that they were not designed for the kind of cycling I had in mind.

I peered past the impractical cycles to a dusty pile behind and immediately recognized the archetypal Hercules- and Atlas-brand Indian bikes I’d been seeking: elegant frames, steel brake systems, heavy-duty tires and sturdy carrier racks. “What about those?” I pointed.

The young man shook his head. “Those are work cycles – for sellers, and shops and hotels.”

“Do they come in ladies’ models?” I persisted.

“No,” he shook his head again, “Ladies don’t work.”

Work cycles, designer cycles

I eventually found a small, sturdy version of the Atlas cycle at Raikar Sales in Panjim, but over the next few months, the clerk’s words followed me like the stares of surprised Goans. I seemed to be the only female using a bicycle for transportation in all of Goa; and when the clerk had said  “Ladies don’t work,” what he was trying to say as kindly as he could was: “Women don’t ride cycles – especially not foreign women, and especially not work cycles.”

How odd, I thought. In Goa, the roadways are filled with women on motorbikes and it’s not considered a gender issue. In North America, riding a motorbike is considered so “macho” that the sight of a woman in a salwar kumeez astride a motorscooter barreling down a highway at top speeds and loaded with groceries and unhelmeted children would be absolutely unimaginable.

And while here, women shy away from riding a cycle in their day-to-day lives, women in other countries are taking to their bicycles with great aplomb. In fact, as perception of the bicycle shifts from a piece of sports equipment to a useful mode of transportation, even more ladies (and men) are riding bicycles as a badge of their fit, sustainable and smart lifestyles.

A publication that I write for out of Vancouver called “Momentum: the magazine for self-propelled people” concerns itself entirely with transportation cycling and culture. Alongside articles of women-only repair courses, high-tech lighting systems, and bike-themed coffee shops; the cycle magazine includes photos and adverts of cycle-specific clothing, must-have accessories and designer bicycles.

Tour de France athlete Lance Armstrong (far left) examines his new purchase: a Rs 636,000 cycle handmade in Canada.

Interest in urban bicycles is becoming so great, in fact, that a bike designer can demand more than the price of a Tata Nano for a single bicycle. Over 100 designers and 6,400 enthusiasts attended the annual North American Handmade Bike Show in Indianapolis last month, and at last year’s show, Tour de France legend Lance Armstrong paid Rs 636,000 (almost $10,000 USD) for a one-of-a-kind cycle crafted by Canada’s own “Naked Bikes.”

Clearly, cycling is gearing up for some unimaginable concepts of its own. I don’t agree with the cult-like status that the bicycle is earning in my culture, but I do appreciate how my Atlas’s petrol-free combination of metal, rubber, gears and wheels transports me in this one. Arriving at a Patto bookstore recently in a modest skirt, sleeveless kurta and windblown hairstyle, my Goan friends were impressed by how cool and elegant I looked and asked how I managed in the heat.

“Well,” I prompted, “If you think about it, most of the area around Panjim is flat. Plus, a one-speed cycle goes slowly enough that you don’t generate body heat, and the air cools you at ten kilometres an hour!”

Low-class chic?

But early in my visit, I also learned that the joys of riding a cycle in Goa can raise some difficult cultural issues. Coasting down a long hill from NH17 to the Betim ferry, for example, two young men on a motorbike pulled up alongside me and offered suggestions on what I could do with them once I was done with the cycle.

I was mortified and wondered if I had misguidedly brought my Western ideas of  transportation to the streets, the way Western women brought their nudity to the beach. Was I -  a foreign woman on a plain Indian work bike –  mocking them with my culture’s peculiar fondness for the lowly cycle?

It’s true that I come from a country whose class system is less defined. When I look around in Goa, I don’t see class, caste and status separation, I just see people on cycles: selling bread, ice cream and fish; carrying gas, milk and passengers; and braving steep hills, rutted asphalt and crowded highways. I admire them, and I appreciate that they are a viable part of every roadway’s melee of foot, cow, dog, flower cart and puri wagon traffic. In fact, I feel safer and more kinship peddling on Goa’s National Highway in the midst of this slow-moving community than on Vancouver’s car-dominated mean streets.

“I could never ride a cycle here,” a neighbour remarked when I shared my perspective of cycling, “Drivers are so reckless.” I agreed, but I also pointed out that – for a capital city – Panjim is cursed by  bad drivers and outdated infrastructure: dangerously uneven road and walkway surfaces;  major intersections with no traffic lights; and no information and signage on safe alternate routes.

In an effort to do something about it, cyclists Luis Dias, Anibel Ferus-Comelo and myself created Goa Cycles! and Goa Cycle Club to increase awareness, safety and enjoyment of transportation, recreational and travel cycling in Goa. We’ve already connected with other cycle groups in India such as Bangalore’s RideACycle Foundation; and have recently caught the ear of architect and Regional Plan 2021 facilitator Dean D’Cruz on improving cycling infrastructure in Goa’s future.

As RPG 2021 works with panchayats to survey village lands and laneways, Goa Cycle Club is working to help residents see their country in a different way: on their bicycles. With the philosophy that Goa is a perfectly safe and enjoyable place to cycle once you get out of the city, Goa Cycle Club has already organized three social rides this year. A recent day ride out of Panjim included a ferry ride to Betim, village roads to Pomburpa Springs, a pastoral crossing of Chorao Island, a Ribander riverside lunch and a safe return to the city.

“I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never seen any of this,” said art instructor Alisha Colaco of the peaceful meadows of Chorao Island. “I’m really glad I came.” Her brother Nikhil agreed, and admitted that the scenic ride had also disguised a healthy thirty-kilometre workout. Goa Cycle Club hopes to make novice rides a regular event as well as create interest with events inspired by “Critical Mass” (a group urban ride, see below) and “Ciclovia” (car-free street festivals).

Toddy tappers and mining trucks

Manoj Joshi knows the value of a good cycle ride to shift perspectives. In 2008 the director of Youth Hostels Association of India‘s (YHAI) new bike program added multi-day Goa bike expeditions to YHAI’s popular trekking program. Outfitted  with knapsacks and geared cycles, youngsters and grandparents alike from across India learned about the state’s natural beauty and social issues as they pedaled a circular route that reached as far east as the Karnataka border. Along the way they experienced  first-hand how Colva’s touristed beaches, Balli’s paddy fields, Cavrem’s ore mines, Bhagwan Mahaveer Sanctuary’s biodiversity and the Mandovi River struggle with issues.

“We wanted to create a tour with the activist in mind,” said Joshi of the expedition, “Cycling is a sport for people who have an awareness of environmental and development issues. This expedition shows beaches, nature, and water falls but it also shows how Goa is being deforested; how the greed of the few is displacing families, and the rape of the nature.”

An early morning toddy tapper and his cycle in Salcette's Cuncolim area (Goa, India)

As the only non-resident Indian on the tour, I took in this journey into Goa’s heartland eagerly. I marveled at how – travelling one slow kilometre after another -  the green state could simultaneously welcome and assail. One moment the scrape and shuffle of a toddy tapper prompted me to look up and watch his ascent, and the next the roar and dirt of mining trucks urged me to speed up to avoid inhaling the red ore dust that villagers breathe everyday.

Traveling slowly around and across Goa by cycle as a visitor, I’ve learned many important things: to pause at cane juice carts by the side of the road; to get lost on purpose; to watch for kingfishers in teak forests; to connect local issues with their villages; and to reassure new friends that Goa is a complex place that deserves to be explored radically: by bicycle.

The cycle, I tell them, doesn’t care if you are male or female, foreign or Indian, rich or poor, alone or surrounded by traffic. It’s the countryside that cares. Grab your cycle, get out of the city, and see Goa, slowly. Watch for the lush, green paddies of your youth, the woods and plantations of your present, and the hot, orange rock of your future. Bring it with you home, remember it, and know – with all your senses – why you want to keep it safe.

Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues is a freelance writer, photographer and cyclist based in Vancouver, Canada. She has published her Goan stories and photos at www.girlgonegoa.wordpress.com . She invites opportunities to return to Goa to live and work: mail at ulrike dot com.

Get Involved

Regional Plan for Goa 2021 (RPG 2021): Read, review, download and comment on the draft plan. Visit the Government of Goa website at http://goagovt.nic.in/tcp/, email the Town & Country Planning Department directly at ctp-tcp.goa@nic.in, or contact the office in Dempo Tower at  2437352, 2437353, 2437354, 2437355.

Goa Cycles! Learn more about cycling in Goa, view photos of past rides, or contact Luis Dias or Anibel Ferus-Comelo of Goa Cycles! Visit the website: www.goacycles.wordpress.com. Membership is free and open to individuals and organisations in the community that support cycling.

YHAI Goa Biking Expedition: tours run December/January of each year and are open to Hostelling International members. Bicycles, rucksacks, safety equipment, accommodation, and meals are all included in the price of the trip. For more information contact Manoj Joshi at mjoshiyhai@gmail.com or visit YHAI’s web site at www.yhaindia.org.

Cycling Websites

Momentum: the magazine for self-propelled people [www.momentumplanet.com]
North Amercian Handmade Bike Show  [www.handbuiltbikeshow.com]
Naked Bikes  [www.timetogetnaked.com]
Goa Cycle Club [www.goacycles.wordpress.com]
RideACycle Foundation (Banglalore)  [www.rideacycle.org]
Critical Mass (in Wikipedia) [en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Critical_Mass]
Ciclovia (in Wikipedia) [en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ciclovía]

Tiny Patnem beach is a curve of sand just south of Palolem Beach in south Goa. It is beautiful, intimate and moneyed in an unassuming way. Landscaped beach bungalows with au courant names like “Home” and “Cuba” provide bed linens and filter coffee to slim, healthy-looking visitors.

I am here to “work.” In the last few weeks of my time in Goa, I accepted an assignment with Canadian magazine Vancouver Review to write about bike culture in Vancouver. I rode my Atlas cycle to the bus station, negotiated to load the bike on top of a bus, and arrived here at Goyam Luxury Bungalows ready to research and write.

“Excuse me,” asks one of the handsome young men from north India who run the place, “Does your laptop have internet?” I’m sharing an early lunch with a Swedish family and my fork is suspended above my mushroom and spinach omlette. The laptop is over at another table.

“Er, yes,” I reply, “Why?”

“Can I use the internet for just a couple of minutes?”

“Sure, but it’ll cost you thirty rupees a minute,” I joke. This is an outrageous rate, but yes, yes, he reponds without hesitating, no problem. I finish my lunch, go over to the computer and start it up. I move over to the next seat, and he leans into Explorer, then Google.

“’How to buy guns in India’” he keyboards into the search bar. He has a flash drive handy.

“Whoa, Whoa, WHOA!” I exclaim. “You want to buy guns in India?” The other patrons – sipping espressos and mango lassis – turn curiously.

“I have a serial number,” he explains around the thatched cafe. “It’s for a particular gun.” He clicks a link in the search results page and I imagine how someone, somewhere will see this on my cache and hunt me down. In typically Canadian fashion, I meet his boldness with politeness.

“Um, I don’t feel completely comfortable with you searching for guns on my computer,” I suggest. Surprisingly, he quickly relents. I reach over and slam the door on Explorer.

“No problem, no problem,” he says, receding back behind the bar counter. I slide the laptop over, launch Firefox and return to my own research.

“’Bicycle fetish’” I type. “’Man sex with bicycle‘”. A BBC news site comes up and I feel nauseous and reassured at the same time.

Sadho is a voluntary organization that aims at taking great “poetry to people” from all walks of life through the use of arts, media and social action. I attended a Sadho film festival at Sunaparanta – Goa Centre for the Arts in Altinho and was quite taken by how well poetry and animation go together.

Coincidentally, one of my favourite poetry films was from the National Film Board of Canada (NFB): A Tragic Story With A Happy Ending. It’s the tale of a girl whose heart is so loud that it disturbs her neighbours. She rides her bike and tries to explain to them, “My heart beats faster because it is the heart of a bird.”

I’ve been to the beach frequently, surfing in the warm rolling waves with a borrowed boogy board (half surfboard). I’ve also been awash with feelings about leaving soon. That night, I found myself falling asleep poetically, and scrawled a quick poem the next morning:

Goa 3am

The 3am air is warm and heavy like the Arabian Sea
And I float uneasily in the night’s discomfort,
Salty skin bound by an accidental sari
Of damp sheet cotton.
Hair brushes pillow, hushes mouth, tangles,
As I am tangled under and inside a net
That traps restless women,
Thirsty mosquitos,
Sheets and saris,
Sweat and sea.
A dog tells the moon that this surface drenched in darkness
Is her own.

More than a holiday in the sun?

Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues wonders what’s behind a new NRI Affairs scheme for diaspora youth

“Passports are easy,” says Mr. Faleiro, “Creating familiarity and building relationships is more difficult."

Know Goa? No, I don’t. That’s why I left my home in Vancouver, Canada to take up my father cousin’s invitation to live in Bardez for six months. My father’s parents grew up in Olaulim and Nachinola, but – like many offspring of expatriated Goans – I’d  never set foot in Goa and didn’t know the difference between Curtorim and caferal.

I arrived in Porvorim in the winter of 2008, bought a bicycle and created a self-guided program to learn about Goa’s nature, culture and people. Coincidentally, the Department of Nonresident Indian Affairs had just launched one of their own: “Know Goa Program” (KGP).

Too late to participate myself (the program started in November and participants had already been selected), I was nonetheless keen to learn more about Goa in general and NRI Commissioner Eduardo Faleiro‘s tourism cum educational scheme in particular.

Patterned after the Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs’ “Know India Program” (KIP), Know Goa’s purpose is to acquaint youth of Goan background with their cultural heritage so they might “contribute to and promote understanding, good will, and cooperation between their country of adoption and the country of origin.”

“Passports are easy,” says Mr. Faleiro of the program’s efforts to build a bridge across continents and generations. “Creating familiarity and building relationships is more difficult. We want to reach out, keep in touch, and give these youth an opportunity to interact with Goa – as they would a person.”

To that end, NRI Affairs (Government of Goa) directed 13.48 Lakh (almost $30,000 USD) towards the nine-day Goan portion of the program in its inaugural year, while the Government of India assumed expenses for its four-day conclusion in Delhi. The all-inclusive package tour includes return airfare; beach front accommodation; local transportation; escorted visits to historical and religious sites, academic institutions, and commercial organizations, government projects; plus spending money. The tour also includes – for better or worse – meals presided by industry tycoons and political personalities.
In exchange, Know Goa applicants must be students or professionals between 20 – 28 years of age; non-resident but of Goan lineage; demonstrate that they’ve “distinguished themselves in their fields and have an abiding interest in India;” and supply two passport-sized photographs. That’s it. Apparently, they must also be fairly well connected: invitations to apply are only distributed via their country’s Indian Embassy, High Commission, or Goan Association emails – they are not accessible to the general public or online.

A not-so-diverse diaspora

Who responded to the invitation in 2008? Keeping in mind that KIP draws young people from thirteen countries, KGP’s first year netted twelve participants from just four: Australia (1),  Mozambique (3), U.S.A. (1), and Canada (7, all from southern Ontario).

Director for NRI Affairs Ulas Kamat (who did much of the legwork) admits that the participants’ country of origin could have been more representative of Goan diaspora. He intends to rectify this when his department sends out invitations in late March for 2009′s program.

A hard look at 2008′s materials reveals two other representational shortcomings. First, with the exception of a capoeira teacher from Mozambique, all participants came from a science, medicine, engineering, finance, economics or marketing background. Second – with the exception of a few  village handicrafts and folk dances – all activities involved science, engineering, industry, education, tourism, religious or traditional centres.

To a Goan resident, this may seem perfectly in order and reflects the path on which they encourage their own youth. But to a visitor, there’s an obvious deficit: no arts. There are no artists, designers, writers or architects in the invitee list; and no contemporary art destinations, events, or personalities in the program.

Director Kamat managed to slip in an unscheduled tour of Kala Academy Goa (which mounted both a state and national exhibition of visual art in 2008), but when I asked Commissioner Faleiro if the lack of art was on purpose, he said no. “Art?” he responded, “What ‘art’? – name one Goan artist.”

I’d only been in Goa a month at the time but I already knew of three: illustrator Mario Miranda, designer Wendell Rodricks, and multi-media artist Subodh Kerkar. I contacted Rodricks and Kerkar  for their perspective, and the clothing designer responded with a prompt but unprintable reply.

Kerkar was more circumspect. “I think it is very important that art is included in ‘Know Goa Program,’” suggests the director of Candolim’s Kerkar Art Complex. “Goa has had a long tradition of artists, especially in the fields of music, theatre, visual arts. The Mangeshkar sisters, Kishori Amonkar, Kesarbai Kerkar, Mogubai Kurdekar and Dinanath Mangeshkar have created history in the field of Indian music. Francis Newton Souza, G.S. Gaitonde and Trinidade are painters who are recognized internationally.” He estimates that there are at least twenty “very active” artists in Goa whose work is drawing more attention in the national art scene, and without the knowledge of Goa’s art scene, “The ‘Know Goa Program’ cannot be complete.”

That said, Kerkar admits that Goan artists are not well-organized, don’t promote themselves, and have not organized as a group. For his part, Faleiro has subsequently conceded that KGP is open to improvement.

“Now I can say I’m Goan-Canadian”

Before they left, Commissioner Faleiro called a press conference to introduce the six men and six women who’d gotten to “know Goa,” government-style. They were well-dressed, intelligent, and articulate. They spoke about how at every stop on the the program’s eclectic itinerary – Goa Shipyard, Wallace Pharmaceuticals, Morpirla Village, Shantadurga Temple, to name a few – they gained, to quote Canadian Vincent Fernandes, “Knowledge, understanding, and unity.”

“I feel like I’m home here,” said Jonathon Pinto of Toronto. Brampton’s Charlene D’Cruz echoed his words: “I used to say I’m Canadian – now I can say I’m Goan-Canadian.” Surrounded by their hosts and the media, one can’t blame the guests for being cloyingly gracious. They were full of praise and unanimously agreed that the program had achieved its goals in creating peership and connection – not just with Goa, but within their group, and with their communities back home.

Prodded for more personal observations, Australian Karl Noronha admitted he now had a context for his parents’ Konkani jokes and songs, and could understand the importance of culture and ancestral land: “The family history is lost if the home is lost.” American Aaditi Pramod Dubale – an outreach coordinator – observed that Goan development struggles are similar to her country’s. “I saw five casinos,” she said of Panjim’s riverfront. “Next time, will there be thirty?”

Donovan Fernandes suggested that the tour could have allowed more time to participate with students, villagers and farmers. “It would be great to spend a day molding clay, planting a row, or being in the schoolroom,” offered the Special Education teacher. Mozambique’s Diana Silveira Quelhas agreed. “It would be a two-way experience where villagers get something from us, from our visit.”

But it was an innocent remark from 23-year-old Lyndsey Marie Vaz of Mississauga that held the room in thrall. “This is my first trip to Goa and I never knew how much Goa had to offer,” she gushed, “It was wonderful to be here. I would certainly like to come back and work here for some time.”

After a sharp intake of breath from the program’s politicians and stakeholders, a reporter asked tentatively, “Would you come back to Goa – to stay?”

“Oh no,” she added hastily, “Just for a few months.” It was a telling moment, and one that gave new meaning to KGP’s “reuniting Goans” slogan.

Getting to know Goa

Was NRI Affairs’ investment in KGP an attempt to lure talented young minds (no artists, please) to relocate back to their fatherland? Was taxpayers’ money being spent to fly “advantaged” youth to India for a reason? Or as social pundit Cecil Pinto put it, “Isn’t it normally the other way around, where youth from developing countries are sent on study tours of developed countries and the tour is paid for by the developed country?”

“What,” I asked Commissioner Faleiro in a follow-up visit, “Is the expected long-term outcome of the Know Goa Program?” Mr. Faleiro spoke of global networks, good will, cooperation, and the exchange of ideas. When I persisted and asked how he would measure the program’s success in a tangible way, he admitted that the benefits were intangible. I got the sense that he’s not accustomed to being asked these kinds of questions.

At its essence, the Know Goa Program is a grand idea. I envy the young people around the world who are able to participate, and having met the first year’s batch, am convinced that their time in Goa was well-spent. As American Aaditi Pramod Dubale related, the trip was no mere holiday in the sun. “This has been a life-changing experience,” she said of her time in her ancestral homeland, “It will stay with me for the rest of my life.”

For decades and for whatever reason, Goans have boarded buses, trains, boats and planes to shake themselves free of this tiny place. Like my father and my father’s brothers, these young peoples’ families have taken the seedling of their lives, pressed it into the soil of a new country, and watched it bear new fruit. For some of us who are their children, Goa feels oddly familiar.

But it also feels inexplicable. We see the paddies and temples but we also see the mines and casinos. We know it’s complex and we don’t have all the information to understand it, but we’re taking it in, and listening and learning. In short, we are getting to know Goa – some of us without the grand government tour.

The annual “Know Goa Programme for Diaspora Youth” accepts applications beginning March 28 2009 and will commence in December 2009. To learn more visit www.globalgoans.org.in/ or call U.D. Kamat, Director, Department of NRI Affairs, Panjim, Goa at (0091) (832) 2419460 or 2419461.

See also: Engagements From Beyond the Border: reflections on the Know Goa Programme by Jason Keith Fernandes

Ulrike Bemvinda Rodrigues is a Vancouver, Canada-based freelance writer, photographer and cyclist. She has published stories and photos of her time in Goa at www.girlgonegoa.wordpress.com and can be reached at mail at  ulrike dot ca. She hopes to come back and work here for some time.

Alisha at Salvador du Mund church (Click to view photo gallery)

Ice Cream

Ice Cream bicycles find the tourists, but they also ply the slimmest village lanes – especially when school gets out.

Zalor Beach, Goa, India

Metal Cans

Using the empty space within the frame of a bike, a person can wheel 80 kg of flattened cans to a yard 8 km away – with a broken chain.

Nehrul, Goa, India

Rice Snacks

A Hercules loaded with light and colourful snacks waits for its rider, who sips tea at a nearby chai shack.

Chogam Road, Goa, India