By Selma Carvalho

Michelle Mendonça Bambawale is an environmental activist, educator, photographer and writer. In 2023, her book Becoming Goan: A Contemporary Coming Home Story was published by Penguin Random House, India. In part memoir and in part a cry from the heart for the preservation of Goa’s cultural and topographical landscape, the book touched a deep chord with readers across the world making it a runaway success. Here in conversation with Selma Carvalho, Michelle elaborates on issues close to her heart.

Michelle Mendonça Bambawale begins her book with a bold statement. “I was born in Poona… in a Goan Catholic home, and was named Michelle by my godfather after the popular Beatles song. I lived in Pune for twenty years, which is the longest I have lived in any place, so far.” Tell us about your childhood in Pune, the sort of traditions that informed you, and if in retrospect you recognise any of them as being quintessentially Goan.

I am not sure if the statement is bold or just honest, given how polarised Goa, India, and the world are now. I find it heartbreaking that religion has become an even bigger divider across the world. We've learned nothing from history. One of the motivations for writing this book was to chronicle contemporary Goa. I felt the need to record what it meant to me to be a Goan living in Goa today. I wanted to detail how different this life was from my expat Goan experience.

My anecdotal observations suggested that Goans were leaving Goa for a better life. At the same time, many others from across the country were moving to Goa for a better life too. Hence when I moved to Goa during the pandemic, I grappled with fundamental questions about modern migration, indigenous cultures, and identity: Where is home? Where do I belong? What is culture? How do I connect with my culture and community?

As I was trying to establish my required Goanness, I reflected on my life as a child in Pune. I drafted a chapter called “Growing up in a Poona community.” I took it out of the final manuscript as I felt it did not fit the narrative arc. I shared nostalgic stories of Christmas's past. Looking back now, they were all quintessentially Goan. These included communal Christmas sweet making with neighbours, exchanging sweets on Christmas morning (marzipans, jujupes, neoris, kulkuls, baath), writing Christmas cards in early December, putting up a Christmas tree and decorations at home, getting custom tailor-made dresses for the Christmas season. An elaborate, traditional Christmas lunch with the required sorpotel, vindaloo, roast chicken and pulao. I looked back with nostalgia at devouring the divine Goan specials and looking forward to exchanging Christmas presents with our family after lunch. As a child, these Christmas lunches were hosted by Grandma, then later by my Mummy. During the Christmas season, celebrations continued with lunches and dinners at aunts and uncles' homes.

As teenagers, we went carol singing in the neighbourhood and later looked forward to Christmas, New Year's, and carnival dances at the Poona Goan Institute (PGI). This was a Goan club established in Poona in the early 1900s. Daddy and Grandpa played bridge on a couple of evenings at the same PGI. We were regulars at the monthly tombola and movie nights.

Since both my parents worked, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents who lived in Castellino Flats, which was one of the first Goan Catholic cooperative housing societies built in the early 1950s in Pune. The community spirit was palpable. We spent evenings and weekends playing games - atya patya, seven tiles, gully cricket, and in the holidays singing or dancing. We celebrated birthdays and anniversaries with our extended family, these often included communal singing with someone on a piano or guitar. We looked forward to a plate with snacks, typically Pune's ubiquitous Budhani wafers, a sandwich, a canapé, and a piece of cake. If we were lucky there was also a gulab jamun and glass of sickly sweet lime or orange Rasna.

We were parishioners of the nearby City Church (Church of the Immaculate Conception, where as a family we attended midnight mass as well as Holy Week, Feast and Sunday masses). My parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts are all buried at the city church cemetery. The City Church has a long, strong Goan history.

In the 1970s and 1980s, I was at the centre of a Venn diagram. One circle held friends from school and college, all from different communities. We shared middle-class values and aspirations, focusing on studying and playing hard. Our diverse group celebrated every festival with enthusiasm, dressing up and visiting each other's homes to try the day's delicacies. We looked forward to celebrating Eid, Diwali, Ganpati, Durga Puja, and Parsi New Year. They all came over for Christmas sweets, cake, and wine on Christmas morning. The other circle I belonged to was a Goan Catholic community, which shaped who I am with its unique characteristics, food, and traditions. 

You quote the acclaimed Goan poet Manohar Rai Sardesai in your book, as follows “Nothing is simpler than being a Goan . . . For God, in his infinite sagacity, has divided the world into two continents, Goa and the rest of the world, and the whole of humanity into two distinct races: Goans and non-Goans.” As Goans most of us grow up with a sense of exceptionalism, which we feel in some tangible way differentiates us from the rest of India. In large part, this sense of separateness is intertwined with our Goan identity.  When you moved to Goa, did you experience this delineation between who is Goan and who is not?

For me, personally, I continue to struggle with am I an insider or an outsider? Am I a Goan or a pandemic migrant? – which is the title of the first chapter of my book. Only after my move here did I reflect on this Goan/non-Goan, insider/outsider binary and tried to confront my own biases.

Living in different places around the country and the world I will always think of myself as Indian first. Though, I know many diasporan Goans feel they are Goans first, they belong to Goa. Now, living in Goa, I am beginning to understand why people are so fiercely proprietorial about our state, why being Goan is so important. I thought the eloquent Sardesai captured this sentiment in that Goa Today column that I just had to include it in the chapter, “What’s so special about Goans, anyway?”

I felt my grandparents were Goan, as they knew the language and the culture. Unfortunately, they like so many other Goans, they had to leave as there were no opportunities for them here in the early 1900s. The irony is some 100 years later I have moved “back home” and I have found a connection. I want to be Goan too. Living here I feel the exceptionalism, the connection to the land, the rich history, culture and biodiversity which is so different from the popular party stereotype that everyone who visits Goa is looking for or the expat Goan version that I had. I now feel this special Goanness. I knew this connection to the land needs to be recorded. Hence the quote, the chapter, and the book.

Becoming Goan acquaints us with this intricate web we have come to qualify as Goan identity. In your book you provide a checklist, which is tongue-in-cheek but also poignantly true. I note a few of the points you make: i. You speak Konkani. ii. You notice car number plates and are suspicious of every car that does not have a GA (Goa) registration. iii. You have at least two dogs and/or two cats. You may also have some pigs, hens, goats and cows. What in your opinion forms the composition of being Goan?

Each of us interprets and relates to our identity in a different way. I know there are many who feel Goan - this special connection to the land and culture. They feel it no matter where they live or how many generations ago their family left Goa. For me, to become Goan, I knew it went beyond my required ancestral history. I needed to create criteria to understand Goan identity. It is complex and diverse. My observations and instincts helped me draft them. I had a laugh doing it. The popular tropes are, of course, our love for music, food, and football.

Beyond those, the essence of being Goan to me is the knowledge of the land, the connection to Mother Earth. This is so different from my experience as a diasporan Goan. The one criterion that I truly aspire to is “You have an encyclopaedic knowledge of all local flora and fauna, and can identify birds and their sounds.” There’s still time for that one I hope.

There is a section in your book about the flora and fauna of Goa. Indeed, Goan identity is profoundly linked to our relationship with the land. You have started to engage more deeply with the land, you make your own coconut oil, for instance. Tell us about this Goan attachment to the land.

Once I moved here, I felt a visceral connection to the land. I experienced why it is such a special place. It is about the red earth, the tropical trees, and the plants. It's about the birds and butterflies in your garden, the animals that are part of your family. It's about the green paddy fields, the coconut groves, and the cashew trees. It's about the rivers, the hills, and how you feel a profound pull to it all.

Though I have always loved plants and nurtured them everywhere I have lived; I am still clueless about many garden-related things – botanical names, how much water, sunlight and the type of soil required. Now my inefficiencies are exposed. After living a big city life, I am figuring out how to manage mango, coconut, jambul, and tamarind trees. I have taken on the challenge as I am committed to putting down roots. A far cry from my skill set of working on my laptop and shopping in a supermarket.

Monsoon readiness and maintenance of your house is a whole project management exercise in itself. For years, I did not know what to do with hundreds of mangoes the trees produced every summer till I contracted them out to my neighbour Thomas, who's the local mango authority. The other dilemma is managing coconut trees. Finding someone to pluck the coconuts, take down the dead fronds. Then what do you do with so many coconuts? How and where do you store them? I discovered you can make coconut oil. It has many medicinal benefits. Almost as many as feni!  I have now figured out the process, which takes a lot of time and effort but is so worth it. You have to wait for the coconuts to dry, then shell and slice them, dry the slices in the sun until the copra is ready for oil, take it to the local oil mill, and return home with litres of fresh coconut oil. The aroma is delicious. We use the oil to cook, drink as well as for the skin and hair. It makes a great gift. There is something special about homegrown and homemade presents instead of store bought. 

Living here, you’re connected with every creature, beyond your dear dogs and the pretty birds and butterflies, this includes varieties of frogs, creepy crawlies, insects, snakes, and monitor lizards. Learning all these ways of living have helped me deepen my attachment to the land.

In your book you write, “Our house help here, Ajit and Reshma, who are from Jharkhand, have found a community to celebrate their many feasts and observances in Goa.” Goa has this dichotomous relationship with non-Goans. On the one hand, we have a long history of tolerance and the ability to absorb other cultures, on the other hand, we tend to be alienating. Can you comment on this relationship and how an influx of out-of-state Indians is impacting the demographics and development of Goa.

As I thought about Goan culture and identity in Goa today, I looked at my neighbourhood as an example of a wider Goa. There was a cross-section of people living varied lifestyles. Their reasons for living or buying here were so very different. Often very far removed from the Goan way of life that I had discovered. A life rooted in the land, the culture, the food, and the festivals. For some fun, I created categories and caricatures of people who have found their way here. I detail them in my chapter, “The Many Siolims and Goas Today.”

As I looked at these groups with a lens of integration and acceptance, I saw that the church was one way migrant workers were included in the community. The church organises a mass once a month in Hindi, hosts their indigenous Kamra festival and a saibinn celebration for the large migrant worker population. The migrant workers have come from states like Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh and Orissa to Siolim to find work as domestic help, on construction sites, and in agriculture.

At the other end of the socio-economic spectrum, I know others who own second and third homes in Goa. Their only interest in Goa is in the fun party culture. Their party pads. They only talk about cool restaurants, shops, and their villas with pools and paddy views. They have limited understanding or integration into Goan culture and the issues facing Goa’s natural heritage—the environment and biodiversity.

There are many more different types of people along this continuum who have also moved to Goa or have homes in Goa. On the surface, we are all living the calm village life in relative harmony. But, simmering below is palpable tension towards “outsiders” with Goans believing they are only here to take from Goa. They are destroying Goa, its tangible and intangible heritage and culture. As water resources are stretched, hills and fields are bulldozed, traffic chaos plays out on the streets and there is still no dependable public transport; resident Goans feel they can no longer afford to live in Goa today. Land has become unaffordable. On the other hand, these escalating land prices have brought a predatory interest from expat Goans who are now all trying to sort out their ancestral property paperwork to sell at these high rates. For example, a beautiful old Goan house around the corner from me was sold at 1.5 million pounds to build row houses. Unfortunately, those involved (both buyers and sellers) often have little knowledge of the lack of water or sewage systems in the village. I hope my book can bring some awareness of Goa today for everyone who loves Goa.

Becoming Goan, a contemporary coming home story is centred around Siolim, though I do discuss neighbouring Assagao. Assagao is another example of the polar opposite views between Goans and “outsiders.” When friends are visiting or looking to buy second homes, they all want to head to Assagao, whereas every Goan I speak to across the state would shake their heads and wring their hands in horror, “look at Assagao! What happened to Assagao? It has become terrible, such big, expensive restaurants and so many of those huge, fancy villas and worse gated communities. All with pools!” It is a poignant example of the two extreme perceptions and beliefs about Goa between “insiders and outsiders", “Goans and non Goans".

One chapter in your book is dedicated to feni. Tell us about Goa and feni.

 I felt I could not become Goan without giving the exclusive Goan elixir, feni, its due importance in my book. Feni is a crucial part of Goan identity, for better or for worse. It now even has the required Geographical Indication tag.

 I started drinking feni in the last 7 or 8 years, initially for medicinal purposes. Now, of course, for the pure joy, the love of this unique drink. It is such an acquired taste, a definite indicator of your true Goanness. Even the pungent aroma is part of the appeal. Post-pandemic, I can relate to the fear of a bad cashew crop, the horror that rapid overdevelopment has a direct impact on the quality of feni as cashew trees are being hacked away.

I learned a lot about feni from indulgent uncles, cousins, and friends who each gave me bottles to make their case that they have the best feni, the best supplier. There is so much to the history and evolution of feni and how you drink it. I had many stories and anecdotes, some of which were printable and are in the book. As I mention in that chapter I have finally got the best feni and like all good Goans – to quote one of my made up being Goan criteria, “you know exactly when the urak/feni supply starts each year, and you have the best source. You drive for hours to get it but it’s worth it. You brag about your source, but don’t share the contact, as it’s a closely guarded secret. You insist that only yours is genuine, ‘the real stuff’.” This is one criteria I am proud to say I now meet.

Becoming Goan can be purchased in bookstores across India, and internationally on Amazon.

Selma Carvalho is the editor of JRLJ.

Banner image downloaded from unsplash.com