The Accidental Activist - To Die For
By Venita Coelho
What would you be willing to give your life for? That might seem like an odd question, but it has been on my mind the last few weeks. The Naxals and Maoists have been in the news as the war between them and the government has escalated. The people who the police have been arresting seem a world removed from Maoist rhetoric. Instead, they seem to be people like us.
First there was Kobad Gandhi. He was brought up in a rich Parsee family, lived on Malabar hill, and had the best of education. Still he chose to throw it all up and go fight on the other side of the fence. His wife was a professor of sociology in Nagpur University. Neither of them fall remotely near the stereotype of a naxal as the government projects it - dangerous lawless anarchists.
A year ago there excitement over the alleged naxalite with a Goan connection. Arun Fereira was arrested from Bandra and held by the police. Arun was educated at St. Xaviers college and again, a world removed from what you would imagine a naxal to be. There are more goan connections. Vernon Gonsalves is being held as a suspected leader of the CPI (ML). Arrested along with him was K D Rao - a practising lawyer and office bearer of the Indian Association of Peoples Lawyers.
More recent is the arrest of Agriculture scientist Ravi Sharma and his wife B Anuradha. Ravi Sharma was working on a PhD. His wife was employed by syndicate bank.
Of course the most celebrated is the arrest of Dr. Binayak Sen. He is a paediatrician, a public health specialist and a winner of a string of national and international awards for the outstanding work he has done bringing medical aid to the people of Chattisgarh. His arrest was declared in breach of international law by no less an authority than Amnesty international. The police chose to brand him a naxal so that they could then use special laws that allowed them to hold him with no reprieve.
One person's activist seems to be another person's naxal. Our own Seby found himself slapped with the 'naxal' brand by the authorities so that they could better deal with him. Naxal or not - these are all highly educated people who had the option to live comfortable lives. Yet they have chosen to leave the mainstream and struggle on the side of the poorest of the poor. They have faced arrest, detention and torture. Why are they willing to put their lives on the line? What are they willing to die for?
This is a question that each of us needs to answer for ourselves. For a very real reason. I have been watching for a long time now as activists struggle in Goa against the combined might of the mining lobby, the building lobby, and the corrupt state. Where we manage to blow the whistle on one small issue, a host of other things are being sneaked in from other back doors. The GBA tried it's best to get villages to respond to the Regional Plan in a manner that would protect the villager and the village in the years to come. Now comes news that building laws are being passed, loopholes are being exploited and all that we fought in the RP is coming back in other avatars.
Over the last few months I have slowly realized that we are not just examining the projections of worst case scenarios. The foundation of the worst case scenarios is being laid even as we look on. The mining industry and the building lobby are already laying the basis for a devastated Goa. It is time to ask you what you are willing to fight for. As an intelligent, educated person, what is it that you hold so dear that you would be willing to stake your life for it?
Would you fight if someone poured poison into your drinking water? Would you fight if someone choked the river that ran through your village? Would you fight if the raw sewage from a mega project leaked into your well? Would you fight if all the fields in your village were marked for destruction? Would you fight if the crop your family depended on for a whole years food was deliberately destroyed? All of this is happening in villages across Goa. It is time the fight stopped being restricted to a few 'activists'.
No one is asking you to be a naxal. But, frighteningly, if you don't stand up to fight now - it may be too late in the next few years. Your rivers will be choked, your water poisoned, your trees cut down, your fields filled in, your village reduced to concrete. Don't decide to join the fight when there is nothing left to fight for. Decide what you are willing to lay your life down for now. (ENDS)
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As appeared in The Herald, Goa - October 26, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Ma Ma Ma Ma Baker
Sing along again with Boney M
By Cecil Pinto
By Cecil Pinto
Musically speaking, for my generation in Goa, the period from the mid 1970’s right through the mid 1980’s was the Boney M era. Every Goan household of that time had to have a Boney M cassette prominently visible near the two- in-one player, or in the Formica covered hall showcase.
How Boney M came into being is as very curious story.
In December of 1974 a German pop singer named Frank Farian recorded a single, ‘Baby Do You Wanna Bump’, using a studio enhanced deep male voice and performing the high female chorus vocals in his falsetto voice. The song record came out credited to ‘Boney M’ after a character in an Australian detective serial Farian was watching at the time. When this song slowly became a hit in North Europe Farian decided to hire a team to ‘front’ the group for TV performances. Many changes in the team over the next few months led to the final Boney M line-up of three women Maizie Williams, Marcia Barrett, Liz Mitchell and an exotic dancer from Aruba - Bobby Farrell. All this happened in Germany.
Their debut album, Take The Heat Off Me, had nothing to do with a certain minister nor does the hit song ‘Daddy Cool’ have anything to do with the Margao bomb blasts. But let’s revisit the lyrics anyway.
She’s crazy like a fool.
What ‘bout Narkasur?
I’m crazy like a fool.
What ‘bout Narkasur?
Nakka? Narkasur?
Nakka? Narkasur?
Boney M’s ‘Daddy Cool’ became #1 in Germany in September of 1976 after a live TV performance with their trademark daring costumes. In fact right through their heyday Boney M caused controversy with their rather risqué album covers and sexy live performances. The Boney M ‘sound’ came into being - consisting of gimmick percussion, alternating answer-back vocals, a spoken part and a deep male voice contrasted with falsetto female voices.
Their next album in 1977, Love for Sale, had nothing to do with escort, exotic and erotic services regularly advertised in Goan newspapers. But the original 1930 Cole Porter lyrics, written from the point of view of a prostitute, are worth reading.
Love for sale
Boney M’s ‘Daddy Cool’ became #1 in Germany in September of 1976 after a live TV performance with their trademark daring costumes. In fact right through their heyday Boney M caused controversy with their rather risqué album covers and sexy live performances. The Boney M ‘sound’ came into being - consisting of gimmick percussion, alternating answer-back vocals, a spoken part and a deep male voice contrasted with falsetto female voices.
Their next album in 1977, Love for Sale, had nothing to do with escort, exotic and erotic services regularly advertised in Goan newspapers. But the original 1930 Cole Porter lyrics, written from the point of view of a prostitute, are worth reading.
Love for sale
Appetizing young love for sale
Love that’s fresh and still unspoiled
Love that’s only slightly soiled
Love for sale.
If you want the thrill of love
I have been through the mill of love
Old love
New love
Every love but true love
This same album featured the hit song ‘Ma Baker’ which featured a popular Tunisian folk tune. The lyrics spoke about the legendary female American gangster Ma Barker whose husband and four sons were all criminals. Sounds like some of our criminal politician families in Goa. They have no conscience or heart as they plunder enough for many generations to come.
Freeze, I'm Ma Baker. Put your hands in the air. Gimme all your money!
This same album featured the hit song ‘Ma Baker’ which featured a popular Tunisian folk tune. The lyrics spoke about the legendary female American gangster Ma Barker whose husband and four sons were all criminals. Sounds like some of our criminal politician families in Goa. They have no conscience or heart as they plunder enough for many generations to come.
Freeze, I'm Ma Baker. Put your hands in the air. Gimme all your money!
This is the story of Ma Baker - the meanest cat from ol' Chicago town.
She was the meanest cat in old Chicago town
She was the meanest cat she really mowed them down
She had no heart at all no no no heart at all
Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Baker, she taught her four sons
Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Baker, to handle their guns
Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Baker, she never could cry
Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Baker, but she knew how to die
Unfortunately in Goa criminal politician sons and daughters and mothers and fathers are all still living.
Don't anybody move
Unfortunately in Goa criminal politician sons and daughters and mothers and fathers are all still living.
Don't anybody move
The money or your lives!
Soon after in 1978 Boney M released a cover version of ‘Rivers of Babylon’. The song is based on the Biblical hymn Psalm 137, a hymn expressing the yearnings of the Jewish people in exile following the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 586 BC. Goan expats all over the world cry crocodile tears on Internet forums and Letters to the Editor for the loss of their beloved Goa.
By the rivers of Toronto, there we sat down
Soon after in 1978 Boney M released a cover version of ‘Rivers of Babylon’. The song is based on the Biblical hymn Psalm 137, a hymn expressing the yearnings of the Jewish people in exile following the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 586 BC. Goan expats all over the world cry crocodile tears on Internet forums and Letters to the Editor for the loss of their beloved Goa.
By the rivers of Toronto, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered our Goa.
By the rivers of Swindon, there we sat down
Ye-eah we wept, when we remembered our Goa.
When our greed carried us away, permanently,
We thought we could do no wrong
Now how shall we sing our Mandos in a strange land
Boney M’s next album the same year was Nightflight to Venus containing the hit ‘Brown Girl in The Ring’, a traditional West Indian song. It speaks of a white girl who has been playing in the mud and is dirty.
Brown girl in the ring
Boney M’s next album the same year was Nightflight to Venus containing the hit ‘Brown Girl in The Ring’, a traditional West Indian song. It speaks of a white girl who has been playing in the mud and is dirty.
Brown girl in the ring
Tra la la la la
There's a brown girl in the ring
Tra la la la la la la
Brown girl in the ring
Tra la la la la
She looks like a sugar in a plum
When she finally washes herself the restaurant and shack owners now welcome her in. She’s no longer brown – she’s white! The prophetic, for coastal Goans, album also had the song ‘Rasputin’.
Ra-Ra-Ramponkar
When she finally washes herself the restaurant and shack owners now welcome her in. She’s no longer brown – she’s white! The prophetic, for coastal Goans, album also had the song ‘Rasputin’.
Ra-Ra-Ramponkar
Lover of the Russian skin
Sold your land for a few roubles
Ra-Ra-Ramponkar
Prostrate yourself on the silver sands
Sell your souls in one generation
…
Oh, those Russians
This was followed in the spring of 1979 by ‘Hooray! Hooray! It's A Holi-Holiday’, based on an American folksong Polly Wolly Doodle. It is the theme song for Goan Government servants.
Digge ding ding ding digge digge ding ding
This was followed in the spring of 1979 by ‘Hooray! Hooray! It's A Holi-Holiday’, based on an American folksong Polly Wolly Doodle. It is the theme song for Goan Government servants.
Digge ding ding ding digge digge ding ding
Hey - di - hey - di - hoh (2)
There's a place I know, where we should go - heydiheydihoh
Casual leave on Friday, sick leave on Monday - heydiheydihoh
It’s a long weekend, right round the bend - heydiheydihoh
It’s not very comic, but screw the public - heydiheydihoh
Hooray! Hooray! Aiz holiday murre!
Hooray! Hooray! Aiz holiday murre!
What a world of fun for Go-vern-ment, holi-holiday
In 1980, Boney M. released a greatest hits album, which had “I See a Boat on the River”.
I see some boats on the river
In 1980, Boney M. released a greatest hits album, which had “I See a Boat on the River”.
I see some boats on the river
They’re blocking my view.
Cant’ they anchor in the ocean
Where they’re supposed to?
Casinos on the river
Wish they would sail away
So I can see from Panjim
To the Betim Jetty
(ENDS)
(ENDS)
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As appeared in the Gomantak Times, Goa - October 22, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Little Red Riding Hood
Revisiting classic children's fables
By Cecil Pinto
The story of Little Red Riding Hood, her grandmother and the wolf has its origins in 17th century French folklore. The earliest known printed version is by Charles Perrault, entitled 'Le Petit Chaperon Rouge', where the wolf kills and eats them both - the girl and her grandmother. The Brothers Grimm 1857 version is rather tamed down and has them being saved by a huntsman passing by. This though is the most popular version but the fable has been interpreted and revised variously in different cultures and media - from animated children's cartoons to very adult oriented movies..
Why not then a Modern Goan Version?
Little Rose was just sixteen but rather well proportioned for her age, and quite the flirt. Rose lived in the quaint village of Assnora named after Dona Nora Conceissao, a noblewoman who once owned almost the entire village and according to legend had an enormous backside.
The motorcycle pilots used to call Rose 'Tambdem Rosa' because her favourite outfit was a man's shirt worn over a tiny tight red micro-mini e-skirt. The word e-skirt has nothing to do with the Internet. E-skirt is the Konkani pronunciation of skirt.
One fine day Rosa's mother, Carmelina, decided to pack some cutlet-bread sandwiches and send to her once mother-in-law, Perpet, in the neighbouring village of Aldona. But Carmelina was in a depressed mood as she listened to Remo crying for India and Goa on Facebook. Rosa was impatient and while wriggling into her micro-mini skirt shouted to her mother, "Hey Mom! You better pack that snack and come alive again!"
Ever since her second husband had died a year back Carmelina spent hours and hours on Facebook aimlessly following other peoples lives and commenting on their Updates and Photos. Rosa was her third and youngest daughter. Rosa's father had died when Rose was just four years old. Carmelina's other daughters worked on floating casinos in Panjim. Rosa could be dealing in drugs for all Carmelina cared.
Rose would take her elder sister's Activa scooter for the ride. Rosa's tight skirt meant that getting on and off the scooter, or even keeping the scooter in a still position, required quite a lot of body maneuvering. She couldn't have both legs on the road simultaneously so the scooter had to be inclined to one side while she hopped on and took off in one smooth motion.
It was the twilight hour. Carmelina had read about the burnt body of a young woman found in Corjuem the previous day but was too engrossed in Facebook to warn Rosa.
Rosa crossed the Poriem bridge and then on a lonely stretch after the Corjuem Fort saw a handsome young man asking for a lift. She stopped near him using her awkward stopping technique with her thigh on the scooter and her bum off it. On closer inspection she realised that the man was not as young or as handsome as she thought. In fact he looked positively middle aged and was very hairy and wore a sleeveless T-shirt, brand new jeans, Addidas shoes, thick gold jewellery and sunglasses - despite it being late evening. "He looks like a wolf in Shipees clothing ", she thought to herself. "But then he could also be a Gulfee!"
"I'm going to my Granny's place in Aldona", she said.
"Where in Aldona?", he asked.
"Coimavaddo", she replied.
"Grande or Pequin Coimavaddo?" he asked.
"The one at the top of the hill?", she replied
By the time she explained to him exactly where she was going Rosa's bum was starting to get a muscle catch in her awkward position. Many people zoomed past in their vehicles and cast appreciative glances at Rosa but didn't warn her about talking with Alfie who preyed on all sorts of women.
Feeling another catch forming in her strained thigh Rosy exclaimed, "Sorry I have to rush", and shot off without a further word.
Little did she know that Alfie the predator had a car parked nearby and using a shortcut reached the grandmother's house before she could. Perpet saw Alfie approach through the window and did not open the door. "I'm not selling!", she screamed.
For the last two years Perpet, who loved alone, had been harassed by brokers and buyers all wanting to purchase her aristocratic ancestral house. She would have sold out if she wasn't just one of twenty six claimants to the family property.
"I will huff and I will puff and I will blow your house down!", shouted Alfie.
"Wrong fable dear!", screamed Perpet.
"When I find you I will eat you!", Alfie shouted.
Not quite sure how to react Perpet slid open the door latch before hiding in a bedroom almirah.
Alfie rushed into the bedroom, threw open the almirah, stripped Perpet of her clothes, wore them himself, and slipped under the bedcovers. Perpet remained dumbstruck and naked in the almirah.
The unwitting Rose walked straight into the dark bedroom where Alfie told her to get under the sheets with him.
"But Grandma your voice sounds so gruff".
"I'm taking Aloe Vera products for that. Want to join my network?"
'But Grandma your eyes and ears look so big."
"All the better to hear and see you dear."
"And Grandma your teeth look so big."
"All the better to eat you my dear!"
Thus saying Alfie grabbed Rosa who put up a fierce struggle. A passing motorcycle pilot, named Bappa, on hearing the commotion rushed in to see the stark naked Perpet jump out of the almirah shouting, "I've finally come out of the closet!" Bappa turned to see Alfie and Rosa sprawled and struggling on the floor. Rosa's cheeks were flushed. Bappa burst into tears singing, "Tambdem Rosa tuje polle. Dukhanim bhollyat mhoje dolle. Bappachem license." (ENDS)
Revisiting classic children's fables
By Cecil Pinto
The story of Little Red Riding Hood, her grandmother and the wolf has its origins in 17th century French folklore. The earliest known printed version is by Charles Perrault, entitled 'Le Petit Chaperon Rouge', where the wolf kills and eats them both - the girl and her grandmother. The Brothers Grimm 1857 version is rather tamed down and has them being saved by a huntsman passing by. This though is the most popular version but the fable has been interpreted and revised variously in different cultures and media - from animated children's cartoons to very adult oriented movies..
Why not then a Modern Goan Version?
Little Rose was just sixteen but rather well proportioned for her age, and quite the flirt. Rose lived in the quaint village of Assnora named after Dona Nora Conceissao, a noblewoman who once owned almost the entire village and according to legend had an enormous backside.
The motorcycle pilots used to call Rose 'Tambdem Rosa' because her favourite outfit was a man's shirt worn over a tiny tight red micro-mini e-skirt. The word e-skirt has nothing to do with the Internet. E-skirt is the Konkani pronunciation of skirt.
One fine day Rosa's mother, Carmelina, decided to pack some cutlet-bread sandwiches and send to her once mother-in-law, Perpet, in the neighbouring village of Aldona. But Carmelina was in a depressed mood as she listened to Remo crying for India and Goa on Facebook. Rosa was impatient and while wriggling into her micro-mini skirt shouted to her mother, "Hey Mom! You better pack that snack and come alive again!"
Ever since her second husband had died a year back Carmelina spent hours and hours on Facebook aimlessly following other peoples lives and commenting on their Updates and Photos. Rosa was her third and youngest daughter. Rosa's father had died when Rose was just four years old. Carmelina's other daughters worked on floating casinos in Panjim. Rosa could be dealing in drugs for all Carmelina cared.
Rose would take her elder sister's Activa scooter for the ride. Rosa's tight skirt meant that getting on and off the scooter, or even keeping the scooter in a still position, required quite a lot of body maneuvering. She couldn't have both legs on the road simultaneously so the scooter had to be inclined to one side while she hopped on and took off in one smooth motion.
It was the twilight hour. Carmelina had read about the burnt body of a young woman found in Corjuem the previous day but was too engrossed in Facebook to warn Rosa.
Rosa crossed the Poriem bridge and then on a lonely stretch after the Corjuem Fort saw a handsome young man asking for a lift. She stopped near him using her awkward stopping technique with her thigh on the scooter and her bum off it. On closer inspection she realised that the man was not as young or as handsome as she thought. In fact he looked positively middle aged and was very hairy and wore a sleeveless T-shirt, brand new jeans, Addidas shoes, thick gold jewellery and sunglasses - despite it being late evening. "He looks like a wolf in Shipees clothing ", she thought to herself. "But then he could also be a Gulfee!"
"I'm going to my Granny's place in Aldona", she said.
"Where in Aldona?", he asked.
"Coimavaddo", she replied.
"Grande or Pequin Coimavaddo?" he asked.
"The one at the top of the hill?", she replied
By the time she explained to him exactly where she was going Rosa's bum was starting to get a muscle catch in her awkward position. Many people zoomed past in their vehicles and cast appreciative glances at Rosa but didn't warn her about talking with Alfie who preyed on all sorts of women.
Feeling another catch forming in her strained thigh Rosy exclaimed, "Sorry I have to rush", and shot off without a further word.
Little did she know that Alfie the predator had a car parked nearby and using a shortcut reached the grandmother's house before she could. Perpet saw Alfie approach through the window and did not open the door. "I'm not selling!", she screamed.
For the last two years Perpet, who loved alone, had been harassed by brokers and buyers all wanting to purchase her aristocratic ancestral house. She would have sold out if she wasn't just one of twenty six claimants to the family property.
"I will huff and I will puff and I will blow your house down!", shouted Alfie.
"Wrong fable dear!", screamed Perpet.
"When I find you I will eat you!", Alfie shouted.
Not quite sure how to react Perpet slid open the door latch before hiding in a bedroom almirah.
Alfie rushed into the bedroom, threw open the almirah, stripped Perpet of her clothes, wore them himself, and slipped under the bedcovers. Perpet remained dumbstruck and naked in the almirah.
The unwitting Rose walked straight into the dark bedroom where Alfie told her to get under the sheets with him.
"But Grandma your voice sounds so gruff".
"I'm taking Aloe Vera products for that. Want to join my network?"
'But Grandma your eyes and ears look so big."
"All the better to hear and see you dear."
"And Grandma your teeth look so big."
"All the better to eat you my dear!"
Thus saying Alfie grabbed Rosa who put up a fierce struggle. A passing motorcycle pilot, named Bappa, on hearing the commotion rushed in to see the stark naked Perpet jump out of the almirah shouting, "I've finally come out of the closet!" Bappa turned to see Alfie and Rosa sprawled and struggling on the floor. Rosa's cheeks were flushed. Bappa burst into tears singing, "Tambdem Rosa tuje polle. Dukhanim bhollyat mhoje dolle. Bappachem license." (ENDS)
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As appeared in the Gomantak Times, Goa - October 15, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Male Goan Lover
Perils of rural sex research
By Cecil Pinto
A recent newspaper report highlighted the findings of a poll of 15,000 women that rated the world's best and worst lovers. The worst list was headed by the Germans (too smelly) followed closely by the English (too lazy) and the Swedes (too quick to finish). On the other end of the spectrum Latin countries topped the 'best lover' list, with Spain at number one, followed by Brazil, Italy and France.
What if we had a pan-India survey? Let women from all over the country vote on who are the best lovers among all the states of India.
Do the Bongs give a better bang for the buck? Does the wily Gujju's expertise extend from the cash counter to the bed? Is the Keralite superior sexually too or just literally? Is the Marathi manos man enough? Does the Punjabi's enthusiasm translate into orgasm for his partner? Is Bihar about inter-caste tension or intense intercourse? Do we Goan men, with our Iberian attitude in such matters, score like our Latin counterparts? Is the ultimate Indian love machine concealed by a lungi or a mundu, a veshti or a humble kashti?
In the grand tradition of Masters & Johnson and Kinsey and Hite I decided to conduct such a poll among Indian women and research how they rated men from different states as lovers. But then I found I was biting of more than I could chew. Let's concentrate on what I know about. I don't mean sex, I mean Goa.
How do women rate Goan lovers? Is the stud from Candolim better in bed than his bud from Sanquelim? Are the big Moira bananas a myth or are the potent Aldona chillies overrated? Can the Romeo from Ribandar compete with the Cassanova from Carmona?
At first I decided to do an anonymous type of question-answer thing over the phone by dialing random numbers. If what sounded like an adult female answered...
"Hello ma'am, I'm calling from the Goa Research Institute. We are doing an intra-Goa survey on Male Sexuality. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
"Questionuuuu?"
"Yes ma'am, questions regarding sex."
"Sexuuuuu?"
"Ma'am I understand you are from Salcete. If you wish I can speak in Konkani? Hanv Konkani ulonv?"
"Uloiuuuu?"
"Aaaaarrrggghhhh!!"
Next I tried random numbers in North Goa till I got what sounded like an adult English speaking woman on the phone and gave her my spiel about research etc. She seemed quite open minded.
"So let me get this clear. You want to ask me some questions about sex for some research?"
"Yes ma'am. You will be completely anonymous and we will not phone you again."
"Ok. Ask your questions."
"Ma'am, the men from which village do you consider to be the worst lovers in Goa?"
"Cortalim! Definitely Cortalim!"
"You seem very confident. How come?"
"My husband is from Cortalim!"
"Oh! Ok. And which village do the best lovers come from?"
"How on earth would I know? I've only ever had sex with my husband."
Many phone calls later my survey was not making any advance. I had the phone slammed down by most women. Some threatened to complain to the cops that I was harassing them. Among the few close female friends who agreed to answer most were not sexually experienced enough to make a comparison. Few were virgins, others had been either largely monogamous or their amorous lives did not extend beyond a couple of talukas.
Our Goan women were not experienced enough to honestly answer such a survey that needed comparisons over multiple lovers. The few self confessed 'sluts' I knew were veterans in these matters but their responses were heavily weighted in terms of what their lover brought to the table than to the bed. To their minds foreplay didn't count for as much as diamond rings did.
Then I had a brainwave. From a friend of a friend I got the phone number of this female who gave massages of the erotic kind - if you know what I mean. Who better than her to rate Goan men on their sexual capabilities. Of course I had not factored that her English language capabilities may not match her bedroom techniques. She was a Thai or a Phillipino - I don't know accents very well.
"Hello is this Jenny? I got your number from John Fernandes who gave..."
"You wanting massage at your doorstep?"
"Actually I just wanted to ask you a few questions."
"I come at your doorstep. No question asked."
I thought to myself that if ever I had to avail of Jenny's services I would insist that she come inside the house and not at the doorstep. What would the neighbours say? Anyway after a lot of to and fro on the phone I managed to explain to her what the survey was about. Jenny explained that she had very few Goan men as clients but considering the sure volume of business she managed, single handedly, even that small percentage encompassed most villages.
"What about the men from Assolna?"
"Why dis man not having Number Two hole?"
"Whaaaat? Oh! No! Forget Assolna. Mapusa. Where do men from Mapusa stand?"
"Standing very fine. But bargaining too much. They thinks like market."
"Ok. I get it. What about the guys from Divar?"
"Very hurry. Very hurry. Wanting to finish fast to catch next ferry."
"Aha! And Caranzalem?"
"Yes, sometimes it happen in the car. I understanding little Konkani."
"No I mean. Ok how do the boys from Anjuna compare?"
"They don't want to use me. They want to hire me out to foreigners and make a commission."
"Saligao?"
"They talking too much. Doing very little."
"Curtorim?"
"Fighting like bull"
"Agacaim?"
"Using colourful language."
"Is there a major difference between North Goan men and South Goan men?"
"That difficult question. What better? North or South Goan sausage? What better - Caju Feni or Palm Feni? What important? I no can say." (ENDS)
Perils of rural sex research
By Cecil Pinto
A recent newspaper report highlighted the findings of a poll of 15,000 women that rated the world's best and worst lovers. The worst list was headed by the Germans (too smelly) followed closely by the English (too lazy) and the Swedes (too quick to finish). On the other end of the spectrum Latin countries topped the 'best lover' list, with Spain at number one, followed by Brazil, Italy and France.
What if we had a pan-India survey? Let women from all over the country vote on who are the best lovers among all the states of India.
Do the Bongs give a better bang for the buck? Does the wily Gujju's expertise extend from the cash counter to the bed? Is the Keralite superior sexually too or just literally? Is the Marathi manos man enough? Does the Punjabi's enthusiasm translate into orgasm for his partner? Is Bihar about inter-caste tension or intense intercourse? Do we Goan men, with our Iberian attitude in such matters, score like our Latin counterparts? Is the ultimate Indian love machine concealed by a lungi or a mundu, a veshti or a humble kashti?
In the grand tradition of Masters & Johnson and Kinsey and Hite I decided to conduct such a poll among Indian women and research how they rated men from different states as lovers. But then I found I was biting of more than I could chew. Let's concentrate on what I know about. I don't mean sex, I mean Goa.
How do women rate Goan lovers? Is the stud from Candolim better in bed than his bud from Sanquelim? Are the big Moira bananas a myth or are the potent Aldona chillies overrated? Can the Romeo from Ribandar compete with the Cassanova from Carmona?
At first I decided to do an anonymous type of question-answer thing over the phone by dialing random numbers. If what sounded like an adult female answered...
"Hello ma'am, I'm calling from the Goa Research Institute. We are doing an intra-Goa survey on Male Sexuality. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
"Questionuuuu?"
"Yes ma'am, questions regarding sex."
"Sexuuuuu?"
"Ma'am I understand you are from Salcete. If you wish I can speak in Konkani? Hanv Konkani ulonv?"
"Uloiuuuu?"
"Aaaaarrrggghhhh!!"
Next I tried random numbers in North Goa till I got what sounded like an adult English speaking woman on the phone and gave her my spiel about research etc. She seemed quite open minded.
"So let me get this clear. You want to ask me some questions about sex for some research?"
"Yes ma'am. You will be completely anonymous and we will not phone you again."
"Ok. Ask your questions."
"Ma'am, the men from which village do you consider to be the worst lovers in Goa?"
"Cortalim! Definitely Cortalim!"
"You seem very confident. How come?"
"My husband is from Cortalim!"
"Oh! Ok. And which village do the best lovers come from?"
"How on earth would I know? I've only ever had sex with my husband."
Many phone calls later my survey was not making any advance. I had the phone slammed down by most women. Some threatened to complain to the cops that I was harassing them. Among the few close female friends who agreed to answer most were not sexually experienced enough to make a comparison. Few were virgins, others had been either largely monogamous or their amorous lives did not extend beyond a couple of talukas.
Our Goan women were not experienced enough to honestly answer such a survey that needed comparisons over multiple lovers. The few self confessed 'sluts' I knew were veterans in these matters but their responses were heavily weighted in terms of what their lover brought to the table than to the bed. To their minds foreplay didn't count for as much as diamond rings did.
Then I had a brainwave. From a friend of a friend I got the phone number of this female who gave massages of the erotic kind - if you know what I mean. Who better than her to rate Goan men on their sexual capabilities. Of course I had not factored that her English language capabilities may not match her bedroom techniques. She was a Thai or a Phillipino - I don't know accents very well.
"Hello is this Jenny? I got your number from John Fernandes who gave..."
"You wanting massage at your doorstep?"
"Actually I just wanted to ask you a few questions."
"I come at your doorstep. No question asked."
I thought to myself that if ever I had to avail of Jenny's services I would insist that she come inside the house and not at the doorstep. What would the neighbours say? Anyway after a lot of to and fro on the phone I managed to explain to her what the survey was about. Jenny explained that she had very few Goan men as clients but considering the sure volume of business she managed, single handedly, even that small percentage encompassed most villages.
"What about the men from Assolna?"
"Why dis man not having Number Two hole?"
"Whaaaat? Oh! No! Forget Assolna. Mapusa. Where do men from Mapusa stand?"
"Standing very fine. But bargaining too much. They thinks like market."
"Ok. I get it. What about the guys from Divar?"
"Very hurry. Very hurry. Wanting to finish fast to catch next ferry."
"Aha! And Caranzalem?"
"Yes, sometimes it happen in the car. I understanding little Konkani."
"No I mean. Ok how do the boys from Anjuna compare?"
"They don't want to use me. They want to hire me out to foreigners and make a commission."
"Saligao?"
"They talking too much. Doing very little."
"Curtorim?"
"Fighting like bull"
"Agacaim?"
"Using colourful language."
"Is there a major difference between North Goan men and South Goan men?"
"That difficult question. What better? North or South Goan sausage? What better - Caju Feni or Palm Feni? What important? I no can say." (ENDS)
--------------------------------------------------------------
As appeared in the Gomantak Times, Goa - October 8, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Ministry of Feni
Drinking to create awareness
By Cecil Pinto
"Good evening folks. This is your host Cecil Pinto reporting almost-live for Goa-World.Com from Campal Parade Grounds. I'm covering the second General Body Meeting of the newly convened Ministry of Feni. There's lots of action around. Distillers and bottlers have put up stalls where drinkers can sample their products. On stage is a presentation on Feni Cocktails. Later today a debate will be held on Glass and Ceramic v/s Wooden Barrels for storing Caju Feni."
"Caju aficionados of varied vintages and at different levels of intoxication are all over the place engaged in animated discussions. I spot the editor of a local English daily, an architecture professor, an expert on urban anthropology, a graphic artist, a fashion designer, a pop star. Everyone seems to have latched on to the Joy of Feni."
"Excuse me Sir. What is this magazine some of you are carrying?"
"This is not a magazine. It is a report - Geographical Indications and Localisation: A Case Study of Feni by Dr. Dwijen Rangnekar of the University of Warwick. It is an exhaustive and path breaking document that brings together knowledge of Feni from various resources in a comprehensive way that has never been done before. This is the defining work on Feni."
"In fact the Ministry of Feni, MoF as it will shortly be called, is a semi-official club of Caju Feni aficionados who will act as a pressure group on distillers, bottlers and retailers to ensure that we get quality Feni at competitive prices."
"MoFs as we call ourselves, no you cannot drop the 'o', are hardened adventurers who have spent most of our adult years in search of the Elixir of the Gods - the perfect Caju Feni. During urrack season we scour the countryside, with jerry cans and hydrometers, investigating the product of different distillers to sniff out the one with the perfect taste, bouquet and 'grau'. We hope that this translates into good Feni and if it doesn't we move on to the next 'bhatti'. The rest of the year we follow up leads to check out bars over the length and breadth of North Goa to find someone who stocks the perfect Feni."
"Why don't you do South Goa?"
"South Goa knows jack squat about making good Caju Feni!"
"When we find a perfect batch of Feni we drink it in copious amounts and buy as much as we can afford and store. We keep our findings and our suppliers secret from non-MoFs. When we hear about or discuss a unique batch of Feni that someone has discovered we actually froth at the mouth. The Konkani word for froth is 'feno'. That's how Feni gets its name."
"What about the organizational structure?"
"At our very first meeting we used the 'lots' system for election. We had lots and lots of Feni and unanimously elected Dr. Rangnekar as the President in honour of his pioneering work. His tenure lasted exactly seven minutes. In his opening address he mentioned that certain bottlers blend Feni from different distilleries. For even uttering such a sacrilegious thought he was immediately thrown out if his post and now is an ordinary member but can use the title Immediate Past and Founding President on his visiting card."
"But even Scotch Whiskey is mostly blended."
"We don't care for Scotch. Feni is never mixed with another Feni. Period. We boycott all people who attempt such nonsense!"
"What's this about MILF?"
"Not MILF, it's IMFL - Indian Made Foreign Liquor. Feni has to be deemed on par with IMFL and not treated as a 'country liquor' so that not only tavernas, but all bars can then sell it legally. We also demand that all bars keep a minimum of five different Caju Fenis - two branded and three local with different strengths and prices. If a MoF finds any establishment stocking more varieties of whiskey than of Feni the establishment will be boycotted."
"What about Palm Feni?"
"That the South Goans can figure out how to improve. Maybe they could ask for Geographical Indicator status for Palm Feni and Belligerent Taxi Drivers."
"The Ministry of Feni is not only concerned about getting the industry to give us better products but also informative labeling. Ideally the bottle packaging should have details like alcohol v/v, village-year-method of distillation, storage etc. MoF want the consumer not only to have a wide variety but also to be able to make an informed choice. Right now many manufacturers think better packaging just involves making fancy bottles."
"Can you inform our viewers about Feni drinking traditions, like for example salt-lime and tequila?"
"Ha! You should attend our Workshop on Feni Drinking. But since you mentioned it, in Mexico itself tequila is drunk straight or alternating with a type of orange juice called sangrita. This salt-lime back-of-hand licking routine is a recent and totally made-up American custom that has helped in the marketing of tequila. We don't need to invent such myths around Caju, we just need to discover them."
"One of the wonderful practices we have at bars in Goa is that when they stock a local unbranded variety of Feni they always allow you a small measure to try before you order. If you like it you drink it. Or take the custom of the barman putting a drop of Feni on his finger and setting it on fire. Such quaint cultural practices surrounding the consumption of Caju Feni have to be recorded, encouraged and embellished if necessary. That's one of MoF's main thrusts."
"Can just anyone join the Ministry of Feni?"
"Certainly not! Membership to the MoF is currently closed but we will be conducting Feni Appreciation Workshops and Caju Feni Tours where we will educate people about the different methods of distilling, storage, consumption etc. Once we have enough of a populace educated on the nuances of Caju Feni then we will open up our membership again."
"I've just been informed that the current MoF President has committed sacrilege by having Caju Feni in a beer mug. There's a group asking for his dismissal. See you later!" (ENDS)
--------------------------------------------------------------
As appeared in The Herald, Goa - October 1, 2009
Drinking to create awareness
By Cecil Pinto
"Good evening folks. This is your host Cecil Pinto reporting almost-live for Goa-World.Com from Campal Parade Grounds. I'm covering the second General Body Meeting of the newly convened Ministry of Feni. There's lots of action around. Distillers and bottlers have put up stalls where drinkers can sample their products. On stage is a presentation on Feni Cocktails. Later today a debate will be held on Glass and Ceramic v/s Wooden Barrels for storing Caju Feni."
"Caju aficionados of varied vintages and at different levels of intoxication are all over the place engaged in animated discussions. I spot the editor of a local English daily, an architecture professor, an expert on urban anthropology, a graphic artist, a fashion designer, a pop star. Everyone seems to have latched on to the Joy of Feni."
"Excuse me Sir. What is this magazine some of you are carrying?"
"This is not a magazine. It is a report - Geographical Indications and Localisation: A Case Study of Feni by Dr. Dwijen Rangnekar of the University of Warwick. It is an exhaustive and path breaking document that brings together knowledge of Feni from various resources in a comprehensive way that has never been done before. This is the defining work on Feni."
"In fact the Ministry of Feni, MoF as it will shortly be called, is a semi-official club of Caju Feni aficionados who will act as a pressure group on distillers, bottlers and retailers to ensure that we get quality Feni at competitive prices."
"MoFs as we call ourselves, no you cannot drop the 'o', are hardened adventurers who have spent most of our adult years in search of the Elixir of the Gods - the perfect Caju Feni. During urrack season we scour the countryside, with jerry cans and hydrometers, investigating the product of different distillers to sniff out the one with the perfect taste, bouquet and 'grau'. We hope that this translates into good Feni and if it doesn't we move on to the next 'bhatti'. The rest of the year we follow up leads to check out bars over the length and breadth of North Goa to find someone who stocks the perfect Feni."
"Why don't you do South Goa?"
"South Goa knows jack squat about making good Caju Feni!"
"When we find a perfect batch of Feni we drink it in copious amounts and buy as much as we can afford and store. We keep our findings and our suppliers secret from non-MoFs. When we hear about or discuss a unique batch of Feni that someone has discovered we actually froth at the mouth. The Konkani word for froth is 'feno'. That's how Feni gets its name."
"What about the organizational structure?"
"At our very first meeting we used the 'lots' system for election. We had lots and lots of Feni and unanimously elected Dr. Rangnekar as the President in honour of his pioneering work. His tenure lasted exactly seven minutes. In his opening address he mentioned that certain bottlers blend Feni from different distilleries. For even uttering such a sacrilegious thought he was immediately thrown out if his post and now is an ordinary member but can use the title Immediate Past and Founding President on his visiting card."
"But even Scotch Whiskey is mostly blended."
"We don't care for Scotch. Feni is never mixed with another Feni. Period. We boycott all people who attempt such nonsense!"
"What's this about MILF?"
"Not MILF, it's IMFL - Indian Made Foreign Liquor. Feni has to be deemed on par with IMFL and not treated as a 'country liquor' so that not only tavernas, but all bars can then sell it legally. We also demand that all bars keep a minimum of five different Caju Fenis - two branded and three local with different strengths and prices. If a MoF finds any establishment stocking more varieties of whiskey than of Feni the establishment will be boycotted."
"What about Palm Feni?"
"That the South Goans can figure out how to improve. Maybe they could ask for Geographical Indicator status for Palm Feni and Belligerent Taxi Drivers."
"The Ministry of Feni is not only concerned about getting the industry to give us better products but also informative labeling. Ideally the bottle packaging should have details like alcohol v/v, village-year-method of distillation, storage etc. MoF want the consumer not only to have a wide variety but also to be able to make an informed choice. Right now many manufacturers think better packaging just involves making fancy bottles."
"Can you inform our viewers about Feni drinking traditions, like for example salt-lime and tequila?"
"Ha! You should attend our Workshop on Feni Drinking. But since you mentioned it, in Mexico itself tequila is drunk straight or alternating with a type of orange juice called sangrita. This salt-lime back-of-hand licking routine is a recent and totally made-up American custom that has helped in the marketing of tequila. We don't need to invent such myths around Caju, we just need to discover them."
"One of the wonderful practices we have at bars in Goa is that when they stock a local unbranded variety of Feni they always allow you a small measure to try before you order. If you like it you drink it. Or take the custom of the barman putting a drop of Feni on his finger and setting it on fire. Such quaint cultural practices surrounding the consumption of Caju Feni have to be recorded, encouraged and embellished if necessary. That's one of MoF's main thrusts."
"Can just anyone join the Ministry of Feni?"
"Certainly not! Membership to the MoF is currently closed but we will be conducting Feni Appreciation Workshops and Caju Feni Tours where we will educate people about the different methods of distilling, storage, consumption etc. Once we have enough of a populace educated on the nuances of Caju Feni then we will open up our membership again."
"I've just been informed that the current MoF President has committed sacrilege by having Caju Feni in a beer mug. There's a group asking for his dismissal. See you later!" (ENDS)
--------------------------------------------------------------
As appeared in The Herald, Goa - October 1, 2009
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