In Search of Canadian Identity
http://sen.parl.gc.ca/vpoy/english/Special_Interests/speeches.htm
Speech by Senator Vivienne Poy on Gender Issues
 
McGill Institute for the Study of Canada McGill University November 22, 2001
http://sen.parl.gc.ca/vpoy/english/Special_Interests/speeches/Speech_in_search_of_identity.htm
http://www2.parl.gc.ca/Content/LOP/ResearchPublications/prb0920-e.htm

Excerpts:
…Before WWII, Canada’s immigration policy was based on the premise that it was, and should remain, a white country, primarily composed of people from France, the British Isles, the United States, and northern Europe. For the most part, Canada was a bicultural nation, with the French and British elements of Canada maintaining an uneasy truce. However, to characterize Canada in this way, is to neglect the fact that Canada was founded by three groups: the aboriginals, the French, and the British, despite the fact that aboriginals have been marginalized until recent years.

…. After WWII, Canadians and their government began to see that continued discrimination at home devalued the sacrifices that had been made in defeating the racist regimes overseas. Some senior bureaucrats also felt that our discriminatory immigration policy compromised Canada’s position in the U.N. and in the Commonwealth. Beginning from the 1950s, with the report of the Massey-Levesque Commission, ethno-cultural diversity gradually came to be understood as an essential ingredient in a distinct Canadian identity.

However, until 1962, Canada`s immigration legislation clearly indicated a preference for immigrants who were white. In 1947, the most heinous legislation ever passed in Canadian history, the Chinese Exclusion Act, was repealed. Following this, as a result of an organized nationwide movement against restrictions on non-white immigration, in 1962, a landmark decision was handed down that virtually eliminated racial discrimination as a feature of Canada’s immigration policy. New regulations specified that any unsponsored immigrants who had the requisite education, skill, or other qualifications were to be considered suitable for admission, irrespective of colour, race, or national origin, provided they had a job waiting for them in Canada, or were able to support themselves until they found employment. However, one discriminatory element remained, and that was the provision that allowed European immigrants and immigrants from the Americas to sponsor a wider range of relatives.

In 1967, this clause was removed, and the point system was introduced. Since then, Canada has been accepting immigrants from all over the world, and has reflected this increasing diversity through policies, legislation, institutions, and ultimately, a change in our cultural makeup.

….. So what does multiculturalism mean?
According to one viewpoint, this policy promotes tolerance, and understanding among different groups. It takes a middle road between assimilation, and the creation of ghettos, where minority groups are ostracized. It invites participation in civil society, the promotion of shared values that underpin our society, while accepting the differences that serve to enrich our collective dialogue. But as we know from Orwell’s Animal Farm, true equality is difficult to realize. Thus, in multiculturalism, everyone is presumed to be equal, but some cultures are perhaps more equal than others.

After all, knowledge of French or English remains essential to success in Canada. Therefore, the Economic Council of Canada views multiculturalism as an integrationist strategy that does not try to maintain complete cultural systems but aims to preserve as much of ethnic culture as is compatible with Canadian customs. Nevertheless, some Canadians worry about the erosion of British tradition The most common criticism of multiculturalism, such as that expressed by well-known author Neil Bissondath, is that the policy promotes hyphenated-Canadians, fragmentation, and the inability of society to develop a cohesive identity. Or, as TV Ontario personality, Rick Green joked, “we have matured from a nation of two solitudes to a nation of about 43 solitudes.”

Read More ...

The Case for Goan Welfare
By: Roslyn Lobo
The article below was published in the Goan Digest (UK) in1993

The study and findings are still relevant to us in Canada for 2011
(The OCR has been used to save time re-typing- hence please excuse irregular word spacing)

[Roslyn, Chair of GWA, is a community psychiatric nurse and family therapist and has dealt with hundreds of clients of all races over several yean, including (loans. In 1991 she was invited to be a Welfare Director of the Goan Association (UK) Ltd in Kent. She left in January 1993 after submitting a Report of her work, together with recommendations for Goan welfare. Below is the substance of Roslyn’s speech at the reception for Mr. Keith Vaz on 3l July l993. — _Ed ~ Eddie D’Sa]

We Goans seem to be a well adjusted and mutually supportive group-but I think this is only true at a superficial level. For many of us, UK settlement has been a second migration (from East Africa) and has brought in its wake a host of stress related problems, especially for those expelled from Uganda. These problems have been kept hidden but with better information and a mature outlook, people have begun to acknowledge their difficulties and to seek help. In my professional encounter with the Goans over some years, many kinds of distress have come to light:

• loneliness, boredom, neglect of the elderly,
• marital break-up, family squabbles. a stubborn refusal to reconcile with close family members after years of silence
• harassment of wives and particularly brides/fiancées from Goa
• inter-generational clashes, alienation and a confused sense of identity in the young
• alcoholism, suicide attempts
• mental illness including manic depression and schizophrenia
• child abuse and the trauma of children taken into care.

A growing individualism and consumerist pressures seem to have damaged our capacity for caring and sharing. We also remain subtly stratified by class, even country of origin and caste is not quite dead. Socializing across these boundaries is not commonly observed.

There is little interaction with other communities, including Asian groups. And while many Goans have married Europeans, the scourge of racism has discouraged the formation of fruitful adult relationships with whites. As an ethnic group, Goans are little known and with a few notable exceptions have failed to make and significant impact in Britain-cultural or economic. Part of the trouble may be our innate diffidence, poor communication skills and perhaps a feeling that we have little to offer anyway. Our Association has prepared leaflets explaining who Goans are and we have handed them out to invited speakers and others as the need has arisen.

Like most traditional societies, Goans largely live by a conservative moral code and prize family honour (izzat). Family and moral values, though weakening, remain our strong point and something that British society could learn from us. On the other hand, they can teach us a thing or two: such as self-reliance, logical thinking and the art of communication. Though English is commonly spoken among Goans, the older among us tend to be poor at expression and this is often overcompensated by an emotional display and a tendency to personalize an issue. We have yet to learn the art of resolving conflict by rational discussion and a search for consensus.

When distress comes, many of us especially the elderly may suffer in silence seek divine help and maintain a facade of coping. Surely we need to help ourselves and not hesitate to call upon professional services. Cultural activity remains largely nostalgic and confined to the traditional forms: food and drink, song and dance, religious rituals. There is little creativity or intellectual output on record. Yet this country offers ample opportunities to pick up new ideas and skills for personal growth and cultural enrichment

On the basis of the above diagnosis of the Goan social condition, welfare seems to be needed for two kinds of people:

• those who are in distress,
• others who seem normal but lead drab, insular lives and are culturally impoverished.

To our Association, dispensing welfare means relieving the distress of the first group and helping uplift the quality of life of the second: We aim to do this by raising awareness through better information, by counseling and referrals. We have sought to strengthen our cultural identity an bond the community through suitable promotions and the Drop- in Centres . Finally, we hope to empower ourselves by absorbing more mainstream cultural and educational resources.

The Non - Resident Goan
Published in the Herald Review and on GOA-NET
Dr. Peter R. de Souza , Goa University political scientist,
Dept of Political Science, Goa University, Taleigao, Goa India

In recent years, students of 'culture and identity' have come to believe that to understand a society well, one must not only look at all its internal features but also at its relations with others. Put simply, this would mean that to understand oneself, one would need to understand the 'other' with whom one has a relationship. This is true of individuals, of groups, of societies, and even of civilizations.

India has been the 'other' of Europe since the time of ancient Greeks. Brahmins have, for centuries, been the 'other' of Dalits, while environmentalists are today coming to be recognised at the 'other' of industrialists. Greenpeace has in recent years become the 'other' of the French government, just as the RSS has been that of the Jamaat-i-Islami.

The 'other' is necessary to constitute oneself. One requires one's identity in relationship with another who is the 'other' of one-self. One is thereby also the 'other' for this another. If one wishes to understand the 'Goan identity', one would, therefore, need to specify the 'other' who is part of this process of identity formations. There are many others in the Goan case: the 'paclo' (White foreign ruler), the 'bhailo' (the outsider), the 'ghantti' (poor migrant, derogatory), and more recently, the tourist, the 'firingee', and the non-Goan. They have all served as 'others in the Goan exercise of identity formation. We define ourselves in contrast to them. While these are others we recognise and talk a lot about, there is one important 'other' that is largely ignored.

It is the NRG or then non-resident Goan. While the NRG, one may argue, is not an 'other' in the same sense as a 'paclo' or a 'ghanti', since she is Goan in origin and in longing, the NRG satisfies the requirement of being an 'other' by the 'non-resident' prefix. Let me explain. There are at least three groups of Nags who play an important role in the Goan search for identity. There are the Bombay Goan, the Gulf Goan, and the overseas Goan (referring to those resident mainly in Europe, Australia and North America). They come with ideas, opinions, aspirations, with new fashions and lifestyles that are presented as contrasts to our own. We are required to respond. The NRG transfers her own problems of identity, from the society in which she is temporarily or permanently resident, to us and we innocently, because of our kinship relations, accept the terms of this transference leaving thereby our own identity continuously in the making.

The most benign NRG is the Gulf Goan. Her relationship with Goa is one of intense longing. Since she resides in the Gulf, knowing that she will be there only temporarily, Goa becomes the land of her dreams, the place she will return to when she has earned enough to lead a decent life. Every holiday she will take in Goa, not in London or Turkey or New York, but in Cansaulim or Vagator or Assolna. This regular homecoming is accompanying with lots of expensive gifts, of clothes, toys, electronic goods, and even gold. This flamboyant display of material goods is merely to announce an improved station in life. Her return is full of expectations and longing. Nirvana for the Gulf Goan is Goa with its 'feni', its 'xacuti' and its 'rechaido chonak'. The gulmohar tree, the mango blossom, the lazy Mandovi, the 'balcao', the volleyball game, the bull fight, and the fortunes of the Sesa Goa football team, the gossip about Joao's mother-in-law, the plans of the sarpanch, these are all of concern. She cannot seem to get enough of Goa. The Gulf is good only to earn a living, but Goa is the good life. There may be fine roads in Saudi, but there are also the religious police. The Gulf Goan comes with no criticisms but only with longing. We wait for the Gulf Goan. She values what we have.

The Bombay Goan is a little more critical. For her, we dress a little shabbily, don't disco enough, and take things too easily. Life here is too slow, and by that she is not sure whether it is good or bad. Much of the romance about Goa that the Gulf Goan nurtures, the Bombay Goan shares. Like her, she too overlooks the poor infrastructure. Goa for the Bombay Goan is pickles, and salt fish and mangoes, and lots of beer on the beach. Goa means siestas and cousins and perhaps summer romances before it is time to return to Dhobi Talao or Bandra or Malad. Our relationship with the Bombay Goan has changed in the last 20 years. In the beginning, she came with an air of superiority; but now we have become equals. Since we both live in India, she does not lecture us about corruption or democracy or public urinals. We share a common cynicism about life. We get along. She brings a lot of zip to our lives and makes the summers fun.

The most painful NRG of the three is the overseas Goan. She is a little Englishwoman all over again, come to spread civilization to a land, as she sees it, that is trapped in the dark ages. We are subjected to a replay of the white man's burden. Our roads are awful, our politicians have no integrity, our buses are overcrowded, the electricity keeps tripping, and our government officials are rude. A long list of complaints that makes Goa out to be a case for the cleaners. We who live here are idiots not to see these inadequacies and if we do see them we are still idiots for not doing anything about it. We are told how democracy works so well over there, even at the county level, how children must be disciplined. 'Susu' should be made in the potty not in the garden. Darling do not interrupt. You speak so loudly in Goa. No mango blossom here, no 'xacuti', and no romance with Marie Santan. Even romance with the overseas Goan is presented as a privilege, 100,000 dollars worth. This is the NRG energy. But we are simple people and this is the best Goa we have. We cannot go to Tooting or Toronto but only to Tivim. So we smile and feel apologetic and change our shirts every day. We buy frankfurters for breakfast and have cold milk with our cornflakes. But we secretly long for our cousins from the Gulf. Gives us romance. We have too much or realism. (Ends)

Family Feuds in Goa
http://www.colaco.net/1/feuds.htm
Reprinted with permission from | By: Ema Souza-Colaço (first published in 1999)

Excerpt…
It appears that Goans have made it an art form to disrupt weddings and devise, albeit unconsciously, novel methods to start arguments at or just after the reception. And this is supposed to be one of the most important days of the newly married couple. What a nightmare it turns out to be !

While putting together the article on the Homes for the Aged, I paused briefly to think about the quagmire of intrafamily politics. What exactly is the genesis of this problem and what can we all learn from the regular Goan 'family feuds'.

The crucial lesson is to try understand why they happen and how best to avoid them happening in the future to one's own family.

If one examines the issue dispassionately, it appears that family feuds occur in Goa for basically the same reasons as anywhere else in the world :

1. Greed
2. Misgivings
3. Sibling Rivalry

However, there are a couple of situations which are peculiar to Goa:

Lack of opportunity to bond adequately

A good number of Goan fathers have to leave their homes in order to earn a decent livelihood. Many of them spend up to a year on ships which travel the world over. The vast majority of these sailors have a hard life under difficult and life-threatening situations. They work for months on end and come home for a few months while they await their next sea-posting.

The first few weeks are 'happy days' for the whole family, but eventually boredom sets in and the quarrels take place. Soon however, it is time to go back for another tour of duty. This cycle of work - a happy return home, the quarrels and the departure, occurs every year and before anyone in the family realizes it, several years have passed and the children are already adults!

The story of Goans who work in the Arabian Gulf is only marginally better. The work is still very demanding, and the employers are mean, but at least, one gets to travel back home to Goa every six months or so. Time however passes by and the fragile bond between husband and wife, and between the parents and the children holds but only very tenuously.

Also present, is the problem of the new realities. The father who has by now become accustomed to living his life independently, finds the sounds of normal life in the house, too loud and unbearable. The children invariably bear the brunt of the shouts or smacks. The mother, too, has learnt to manage the affairs of the house, quite independently and efficiently. The new found independence sometimes creates problems for the man in the house. There is this strange closeness and yet distance, at the same time !

The jobs in the Arabian Gulf and on board the ship are temporary. Major problems hit the family when that job is no longer available. It is a competitive world out there and no place for the complacent. Even so, situations beyond one's control occur, like the Gulf war for instance when many Goans had to return home at short notice.

A family which had become accustomed to the good life, suddenly gets thrown into disarray. There is very little bonding to hold the family together during these very difficult times. Life for the Goan in Goa is no picnic either. Life in the cities is noisy with the accommodation cramped and expensive. So, most Goans who have houses in the villages, opt to live in the villages while traveling to and from work in the cities. The major hurdle here is transport. Sure, it is still feasible, for some, to save enough money to buy a car and pay for car-maintenance and petrol, but driving regularly on Goan roads is an unmitigated nightmare. So, most Goans end up opting to be transported home like sardines in so called buses.

If one has to get to work on time, one has to be out of the house by 6:30 am and hopefully expect to reach back home from work by 8:00 pm; tired, exhausted, sweaty and totally disjointed from the bumpy ride home. Is there time for bonding and developing relationships which will withstand the rigors of life?

The wedding circus :

Many of the major intrafamily tremors in Goa, take place at the time of weddings. I have never been able to understand what the whole tiatr at weddings is all about.

Almost like the 'calm before the storm', all seems to be proceeding according to plan. The bridal trousseau is ready, the groom's suit is in perfect shape, the catering is sorted out, the marriage bans are read, the band is booked and the invitations are all printed and distributed.

Suddenly..... all hell breaks loose !

"Someone was not properly invited, the dowry was not enough, some obscure aunt was not invited to be seated in the front pew of the church and the older brother was served cold soup etc. etc. etc." It appears that Goans have made it an art form to disrupt weddings and devise, albeit unconsciously, novel methods to start arguments at or just after the reception. And this is supposed to be one of the most important days of the newly married couple. What a nightmare it turns out to be !

What a way for the new couple to start their new life together.

When we add this disastrous start to the obstacles in the way of effective bonding available for Goans, we might perhaps understand why there is so much stress and mental illness amongst Goans and so much of that intrafamily feuding. Down the road, there is more salt for the wounds in the form of the interfering and often domineering in-laws and the nosey relatives.

A situation which is developing more frequently nowadays in Goa is the "objection" by the family to anyone the son or daughter chooses as a prospective wife or husband. The problem gets worse if the 'fiancé or fiancée' happens to be a non-Goan or of a different caste or religion.

And woe be to the person who decides to 'bring home' a foreigner !!

Now that we are parents or likely to be parents in the future, it is a good time for us, to mentally reflect upon these situations. If we are amongst those who have to work away from our families for prolonged periods of time, we might want to make a special effort to call and write home regularly.

E-mail is such a blessing. Even a small message or the occasional telephone call goes a long way to strengthen those family bonds.

Those of us who have to find our way through the Goan work and traffic chaos, might want to make a special effort to find the time to be genuinely nice to our families. The same could be said for all of us who travel great distances to and from our place of work, anywhere in the world.

This time when we could and should spend pleasantly together will not come back again. Before we know it, the years and opportunities to help nurture a beautiful relationship will have passed us by. Those of us who have children may wish to keep open the lines of communication which somehow seem to disappear as we go about the task of earning a living and earning even more, presumably for our children's sake; the same children we could lose contact with while we are struggling to build a nest for them !

It is during the phase while the children form their own relationships that parents are likely to make the most errors. Errors which lead to feuds which will eventually consume and destroy families. It is best for parents to support their children's choice, once the choice has been made. In closing, I wish to add that a lot depends upon us to prevent feuds within our own families. The problem is often with our very own egos.

I am not saying that we should compromise our principles, especially if they are well grounded and we are being fair. Only that, often, we may have to lose our egoistic prejudices for the benefit of our family!

©1999 Ema Souza-Colaço | Sept 6, 1999

Recession Blues
By Felix de Souza of Calgary- (first penned in 1995)

Many young men are out there
Jobless and depressed today.
Sometimes when I observe them
This is what they seem to say:

If I only had a job
This could be a happy world;
What I need is just a job
And perhaps a faithful girl.

If that good girl loved me true
She could be my faithful wife;
If she also had a job
We could live a happy life.

We could buy our own sweet home
- On a low-finance mortgage plan;
And what a thrill it sure would be
To have two little children.

We’d have blessings all around
Which nobody would dare rob;
I know all this could be true
If I only had a job.

Days of Yore ….
(Memories Of A Childhood Christmas)
Joan Do Rosario - Oakville, Ontario
"Reprinted from Dr Ribeiro Goan School Class of 64 archives"

Christmas means many things to many people. To me, Christmas is a time of pure magic. It is a season that inspires feelings of anticipation, joy and hope in one’s heart. It is the time when families reunite and get to see those loved ones they hadn’t been able to see all year. But, most especially, it is that special time of year that evokes the fondest memories of an idyllic childhood, those wonderful, magical days of yore…

As children, Christmas at our house was a huge event. We couldn’t wait until school closed for the holidays so we could start our preparations. Not being within the affluent upper echelon, supplies were limited, so the purchase of store-bought items was out of the question. However, it was common knowledge to those of us in the know, that anything was obtainable in Pangani with only minimum funds and much ingenuity. The first order of business on our list of preparations was Christmas cards. These, we would craft from scratch with whatever art supplies we could lay our hands on. Stiff paper was required and our parent’s desks and drawers were looted where they’d always yield enough paper, scissors, glue and anything else necessary for our amateur printing press. Whatever we couldn’t find in our own home, we’d scavenge from our many cousins’ and other relative’s homes. We would spend days crafting our Christmas cards with images of holly, Santas and snowmen, not that we had any firsthand knowledge of snowmen, but what we lacked in knowledge we amply made up for in imagination. We would print words and verses into the cards, mostly copied from real ones, then address them to our friends and relatives and stuff them into homemade envelopes in preparation for “mailing”. Unfortunately, actual mailing was not a viable option for obvious economic reasons and so, the introduction of our very own postman. We’d locate a gunny-sack which we’d fill with our cards and an appointed ‘postman’ would go from house to house on his or her bike with our precious delivery.

What project to tackle next? So much preparation, and not enough time. Ah, the crib. Of course as kids we couldn’t afford the ceramic figurines and professionally constructed crib scenes, so off we’d go to create our own very innovative reproductions. Much to our parent’s dismay, we’d build crude clay structures caking our ‘compound’ with a mess of muck. Remember those compounds? Most everybody who resided in Pangani had them. We’d pull up grass and weeds and ‘carpet’ the floor of our crib and fashion out a manger for the Baby Jesus. We’d dig out our old dolls and dress them in the likeness of Mary and Joseph and the three kings and voila! a homemade crib scene. The construction of our crib was always an outdoor event as we were afraid enough of our parents to not bring a mess into the house. And, as long as it was outside our parents were most encouraging and commended our efforts. Until we fussed about wanting to have our contraptions displayed in the living room…caking mud and all! My father, the more indulgent and accommodating of the two parents would generally come up with a table that was placed by the front door, outside, and the compromise kept us happy. Until the rain came and washed away our crib, grass roof and all!

Next on the agenda was the ‘kuswar’ stage of preparation. Those days were wonderful as our parents were at work all day and we had free reign to do as we pleased in the kitchen, and as long as we cleaned up before they got home, they’d never know. Not having any idea of what actually goes on in a kitchen, we’d make our cake using real flour, water and sugar – who told us that butter and eggs were also required in cake making? When our mother came home from work we’d beg her to put our concoction in the oven to bake, which she would indulgently do. What she absolutely drew the line at was, having to taste it. But then, who could blame her? We didn’t want to taste it either. We made dough for kul-kuls, which turned out to be anything but. However, flinging gobs of gooey dough at each other ended up being the highlight of our kuswar-making.

And finally, the big night would arrive. Christmas Eve. The most important night of the year. Santa was coming to our house. It was a tradition for as long as we could remember, that after midnight Mass Santa would be coming to our compound ringing his bells, albeit minus the reindeer and sleigh, but with an entourage of adult family members, some of the neighbours and their domestic help. As soon as we’d hear the first bell we’d jump out of bed and rush to the living room just as our Mom was heralding in the very important visitor and making him comfortable in our old rocking chair. Much to our impatience she would break out her kuswar tray and a measure of scotch. It never occurred to us to enquire how she knew how Santa liked his scotch. Nor, did it ever occur to us to doubt that our Dad never attended the advent of Santa because ‘he was too tired and needed to sleep’. We never even questioned it when, after Santa left, ringing his bell and taking his entourage with him, and we’d see a shadowy figure tiptoeing past our bedroom into our parents’ room. No, we were so overcome by the magic of Christmas Eve that we actually believed Santa had come from wherever it was that Santas came from. I think we did know about the North Pole, but…I digress. Our magical night was about to begin. Santa would rock to-and-fro in the rickety chair, drink in hand, tut-tutting us for our misdemeanors during the year, even enumerating them. In awed wonder we’d ask how he knew. And, of course, he’d answer that he was always ‘making a list and checking it twice.’ Oh, such magic! We would all dutifully promise to do better the next year, and he would then reach into his sack and distribute the gifts. The way it worked was that all our aunts and uncles (who formed part of Santa’s entourage…I guess they were what passed as Santa’s elves), would put all the gifts for the kids into Santa’s sack, so the bulging bag was just the most wonderful thing in the world. The handing out ceremony would go on and on and on. And then it was time for Santa to depart amid a chorus of jangling bells and raucous ho, ho, hos, leaving behind the warmth, happiness and joyful anticipation of Christmas Day which generally turned out to be Family Day.

We would all go to our grandparent’s home for a huge luncheon, together with four uncles and their wives, three aunts and their husbands, and a total of fourteen cousins. While the male adults drank and the female adults helped with the festive lunch preparations, the kids ran amok. My grandparent’s house abounded the Pangani River with a sizeable backfield to run wild in. We’d bring the toys we received from Santa and play and play and play.

Now, almost fifty years later, I still feel that magic pull of Christmas. Even though my kids are all grown up, and Santa is only a myth, I still dart around after midnight Mass when everyone’s gone to bed, filling a glass of milk and breaking off cookies in a plate by the chimney where the Christmas stockings hang. And on Christmas morning my twenty-something year old daughters still come down the stairs bleary eyed, exclaiming with pseudo-excitement “Oh look! Santa was here!” Like many of you, my family is scattered around the world and, unfortunately, I don’t have many close relatives nearby to re-live those old Christmas times. What I do have though, is a treasure trove of memories, thanks to the love and nurturing of parents who made the effort to create for us a wonderful childhood that I will always cherish. Warm memories of a houseful of people, lots of cheer, laughter, goodwill, plenty of food, and lots and lots of toys and kids to share with.

And now, from my home to yours, I would like to wish every one of you happiness, joy, peace and hope for a very Blessed Christmas and good health and Godspeed for the coming year.

Joan Do Rosario

Kunsvaar
Joseph T. D'Souza (Mississauga – Ontario)

To this day I remember vividly, and treasure the memory, of driving my Grandma to Church. Although the trip only lasted minutes our communication ranged from world politics, construction, soap operas, to my favourite topic, "life in the old days", and food. I always knew that if the conversation ended on food there would be something special for me.

On one such trip, around this time of the year, when people were preparing for the Christmas festivities, I asked Grandma, "how did the tradition of Kunsvaar (Christmas sweets) get started?" Quickly she responded, "Mother Mary made them to give to the people who came to see Baby Jesus, so we do it today". Shocked by the speed of the response and realizing that if I did not grab this opportunity to probe further I would lose not only knowing the history of such traditions, but also the possibility of getting some "goodies", I said to her, "but Grandma, if Jesus was born in a manger where did Mother Mary get the stove, or have the ingredients or the time to make the Kunsvaar?" There was silence from the back seat of my car. Yes! I could practically taste those "Kul Kuls".

Looking into my rear view mirror I saw my Grandma looking sadly back at me. Then she said, "you know Terry, my mother told me that and I never thought of questioning her. We just believed it to be true". Grandma's eyes now looked sad and confused and I realized that in a split second I had rocked the foundation of her beliefs and arguments, and I was sorry for pursuing my questioning.

Why do people gather to make sweets? What value does it have today when one can go into a store and purchase all kinds of goodies at half the cost of the labour and materials? These are the questions I wanted to ask Grandma, but realized could not be answered until the foundation was mended. We joked about this and I concurred that "of course it had to be discussed over a cup of tea and goodies".

Today I realize the foundation Grandma based her life on was that of "the family". Traditions and values were never challenged or considered outdated or "silly" in her days, they were meant to be carried on. It took courage for Grandma to state her values and she felt confident that the "family forum" was the place to test her ideals. I was lucky to be part of it.

I am told that in Goa, neighbours, family and friends still gather together to make Christmas sweets, not only to reduce the work load but also to exchange or express views, test new ideas, and to carry on the traditions that our ancestors left as our heritage. Hopefully we will learn from these old traditions, modify them to fit the present time. The family should always be a safe place to test new ideas, exchange views, carry on traditions with love and laughter and remember those who loved us and have gone on to their heavenly home.

Kul Kul Night is an opportunity for all of us, young and old, to get together to carry on the traditions and to introduce them to our young people as well as to build the bonds to test new ideas! June very kindly volunteered Uncle John's house and her services, on December 10, 1994, for all who would like to gather together to make Kul Kuls. Hazel has offered to provide us with some familiar Goan phrases (Konkanim) and words to add to the flavour.

Joseph Tarasius D'Souza

Editor’s Note:
Francios Pyrard, visited Goa and the East, and wrote the following in a book of his travels published in Paris, 1615

On Christmas Day in all the churches are represented the mysteries of the Nativity, with divers characters and animals introduced speaking; also marionettes and large rocks, and men within who make these figures act and speak as they will; everyone goes to see it. Even in most of the houses and at the cross streets they do the same; all along the streets, throughout the squares and wards, are tables laid with fine white napery, and covered with all manner of sugar-plums, dry comfits, marzipan, fashioned in a thousand ways, whereof everyone buys to give away in presents. It is like a fair and lasts until after Twelfth Night. By night they go and affix large bills inscribed with an Ano Bom, that is to say "Happy New Year", accompanying the same with instruments of music.