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Behind the News: Voices from Goa's Press

Various

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Title: Behind the News: Voices from Goa's Press

Author: Various

Release Date: March 9, 2004 [eBook #11523]

Language: English

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***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE NEWS: VOICES FROM

GOA'S

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Behind The News: Voices From Goa's Press

Copyleft, 2003. May be copied provided entire text is

kept intact, and credit is given to all who have

contributed to this work. While every attempt has been

made to maintain accuracy, we would appreciate

inaccuracies being pointed out. Feedback may be sent to

[email protected]

This book was collaboratively written between August

2003 and October 2003, through Goajourno, a cyber

network of journalists and former journalists who have

worked in Goa.

Copyleft 2003. Writers of the respective individual

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chapters retain their right to be identified as the

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First e-version: October 10, 2003 (draft)

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Sixties' stories: Free Goa's first elections

Chapter 2 Goan journalism: Views from near and far

Chapter 3 West Coast Times : A dream ruined

Chapter 4 Novem Goem: The Roof Caves In

Chapter 5 The Herald of A New Ethos

Chapter 6 oHERALDo: an untold chapter

Chapter 7 The banyan tree: working under Rajan

Chapter 8 Rural Goa, unheard, unsung...

Chapter 9 A year apart... journalism and leaving home

Chapter 10 Growing up with the Herald...

Chapter 11 In black & white... newsdesk nuggets

Chapter 12 The proof of it all...

Chapter 13 Birth pangs at Sant Inez

Chapter 14 An era of free sheeters

Chapter 15 Journalism in Goa: An outsider looks in

Chapter 16 An accidental Bhailo

Chapter 17 Why Konkani failed its readers...

Chapter 18 Romi Konkani, hanging on a cliff

Chapter 19 Comrades in crime: Police reporting

Chapter 20 Of sports... and sports journalism

Chapter 21 From journalist... to publisher

Introduction

If you believe in miracles, here is a small one. An

e-book, written collaboratively by over a

dozen-and-half journalists, many with amazing stories

to tell. Their willingness to do so, says something.

For one, it indicates a generosity to convert memories

into history, which would otherwise have been consigned

to the dustbin of amnesia. This is particularly true,

as the media seldom writes critically about themselves

in Goa. More importantly, it also suggests that there

are many in Goa who have a story, and are willing to

narrate it. If only they're given a chance. As

mediapersons, we need to ask ourselves why these

stories are not allowed (or encouraged) to surface in

the first place. It's impossible to believe that there

ads:

is such a drought of ideas and issues in Goa, and the

general lack of debate in the media would make it seem.

October 10, 2003 marks the 20th anniversary of the

Herald's English-language edition. Many of us

journalists who contributed here are no longer, or

perhaps never were, associated with that daily

newspaper. But, the launch of this product undeniably

opened up avenues for a generation of journalists in

the state. In addition, it rewrote the rules of

journalism for all of us here, for better or worse.

Hence the choice of this date for the first release of

this book.

What is being said along these e-pages refers to

critical times in the history of post-1961 Goa.

Needless to say, views voiced here stem from personal

experiences, oftentimes are subjective, and likely to

generate even more debate. But personal viewpoints are

also important, in that these help to complete our

understanding of particular events, episodes, and

individuals. It is no coincidence perhaps that this

series of essays is critical of some held up as icons

of Goa's journalism over the past four decades. You

might feel the criticism is unfair; but other versions

do need to be heard.

This is, of course, not the last word on the subject.

Nor does it claim to be a comprehensive account -- what

got included depended on who was willing to write their

'story' when the call for chapters went out.

This unusual work is humbly devoted to those who are

not, or cannot, be with us, as we go down the corridors

of time and look at the past decades. Journalists whom

Goa has produced, but perhaps were never adequately

recognised over the years. Like the innovative Ivan

Fera, who died young along with the promise of immense

talent and many bylines in journals like The

Illustrated Weekly. Or, Norman Dantas, who's early

death was at least in part triggered off by despair

brought on by the unfair deal he got from journalism in

Goa. We need to also remember the many who are not here

with us, pushed out -- both by limited opportunities,

as also politics in the press -- to migrate far and

wide and earn a living on distant shores. To all of

them, and the unsung heroes of journalism of the

post-Liberation era, this e-book is devoted.

Chapter 1:

Sixties' stories: Free Goa's first elections

By Ben AntaoBesides his stint referred to in this chapter, Benedito

Martinho Herculano Antao (b, 1935) worked for the

Indian Express in Bombay (1965-66). He then won a

journalism award from the World Press Institute, moved

to the US for a year's study, work and travel. Later,

he spent 10 weeks at the Denver Post (1967), worked for

a Catholic weekly in Toronto, and was a copy editor in

the mid-seventies at a major Toronto daily. He also

taught high school English, drama and religion for 22

years, before retiring in 1998, and qualified as a

certified financial planner in 1988. Currently, he is

involved in fiction writing, for which purpose he sees

journalism as a "great training ground".

There is a truism in journalism that goes like this:

facts are sacred; comment is free.

When I first read it in one of the books on journalism

that I borrowed from the USIS library in Bombay in the

late 'fifties, I was filled with such fervor as to

consider the vocation in journalism that I was

contemplating on, at the time, akin to the priesthood.

The concept of 'freedom of the press' particularly

attracted and engaged my young mind, burning with

idealism to bring about genuine equality in Indian

society and to see us as a truly "honorable people" as

the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru had said we were.

In other words, journalism would offer me a platform to

make a difference.

After a season of doing freelance sports reporting for

The Indian Express in the city now called Mumbai, I

felt much like a lover. One who is not content with

merely kissing but wants to explore the whole body. And

as a follower of another truism, namely, he who seeks

finds the way, lucky circumstance fell into my lap and

I found myself doing freelance work for the Goan Tribune,

a fortnightly published in Bombay to espouse the

cause of Goa's political freedom from the Portuguese rule.

Here I got the opportunity not only to write about

sports, but also to do general news reporting and

profiles of prominent Goans. In little over a year,

though, my budding love affair discovered a flaw in my

inamorata -- the lady fancied the use of hyperbole and

propaganda as legitimate means to promote herself. My

idealism received a jolt of reality when Lambert Mascarenhas,

editor of the periodical then, engaged in

propagandist campaigning, suggesting that such slanted

writing was necessary to achieve the end. However, my

burning desire to express myself in writing overruled

my squeamishness.

After the Liberation of Goa in 1961, Lambert went to

Goa and became joint editor of a new English-language

daily, The Navhind Times, owned and published by the

Dempo Brothers, who had become wealthy in the mining

business. My fascination for the mistress of journalism

remained still intact, not to mention the hidden agenda

of my wanting to change the world.

So I went to Goa and joined the paper in June 1963.

Considering myself as a protege of Lambert, I enjoyed a

special status at the paper, doing both reporting and

sub-editing. It didn't take me long, though, to notice

that Vassantrao Dempo, the elder brother, was keenly

interested in the image of his newspaper and its

editorials. He had hired two editors, a Catholic and a

Hindu named T. V. Parvate from Maharashtra, ostensibly

to give balance to the paper's news and views. Often at

around 5:30 p.m., I would see Mr. Dempo carefully

perusing the editorial that Lambert or Parvate had

written before it came to the newsroom. The editors

wrote on alternate days. I would know, for example,

that Dempo had suggested a change in how a certain

point of view was expressed in Lambert's editorial

because Lambert often invited me to sit across his desk

while he wrote an editorial that was based on my news

report. Mr. Parvate, a fast and fluent writer, only

occasionally asked me into his partitioned office to

verify a fact or a figure.

Naturally, my curiosity propelled me to ask Lambert why

it was necessary for him or Parvate to have their

editorials okayed by the ultimate boss. After all, both

of them were professionals who knew and understood the

law of libel and defamation. Lambert, flashing his

customary smile by way of indulging me, a novice in the

game of politics, said it was a condition of his

contract. Besides, what was the big deal? An editor

could just as well express his own viewpoint as that of

the owner. It wasn't a loss of freedom. We live and let live.

Reporters too

I thought about it and gradually came to the conclusion

that reporters also indulged in self-censorship. Facts

may appear to be sacred, but as a reporter I choose

them to slant a 'story' in a particular way. Moreover,

space in a newspaper is always limited, forcing me to

write to a certain word count, in effect compelling me

to sacrifice many 'facts'.

The above was true not only in Goa and Bombay where I

worked as a general reporter for The Indian Express

(1965-66) but also in Toronto where I worked as a copy

editor on the foreign desk of The Globe and Mail in

1975-76. The foreign editor would throw at me reams of

teletype copy from Reuters, Associated Press,

Agence-France Presse, and The New York Times News Service

on a current story, such as race riots in

Johannesburg, or post-revolution democracy woes in Portugal

or the Patty Hurst kidnapping by the Symbionese

Liberation Army in San Francisco, and ask me for a

10-inch column story. This required that I cut out a

lot of 'facts' from the 2000 words of wire copy and

shape a news story in about 500 words.

Going back to Goa, I remember the one-sided coverage

that Navhind Times carried during the month-long

campaign for the historic, first general elections held

on December 9, 1963. And I was part of it.

Now Vaikuntrao Dempo, younger brother of Vassantrao,

was a Congress candidate in the Pernem constituency.

The Dempo Brothers had made a substantial cash

contribution to the national Congress Party, in effect

buying a ticket for Vaikuntrao in the Goa elections.

The local Goa Pradesh Congress Committee, headed by

Purushottam Kakodkar, a freedom fighter and an apostle

of Mahatma Gandhi, was deluged with names of suitable

candidates. It was hard pressed to make a judicious

choice, a key problem being the candidate's vision of

the future of Goa.

At this time, after the 30-member Goa Legislative

Consultative Council, headed by Maj.-Gen. Candeth, the

mustachioed military governor, was dissolved and a writ

for the first democratic elections was issued, two new

political parties came into being and declared their

election platforms. One was the United Goans, led by

Dr. Jack de Sequeira, which stood for a separate state

for Goa. The other was the Maharashtrawadi Gomantak Party,

with Dayanand Bandodkar at its helm, which stood for

Goa's merger with Maharashtra. The Congress, waffling

in between, promised that Goans would be consulted

about its future in the Indian union.

The elder Dempo let it be known that his paper would

support the Congress in the elections and, therefore,

all news coverage must be oriented towards Congress

candidates. And as the chief reporter at the paper, it

fell to my lot to deliver the news with this bias. On

the campaign trail, I traveled the length and breadth

of Goa, speaking to Congress candidates and often

manufacturing 'news' that purported to show that

people, by and large, were in favor of Congress

candidates. Lambert and I even drove to Pernem one day

to see how Vaikuntrao's campaign was coming along.

However, my one dependable contact was none other than

the 50-year-old Purushottam Kakodkar. His office in

Panjim was open to me at any hour of the day. Knowing

that our paper was solidly behind him, he was generous

with his time and forthcoming, giving me full access to

campaign reports sent to head office from the various

constituencies. During the campaign, Lal Bahadur Shastri,

the Indian Home Minister, visited Goa to lend his

support to the Congress candidates. Kakodkar arranged

for me an exclusive interview with the minister. In the

interview, Shastri affirmed that a separate status for

Goa was on the cards. A day after my story appeared on

the front page, Kakodkar told me that Shastri was

pleased with my report and had asked him to extend his

congratulations to me. I was more than touched by this

solicitude. I was feeling giddy, riding on the carousel

of a mutual admiration society.

My friend Ben Saldanha of PTI in Panjim filed a report

based on my interview; so did Joshi of The Times of India

bureau. As a representative of a news agency, Saldanha,

of course, had to be objective and he was. As a

matter of fact, he would often feed me stories about

the other two parties, based on the 'inside'

information he had received. He himself couldn't use

that information for his news agency, but I could. And

whenever I mentioned this 'fact' to my editors, I was

told to just let it pass.

Now, as the campaign was getting into high gear,

another friend L. S. Bhandare, an architect by

profession, who represented UNI (United News of India)

told me that the United Goans' campaign (workers

dashing about in open trucks with loud music and

handing out campaign literature) reminded him of

elections in London, England. He too drew my attention

to how successfully the UG party was appealing to the voters.

Convinced

But having persuaded myself willfully with

auto-suggestion, and having been on a one-track

crusade, I remained convinced that Congress would win

the day. On the eve of the election, a day of pause in

electioneering, I wrote an upbeat story (about three

takes) and handed it to Mr. Salkhade, the news editor

from Maharashtra. He scanned the intro and set it in

the tray of stories for the front page. Then he looked

up and said to me, "You know, Kakodkar is going to be

the chief minister of Goa."

It was about 4 p.m. Something in the tone of his voice

gave me pause. Then a wild notion entered my head, a

spur-of-the-moment impulse, with no rhyme or reason, a

mad folly that sometimes seizes lovers at play. I

phoned Kakodkar.

"Hello, Purushottam." Although only 28, I was now on

first-name basis with him.

"Hello Ben."

"It's a day of rest for you today. Is everything okay?"

"Fine."

"I've just finished writing my lead story for the paper

tomorrow. Looks like Congress will win with an

overwhelming majority. You must be pleased with the

campaign. What do you think?"

"We have to wait and see," he said in a voice devoid of

any emotion, but not exhausted. In this respect,

Kakodkar came across as cool and circumspect, a man in

full control of his emotions.

Mr. Salkhade was busy editing copy at the other end of

the newsroom, beyond earshot. That wild notion came

rushing again, prompting me to make the pitch, even if

it was only hypothetical.

"Purushottam, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, of course."

"You know our paper has been very good to you and the

Congress. And I, more than anybody else, have been

responsible for all the publicity you've received. Soon

you'll become the chief minister of Goa. Now I want to

ask you: what will you do for me?"

A pause and, "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, if you become the chief minister, can

I be your press secretary?"

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"I can't do it."

"Listen, I know you're not the chief minister yet. But

in the event that you do become the chief minister,

could you not at least tell me what your disposition

will be?"

"No."

"You know, I can't believe you're saying this. I am not

asking you for a job. I already have a job. All I am

asking is, if you become the chief minister, what will

you do for me? That's all."

"I can't do anything," he said.

"That's the answer I get after all that I have done for

you? I am disappointed. Goodbye and good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you," he said and put the phone down first. I

pictured him, in his customary white khadi bush shirt

and pants, wearing a self-righteous expression on his face.

During this call, over the carriage of my Underwood

typewriter, I was watching the news editor for my voice

carried unusually far. But he was focused on his work

and didn't look up in my direction.

I lit up a cigarette and hunched over the typewriter,

dismayed beyond description. I had heard that Kakodkar

was a highly principled man, and then with a sinking

feeling in my gut, I realized I was being used, a means

to the end. I shall never forget that moment.

Then I walked to my favorite bar to nurse my bruised ego.

Three days later, the election results came out. The Congress

was wiped out without a single seat in Goa. The MG won

14 seats to the UG's 12, with two independents, plus an

independent winning in Diu and a lone Congress victory

in Daman.

I kept brooding about Kakodkar. Did he know something

that I didn't? Was that why he said he couldn't do

anything for me? I had no heart to ask him that. After

that personal and private telephone conversation, the

two of us carried on as if nothing had happened. And

during the next year, my encounters with Kakodkar

became strictly professional but cordial.

Echoes in Toronto

But the manipulation of news by newspaper proprietors

was not limited to Goa. I heard a similar echo in

Toronto in the nineties.

In the 1988 elections, the Progressive Conservative

Party of Canada, led by Prime Minister Brian Mulroney,

had won a second majority with 169 seats out of 295 in

the House of Commons. The Liberals were in opposition

with 83. In the ensuing five years, the Mulroney

government brought in a new bill called Goods and

Services Tax, a highly controversial measure that

proved unpopular with the majority of Canadians. Still,

the government went ahead and passed the tax bill -- a

7% tax on all goods and services effective January

1990. During this term, Mr. Mulroney was also

criticized for being too friendly with the Americans.

In the 1993 election, the public was fed up with the

Tories (PC) as reflected in the opinion polls. But the

press and media had no clear idea as to how deeply the

people loathed the policies of the Tories. The shocker

came on the night of the election-October 25. The fall

from grace for the Tories was as stunning as it was

deserved. They won only two seats in total, each in the

province of New Brunswick and Quebec. The Liberals, led

by Jean Chretien, returned with a huge majority of 177

seats. The Liberals are still in power, having won the

next two elections in 1997 and 2000.

However, an interesting development regarding the power

of the press took place in 1998. A wealthy Canadian

newspaper mogul named Conrad Black financed a new daily

in Toronto called The National Post. Black told readers

that his paper would advance an alternative point of

view, a far right conservative position on politics in

Canada. As owner of London's Daily Telegraph, the

Jerusalem Post, and Chicago's Sun-Times, Mr. Black

hired top talent and spared no expense, at least for

the first two years, to make the Post successful in

creating and wooing the conservative voice in Canada.

In the 2000 election, his paper became as one-sided as

Navhind Times was in 1963. The paper supported a new

party called Canadian Alliance, a highly conservative

group drawn mostly from western Canada, and was

hell-bent to destroy Prime Minister Jean Chretien and

the Liberals. Alas, the people didn't buy it! And the

Liberals forged ahead with a third majority win.

During this time, Mr. Black's personal agenda of

wanting to be a peer in the House of Lords in England

came out front and centre. The British Prime Minister

Tony Blair recommended and the Queen accepted that

Conrad Black be made a Lord. But sweet revenge raised

its arms and Jean Chretien said Black couldn't be a

Lord while being a Canadian citizen. Black was forced

to renounce his Canadian citizenship. Not only that,

but Black sold the National Post in 2001 for a tidy

profit. He is now Lord Black of Crossharbour in the

House of Lords.

I started this article with the observation that facts

are sacred and comment is free. Both elements of

journalism, it seems to me, are flawed. Like beauty and

sex, freedom of the press is in the eye of the beholder

and in the loins of the performer. It's all relative,

never absolute.

Chapter 2:

Goan journalism: Views from near and far

Eugene CorreiaCanada-based Eugene Correia has worked for a wide range

of national-level newspapers published in India.

Besides those listed below, he has also written for

India Today, and a number of expat Indian publications

published from overseas. What stands out is this

journalist's sharp understanding of Goan issues and

politics, and his memory for detail, all the more

remarkable since he has been based outside Goa for

virtually his entire working life.

I must admit I have no direct connection with

journalism in Goa, in the sense of having worked in the

state. However, I was involved in Goan journalism in

Mumbai (then Bombay), but that too in a limited way. I

wrote few pieces for the Konkani-language papers such

as The Goa Times and Ave Maria and the English-Konkani

weekly, The Goan Sports Weekly. After Goa's Liberation,

and till I left India for Canada in late 1981, I took

more than a cursory look at how journalism is practiced

in Goa. I read The Navhind Times often, as the paper

was available in Mumbai during the 1970s.

I was involved in mainstream journalism in Mumbai since

my college days, first with The Indian Express and

later with the Free Press Journal. I provided freelance

services for both papers in the sports department. It

was my dad's cousin, Felix Valois Rodrigues, who

inspired me to take up journalism. A versatile writer

in English, Konkani and Portuguese, he worked for the

Indian Express in New Delhi till his retirement.

Getting into the field

Felix Uncle, as I called him, introduced me to the news

editor of Indian Express in Mumbai and I was given a

chance to work in the sports department under CSA Swami

. The news editor, S Krishnamoorty, popularly known as

SKM, who regarded by many as more powerful then the

editor because of his close relationship with Ramnath Goenka,

The Indian Express proprietor.

As a freedom fighter who served in jail for his

anti-Portuguese activities, Rodrigues was

well-connected in Goa. After my graduation, he gave me

an introductory letter to Lamberto Mascarenhas, who was

by then no longer the joint editor of The Navhind Times,

Goa's first English-language daily.

Mascarenhas, in turn, gave me an introductory note to

K.S.K. Menon, who had been co-editor with Mascarenhas,

and later promoted to editor. I took the letter to

Menon and, after reading it, said he would contact me

if any position arose.

He gave me back the note. I read the Mascarenhas'

scribbled note and was shocked. Mascarenhas had

introduced me as a "chap" from "my village". It was

true, we both came from Colva, but to a young man like

me seeking a job it was horrifying to read a learned

man like Mascarenhas call me a chap.

It's also true that Mascarenhas and I belong to

different strata in Goa's caste system. I couldn't

believe a man of his stature could introduce me in such

a demeaning way. I think I have the note somewhere in

my collection of memorabilia.

I never got a job at The Navhind Times. In later years,

I met Mascarenhas in the office of Goa Today. From his

days at The Navhind Times to owning Goa Today,

Mascarenhas had become an icon in Goan journalism. He

had also gained reputation as a novelist for his

acclaimed book, Sorrowing Lies My Land. In subsequent

years, I learnt a lot about Mascarenhas as a man and

his role as a freedom fighter in the liberation

struggle in Mumbai. One of his best friends, Professor

Edward Mendonca taught me at St. Xavier's College.

Mendonca and I came to know each other well after me

finishing my graduation. Twice I saw him very drunk and

I had to hail a taxi for him and drop him near his

house in Colaba.

Mendonca reputation for booze is legendary as his

mastery over the English language and his ability to

teach. He and me spoke at times of Mascarenhas's

reputed novel. Mendonca's hand can be been throughout

the book, and many English scholars have also been

curious about it. Because of his alcoholism, it became

easy for many to dismiss Mendonca's influence in

Mascarenhas's book as a boast from a drunkard. Those

like me who knew Mendonca reasonably well have reason

to believe that Mendonca could be anything but a liar.

I held no grudge against Mascarenhas for calling me a

"chap", but deep inside me I carried the wound. Even in

Goa I would go to see him. On one such visit, I asked

him if he would provide me with an opportunity to write

for his magazine. He dismissed me summarily saying he

prefers reputed writers. I thought he would encourage a

young journalist like me. I resolved never to write for

the magazine and I have never written for it.

When I learnt the magazine was taken over by the Salgaocars,

I felt happy. Happy not because the magazine no

longer belonged to Mascarenhas, but happy because I

felt the new owners and the new editor would give

opportunities to new writers. As we now know, it has

happened. Goa Today was no longer the domain of one man

and his ego.

On another visit during summer, I was dressed in a

suit. I was to meet the then Chief Minister Dayanand Bandodkar

and later attend a wedding in the city. Since I had no

personal means of transport, for me to travel from

Bogmallo to Panaji and back twice would be difficult,

so I had worn the suit and left home early morning. As

soon as I told Mascarenhas that I was going to meet

Bandodkar, Mascarenhas's face changed colour. He

admonished me for wearing a suit to see the chief

minister, saying that journalists must be dressed

informally. I explained to Mascarenhas, but I could see

that Mascarenhas bore some hatred for the late

Bhausaheb, as the chief minister was affectionately known.

That very same day, I met some journalists, including

Michael Fernandes who, I believe, was The Indian Express

correspondent in Goa. I told them that Mascarenhas

seemed piqued at me for wearing a suit. If I remember

correctly, Fernandes said that Mascarenhas has a

personal bias against Bandodkar regarding the

withdrawal of government advertisement. He told me that

Mascarenhas and Bandodkar were once on a friendly

basis, but both had fallen apart.

I think my second adventure in getting a job in Goa

came when Erasmo de Sequeira launched his paper, Goa Monitor

. I applied for a position but never got appointed. The

paper lived for a brief time.

Some years later, my uncle told me that he has an offer

from the Chowgules to start a Konkani daily. I came to

Goa for a visit and went to see Rodrigues at his

residence in Darbandora. He and I designed the logo for Uzvadd,

though it may have been refined when the paper was

launched. Rodrigues never took up the position as he

was to be under the editorial supervision of Madhav Gadkari,

the then editor of Gomantak. Gadkari was fiercely pro-Marathi

and my uncle felt his efforts to promote Konkani journalism

would be subverted by Gadkari. To my surprise, Evagrio Jorge,

the noted freedom fighter and news reader at

All-India Radio in Panaji, was its first editor. The

paper was well received. As expected, Jorge and the

owners or probably Gadkari had a difference of opinion.

In a short time, Jorge was out and he launched his own

paper, Novem Uzvadd.

Throwing light on Uzvadd

Without the financial muscles of the Chowgules that

sustained Uzvadd, Jorge's paper suffered. I think it

was also during this time that a group started another Konkani

daily, Novem Goem. I am not sure why Uzvadd eventually

folded up.

My friend, Cyril D'Cunha, started a sports weekly

called Goal, and I was its Mumbai correspondent. I

contributed many stories till the paper went under for

reasons unknown to me. This was my direction connection

to Goa's journalism. Later on, I was offered a job at

the West Coast Times, a daily launched by the House of

Timblos. At least two senior colleagues of mine at the

Free Press Journal went to Goa to start the paper. One

of them was Y.M. Hegde and the other, P.R. Menon.

Before going to Goa and even after the paper began

publishing from Margao in South Goa, Hegde said it

would be good for me to come to Goa. I forget the year

it was launched and if I was still a freelancer at the

Free Press Journal or on its staff. By then, I was not

keen on settling down in Goa. To me, Goa was still in

the backwaters of journalism. To leave a city like

Mumbai where journalism made blood rush in one's veins,

and go to Goa, where things moved at a snail's pace,

was something I dreaded. When I wanted to come to Goa,

I was found unwanted.

After leaving Free Press Journal and joining The Hindu,

I met Raul Fernandes one day in Mumbai. He was scouting

for talent for O Heraldo, then about to be turned into

an English-language daily. I knew Fernandes, though not

as well as his brother John and his dad, Antonio

Caetano Fernandes.

The Fernandes family was close friends with my friends

in Mumbai, the Ribeiros, owners of the Goan restaurant

in Dhobitalao called Snowflake. When in Goa, my friend

and I went to see AC, as he was popularly known, at the

Casa JD Fernandes store in Panaji. And whenever John

came to Mumbai to get supplies for their store, he

would visit Snowflake where I hung out most of my time.

Raul Fernandes and I met at the Kyani Restaurant in Dhobitalao

and he offered me to come to Goa as chief reporter.

The offer was unattractive financially for me to leave

The Hindu. I was given the impression that Ervelle Menezes,

than with Indian Express in Mumbai, was joining as

editor. Fernandes was in consultation with Menezes, I

was told. At a second meeting, Fernandes informed me

that Rajan Narayan was chosen to be the editor. I was

surprised. I never had any admiration for Narayan's

journalism. I had heard some stories about his

resignation from The Mirror, a monthly publication from

the Eve's Weekly group. Even though the offer of chief

reporter was not tempting, I was not keen on working

under Narayan.

I knew Narayan on a hi-and-bye basis when I was at Free

Press Journal and he was at Onlooker, a

sister-publication from the Free Press Journal group. I

forget what position he held at the Onlooker magazine,

and whether Narayan was there when M.J. Akbar edited it

or later when M. Rahman took over.

I once covered a function at the United States

Information Services (USIS) office in Mumbai where

Narayan was present. A well-known scholar of Black

studies was visiting Mumbai from the United States.

Narayan carried with him a book by this scholar. I

found it very preposterous on Narayan's part to bring

the heavy volume to the meeting.

In fairness to Narayan, he made O Heraldo what it's

today. I also heard some allegations about his

wheeling-dealing with powers-that-be in the government.

Many journalists and some politicians told me that

Narayan deserved the violent attack on him as his

journalism was biased. No matter what his journalism

is, the attack on him was a shameful incident in the

history of Goan journalism.

I am told he's Goa's bravest journalist. Maybe true, as

I am in no position to judge that from here in Canada.

But I find his writing very weak. His editorials and

columns have lot of spelling errors and the grammar is

often flawed. His column, Stray Thoughts, is not well

composed. Just a month or so ago, someone gave me old

copies of O Heraldo. Going through his column, I found

his thoughts not very cohesive. He writes in a

disjointed way. One thing I will agree, he writes

strongly, not sparing those whom he targets. If carving

a well-written piece is his fault, then using strong

language is his forte. I form my opinion not on just

the few papers I read recently, but also from reading O

Heraldo during my visits to Goa and from those at times

posted on the Goanet email list (http://www.goanet.org).

On holiday

Just after a year's stay in Canada, I came to Goa on a

holiday. One fine day, Fulgencio Rodrigues, once the

leader of the toddy-tappers association and a candidate

for the assembly, and a fellow-villager in Bogmallo,

came to my house and told me that Umaji Chowgule wanted

to meet with me.

I was taken aback as I didn't know Umaji personally.

Rodrigues, who worked for the Chowgules, took me on his

scooter to meet him Umaji at the Chowgule offices. To

my surprise, he offered me a job as joint editor of a

sports daily the Chowgules were then planning on

launching. The other editor was to be Antonio Botelho,

a former sports writer at The Navhind Times, who I knew

well, both as writer and later as one of the

office-bearers of the Goa Football Association.

I was a landed immigrant in Canada and my first

experience in Canada was not very good. There was

recession then on and I was finding it difficult to get

a job in my field. I worked in a warehouse for

sometime, making enough money to buy a ticket to India.

The offer came with a flat in the Sant Inez locality of

Panaji and a car. I told Umaji that if I accept the

position, I would forfeit my landed immigrant status in

Canada. I asked if what would happen if the paper

failed to fly. He said he would absorb me in the public

relations department of the Chowgules. I went to Sant

Inez with one of the Chowgule officers to select a

flat. I picked one. After that I went to the Gomantak

building to meet with Narayan Athawale, editor of Gomantak

. Umaji had explained that Athawale would be the

overall in charge of the new paper.

After speaking to Athawale, I met some workers. I

noticed some tension among them regarding the launch of

a new paper. The workers felt that profits from the Gomantak

paper would be diverted to sustain the new sports

daily. In other words, the workers would get lesser

bonuses. The atmosphere in the press seemed vitiated. I

was also aware of what happened to Evagrio Jorge. I was

contemplating whether I should risk my Canadian

immigration to remain in Goa. My heart and mind was

divided, and so was my family. My dad said I should

stay back as the job prospects in Canada very dim, but

my mom said I should go back and see what the future holds.

At the same time I was engaged and in a week or two

would get married. My future wife insisted that I

forego the offer and return to Canada. I gave the whole

thing a good thought and decided to tell Umaji that I

was not interested. He had told me that if I decide to

accept the offer, I should finally meet Ramesh Chowgule

who, I think, was the managing director of the Chowgule

group. I believe the paper was never launched. To this

day, I am not sure how the Chowgules came to know about

me. My hunch is that Prashant Joshi, former official of

the Goa Cricket Association, whose family owns the

Joshi and Sons Auto Center in Vasco, told Umaji about

me. I had gone to visit Joshi in Vasco when I came to Goa.

During my next visit to Goa, I was happy to know that

one of my colleagues at Free Press Journal, Padiyar,

was editor of The Navhind Times with another former

colleague, M.M. Mudaliar, as his associate. In fact,

Mudaliar was passed over by the management after Bikram Vohra

left to go to Khaleej Times in Dubai. Mudaliar and me

had lunch one day in a Panaji restaurant and he seemed

quite distraught. Padiyar, who joined The Navhind Times

from The Times of India where he had moved from Free

Press Journal, had a brief stint as editor as he passed

away following a heart attack.

I knew the publisher of The Navhind Times, Vilas Sardesai,

well because of his involvement with soccer. Once

when I was in Goa, he, D'Cunha and I travelled in a car

he borrowed from Vohra, as his own car was unavailable,

all the way from Panaji to Margao to watch a soccer

match. I never asked Sardesai for a favour to get me a

job at The Navhind Times. I was content working in

Mumbai where journalism flourished those days and

continues to do so till today.

Grown since

When I check websites of Goan papers or when some

friends and family bring Goan papers to Canada from

their visits, I notice that Goan journalism has grown

since I saw it first-hand. It behooves well for this

field that Goa now enjoys many dailies and has

correspondents of many leading Indian papers.

The quality of reporting and editing is still not very

impressive. What is, however, impressive is that the

new breed of journalists shows lot of guts and

vitality. I once discussed the teaching of journalism

with Fr. Planton Faria, who used to run the Diocesan

Communication Centre at the Archbishop's House at

Altinho in Panaji.

He showed me the student paper and I saw some good

writing. I am not aware if the centre is still

operating. Fr. Faria was editing a Konkani paper while

also running the centre.

It has been my ambition to have a journalism college in

Goa named after Frank Moraes, one of the finest editors

in Indian journalism. There may be many who would

dispute my suggestion on the basis that Moraes didn't

do anything for Goan journalism per se, and I totally

agree. No matter he did play a direct role in Goan

journalism, but he was a Goan journalist of repute.

One may argue that during the Portuguese days there

were many Goan journalists who played crucial roles in

promoting Goan journalism. Some of these journalists,

who were also leaders, were in the forefront of Goa's

liberation struggle. Maybe so, Moraes too played a

vital background role in Goa's liberation, largely

because of his close friendship with Prime Minister

Jawaharlal Nehru.

Whatever the case, a college of journalism, affiliated

to the Goa University, is a dream that I cherish and

hope it would be realized in my lifetime. Goa has a

privileged status in the history of the written word in

India with the publication of the first-ever book in

the country. Journalism is part of the written word

and, hence, a college that fosters the growth of

journalism would be ideal in the serene surrounding of

Goa's educational landscape. That's my thought to

ponder for those in the decision-making positions.

Chapter 3:

West Coast Times : A dream ruined

Valmiki Faleiro One of Goa's own, home-grown profilic writers between

the mid-seventies and mid-eighties, Faleiro worked his

way through other professions too, before coming back

to commit himself in writing once again, only to reveal

a style that remains as readable as ever. Luckily for

Goa, Faleiro doesn't rule out the possibility of taking

to the pen -- or should one say, the computer keyboard

-- sometime in the near future.

Summer, 1978. Whether Goa's only English daily hit

newsstands in Margao at 9 or at 11 in the morning,

mattered little. I was preparing for my final B.Com.

exams due in a few weeks and had, in any case, tired

myself of asking The Navhind Times' management to make

it a newspaper (for us in South Goa) that went with

breakfast, not brunch.

My association with The Navhind Times (NT) had begun

precisely on February 23, 1975. NT carried an article

penned jointly by D.M. Silveira and me. (Silveira was

one of my two English lecturers at Margao's Damodar College

and, with the other, B.G.Koshy, later turned to

journalism: Silveira was Editor, ONLOOKER, of Mumbai's

FPJ group and Koshy the Associate Ed. of The Current Weekly.)

Then on, the NT Editor, Dr. K.S.K. Menon, encouraged me

to write. Off and on, he would also commission me to do

Sunday features, sometimes full-page, on topics of

prevailing reader interest. Between 1975 and 1978, I

had some 45 by-lines at the NT, then a 6-pager (10

pages on Sunday.)

Sometime in between, Dr. K.S.K. asked me to join the NT

desk -- with free education at Dempo College of Commerce

and no-night-shifts baits. I ought to have grabbed the

offer. The company was great: K.P. Nair (News Ed), the

incredibly witty Balan (Chief Sub), my friend Patrick Michael

(a gifted Malayalee who, with me, but surreptitiously,

covered North Goa for The Current Weekly -- together we

had done the Siddarth Bandodkar shooting story, but who K.S.K.

ensured stayed as Proof Reader without promotion at

the NT!) Gabru and Cyril D'Cunha were at the desk and

Gurudas R. ("Kaka") Singbal, Pramod Khandeparkar and

Jovito Lopes on the field?

For reasons that will take me off this track, I

declined the offer. Promising Dr. K.S.K., however, that

I'd join the day I complete graduation -- though I

never really meant to take journalism as a career. I

had set my sights on becoming a Company Secretary after

B.Com. but while doing the correspondence course,

thought I'd work -- and earn pocket money.

The '70s were times of MRTP culture. There were

monopolies and there were restrictive trade practices,

and Commissions that could barely hold them in check.

Even though Dr. K.S.K. to my sheer amazement once

bragged that the Prime Minister's private secretary

telephoned him while he was shaving just that morning

(to compliment him on the day's "excellent" editorial),

fact was that NT rarely traveled 35 kilometres to Margao

before 8 or 9 in the morning. Times wouldn't change

and the NT stood still. It was a proud monopoly, which,

after all, had weathered challenges from the likes of

Goa Monitor (Papa Baba Sequeira-owned, Jagdish Rao

-published, Mario Cabral Sa-edited and Alfred De Tavares

-chief reported.)

Back to the summer of 1978. As our 'unholy trinity' of

Aleixo, Shekhar and me daily sat at the Govind Poy

house on Abade Faria Road, Margao, preparing for our

final B.Com. exams, I missed Kaka Singbal -- a.k.a.

Balsing, the Sunday columnist and Chief Reporter of NT

-- and Sripad P. Madkaikar, who at one time or the

other published most of Goa's dailies. Both had called

at home earlier in the day. Kaka left a note saying he

had something "interesting" for me and would I kindly

see him soon. I met him at his Patto quarters early

next morning. He said he had quit NT and joined a

newspaper that was going to be published -- from

Margao! He said the proprietor, Panduronga (Chalebab) Timblo

-- Papa to most of us -- had made a blanket offer:

whatever the NT offered me, he would offer more!

I immediately went to Navhind Bhavan. Dr. K.S.K. was

seated with Fr. Lactancio Almeida, then Editor of

Vauraddeancho Ixtt. I explained that it would help me

cope with my Company Secretary studies from the

comforts of my own home in Margao? The ex-Army man

perennially dressed in cool white almost sprang from

the chair, his neatly waxed whiskers bristling with

rage: "Are you going to that W.C. s**t Times?"

He tried a different line, "Are you going to join my

competitor and stab me in the chest?" And yet another,

"Remember I am the P.A.C. (Press Advisory Committee)

chairman for another three years -- and as long as I'm

around, I'll ensure you don't get an accreditation!!"

I was painfully aware that I was reneging on a promise,

that by joining a competitor, I'd hurt the hand that

had, in good measure, groomed me. But Company

Secretaryship was my object -- not journalism -- and I

honestly imagined that studying the course material and

sending out its Response Sheets would be better done

from home and without working on shifts, as I'd at NT.

[I was, eventually, recompensed with poetic justice. I

hadn't reckoned that joining a fledgling -- nay,

nascent -- publication as its Staff Reporter, with

added responsibility of news-gathering in South Goa

(which meant re-writing copy from mofussil

correspondents who largely hailed from a vernacular

background) would be so engrossing an affair that I

ended up sending not a single Response Sheet to the

Institute of Company Secretaries of India!]

The West Coast Times (WCT) began churning out dummies

by late-June 1978. My die was cast on June 6, 1978, by

way of acceptance of the appointment letter, personally

signed by Papa (Panduronga Timblo) himself. One of the

most promising publishing ventures in the history of

Goa's print media was about to take off?

The mid-'70s witnessed a boom in Goa's mining industry,

both in terms of productivity and profitability.

Panduronga Timblo Industrias (PTI) had evidently also

made pots of cash, particularly from its manganese

mines in Rivona, Quepem. While brother, Gurudas' Timblo

Private Limited (TPL) had during this time invested in

some far-sighted (but alas, badly managed) industrial

enterprises, including fertilizers, rubber footwear and

collapsible tubes, youngest brother, Modu's Sociedade

de Fomento Industrial (SFI) was consolidating its

strengths in mining and diversifying into hospitality.

PTI did not lag behind -- with Parshuram Paper Mills at

Chiplun, industrial gases in Bangalore and, to the

surprise of many, an English-language newspaper from Margao!

A rival to Hobson's choice NT

The last comment may be off the mark. As I later learnt

from Papa himself, the project was conceived from a

broader vision. Throughout the Konkan, from Ratnagiri district

in Maharashtra to South Canara (now Dakshin Kannada)

districts in Karnataka, no English-language daily was

available before noon or afternoon those days. While

the Mumbai dak editions of Times of India (ToI) and

Indian Express (IE) did the honours in coastal

Maharashtra, it was Bangalore's Deccan Herald in

coastal Karnataka. Goa's NT, which took only a couple

of hours less to reach Margao, could not be expected to

travel beyond its borders on mass circulation basis --

till WCT arrived, NT was in fact believed to have

pegged its circulation (to avoid re-classification to a

higher bracket, which implied higher minimum wages to

staff and workers!)

It was Papa's dream to fill this void of a morning

English-language daily for the entire Konkan, from Goa.

Hence the West Coast in the newspaper's name.

Competition to NT was only incidental. (I am not aware

of any family feuds among Goa's mining magnates at the

time and shall stand corrected if there was any such

raison d' etat. If there really were any differences

between the two families, they would be buried some

years later: under blessings of the Partagal Swamiji,

Papa's grand-daughter, Pallavi, was given in marriage

to the Dempo headman, Vasantrao's son, Srinivas -

current Chairman of the Dempo group.)

The infrastructure put into place to realize Papa's

dream matched. A modern civil construction,

meticulously designed, was put up at Davorlim, just

beyond Margao's municipal boundary. Editorial,

advertising and printing departments were housed under

one roof for optimum synch. All sections of the

newspaper's production process, from subbing to

typesetting, from proof reading to optical processing,

from plate-making to the final printing, were so

located as to achieve maximum production speed.

Attention was paid even to minor details, like sending

galley proofs to the news desk in a jiffy. Such were

the conveniences that the edition could go to bed by a

leisurely 4.30am (the print run took barely half an

hour.) Communication lines were made as reliable as

possible, given frequent power interruptions. Both PTI

and UNI ticker services were subscribed to (though only

the PTI had a carrier station in Margao to cope with

breakdowns.) A full-fledged bureau was set up in

Panjim, connected to the editorial offices in Davorlim

by teleprinter link.

The printing technology employed was said to be the

best available in India -- except in typesetting, where

for some unknown reason, Lino machines were used

instead of computers (maybe the value of lead scrap, in

place of katchra bromides that computers generated

those days, had something to do with it!) No more

block-making for photographs and illustrations; these

were optically processed directly to printing plates. A

modern web offset printing machine was brought in

(together with a Delhi-based Haryanvi operator who soon

acquired fondness for palm feni from nearby Jose's bar

and other unprintables from across the Rawanfond

railway tracks!). The machine churned out, if I

remember right, 50,000 copies/hour. Even the camera

purchased for the Staff Photographer was a

top-of-the-line German Leica, complete with an array of

lenses and filters, worth a lakh of rupees of 1978.

Krishna Kurwar managed the plant, under the

GM-cum-Publisher, Madkaikar. The result was a

refreshing, never-before-seen product on the landscape

of Goa's print media.

To match, a high-profile editorial team was put

together under the stewardship of Konkani-speaking M.G. Bailur

and his Associate, Tulu-speaking Y.M. Hegde, both

originally from South Canara. The backbone of the

newspages, the News Editor, was P.R. Menon, the old and

revered FPJ warhorse. The complement of three Chief

Subs and about a dozen Subs was picked from various

national dailies -- Goa could come up with only two

pairs of hands on the news desk. Being unfamiliar with

local affairs, this cast added onus on Kaka Singbal and

me to mark the priority of our dispatches in the

initial days!

The news-gathering team headed by Kaka (assisted by

Dharmanand Kamat in Panjim and Karamchand Furtado on

the TP link) was, of course, entirely home-bred. I

rushed college-mate Leslie St. Anne thro' a crash

course in typing to join me in Margao. In South Goa, we

had Radharao Gracias and Joey Rodrigues (both law

students then), Felicio Esteves (who went on to become

a Ministerial P.A. and co-author of the infamous Marks Scandal

subsequently scooped by me for the FPJ), John Carlos Aguiar

in Ponda, Vallabh Dessai in Quepem, Minguel Mascarenhas

in Sanguem, Kelly Furtado in Vasco, and half a dozen stringers

across South Goa. Manikrao (brother of the

award-winning ToI photographer, Prabhakar M. Shirodkar)

was our lensman, assisted by Lloyd Coutinho in Margao

and Lui Godinho in Vasco, excellent photographers all,

who provided the memorable photo inputs that shot the WCT

to instant fame.

WCT hit the newsstands in early-July 1978. We raced. In Margao,

I concentrated on at least one off-beat,

human-interest, interview-based or photo-story per day,

carried usually boxed or in anchor position. Aware of

our printing process strengths, I never lost an

opportunity to get Manik shoot a good pic, including

one that had to be clicked from a bubbling canoe in

choppy waters off a rocky beach in Betul, South Goa.

[This one was of a rotting human male corpse --

sprawling, shocking and white on the dark rocks - which

the cops had neglected to recover despite the local

Sarpanch's days-long complaints. P.R. Menon splashed

the pic in the lead-story position. I had to take

Papa's reprimand the following morning -- it seems the

Lt. Governor was taken so aback picking the morning's

WCT that his P.A. personally called Papa to complain

about bad taste. But I still considered the

two-and-half Rupees paid to the canoe man for the ride

a fine expense!]

Consciously, though, we shunned sensationalizing and Kaka

firmly shot the idea of carrying the day's matka

figures. We refrained from gimmicks like carrying dummy

advertisements, especially in the Classified columns,

barometer to a newspaper's popularity.

Instead, we went for innovative editorial content.

[Including, at my instance, a SundayMag column on

Sleight of Hand by the Salcete magician, Marco. When

Marco didn't show up for a couple of weeks, leading to

howls from eager readers of his column, Y.M. Hegde was

so furious that I had to fill in with a piece on how

Marco had performed the Vanishing Trick and restore

YM's trademark smile!]

To further notch up circulation, I almost coerced Madkaikar

into breaking the back of monopoly newspaper

distributors in South Goa -- by selling retail bundles

to any willing vendor on an initial sell-or-return basis.

Results were evident. By month 6, we sold around 4,500

copies in and around Margao alone, compared to less

than half that number by NT. Circulation problems,

however, persisted in North Goa, including delayed

deliveries to news stalls in the northern talukas. But

then, we had just two vehicles to cover the entire

territory. ("Penny wise, Pound foolish," P.R. Menon

forever rued, he never carried much of an impression

about the managerial abilities of Goan mineowners --

all his life, after all, Menon had worked in a

establishment owned by the Karnanis, Marwaris to the

core!) Even then, overall, WCT's print order would be

just about 2,000 copies short of the NT. And at the

rate we were going, the gap would fast be closed and surpassed?

My heroes, of course, were Shivram Borkar and Babal Borkar,

ace drivers who by day ferried the shift editorial

staff to and from quarters in Margao to office in Davorlim

. By night, the duo snoozed whatever time available, on

heaps of 'raddi' in the press. And zipped their way

with newspaper bundles to either end of Goa before the

crack of dawn -- in terribly overloaded, ramshackle,

dieselized Ambassador cars that should have been a

delight to Mario Miranda and Alexyz (we used a

syndicated pocket cartoon, incidentally, since Mario

was with the ToI group in Mumbai and Alexyz hadn't yet

surfaced as a cartoonist.) Babal and Shivram, true

heroes who virtually were at call, round the clock,

round the year. [They of course made out-of-pocket

money, ferrying passengers on the return. When this

reached Papa's ears, he tailed one of the drivers one

fine morning. When the unsuspecting fellow stopped to

take in passengers, Papa is reported to have pulled

alongside and advised the driver, "Bhara, bhara, taxi

ti!" The man was often magnanimous. The driver did not

lose his job.]

By the first year of publication, despite impressive

circulation figures, there were no signs of advertising

revenue picking up to reach the financial break-even

point. To the sheer dismay of our well-knit editorial

team, there were also no signs of implementation of the

pan-Konkan Plan. The management, instead, began

fighting shy to inject fresh investment in the

enterprise. Corners started getting cut. Virgin plates

came to used only for jacket pages, inside pages were

processed on recycled plates. Papa's dream began to

show signs of fatigue?

By the third month into the second year of publication,

amid this uncertain scenario, arrived Nicholas

("Nicky") Rebello, a lino-typesetter and leader of the

NT worker's union. I will not hedge a bet if Nicky was

'inspired' by his employers, but having been in touch

with him much after his retirement from NT at his home

in Betim, I can vouchsafe Nicky didn't travel to Davorlim

by any 'political' inspiration. My best guess is that

some restive workers of the WCT press, aware of wages

being paid at NT, must have approached and invited

Nicky to Davorlim. The workers of WCT press got

unionized and Nicky soon served a Charter of Demands.

The management stood its ground, often unreasonably in

the opinion of the editorial team - which of course had

no locus standi in the imbroglio. As the strike showed

signs of protraction, P.R. Menon, known for leftist

leanings from his fiery days at the FPJ, tried to

intervene with the management. To no avail.

(P.R. Menon was forever of the conviction that

managerial skills of Goan mine-owners were limited to

blasting, transportation and shipping -- and after the

importer's cheque arrived, to distributing the proceeds

to those who had blasted, transported and shipped. And,

of course, to profits!) Papa, strangely, sometimes used

queer management methods. There was this Chief

Accountant, hired for the PTI group, on a then princely

salary of Rs.4,000 a month. To get a feedback on the

Chief Accountant, Papa assigned a peon drawing no more

than Rs.250 a month. After office hours, the peon would

report to Papa on the activities of the C.A. from

which, inferences on the Chief Accountant were drawn!

But a man of immense experience and intuition he was.

From the streets of native Assolna in Salcete, where as

a child he hawked textiles, a wooden yard measure slung

across his shoulder and a coolie with a headload of

wares in tow, Papa must have surely post-graduated from

the University of Experience. On occasions when I was

seated in his chamber, his P.A., Sambari would buzz to

announce a visitor. In a flash Papa knew why the man

had come, what he would say, and had the replies even

before the visitor entered! I personally saw flaming

creditors leave his chamber smiling, even though not a

paisa had yielded! He had that rare ability to disarm

even the most irate visitor. But when it came to the

WCT strike, I have always held the belief that a man of

such calibre who could have easily placated the

agitated workers and even broken their Union, was

somehow carried away with the opinion of one trusted

man, who was obviously misleading him -- and since I've

named names, I will exclude Madkaikar and Kurwar.]

With no end to the strike in sight, Bailur, Hegde, Kaka

and me next met and virtually pleaded with Papa to

concede some sops to the striking workmen and get the

publication going. I think the establishment (may not

have been Papa) thereafter regarded as being pro-Union!

The editorial team, bulk of which was from outstation,

met frequently during those bekaar days and finally,

the painful decision emerged that we tell the

management to either settle the dispute with the Union

or we quit en masse. The management was unmoved. We

quit, but Papa's dispenser of bad advice insisted on

serving 'dismissal' letters!

And thus a lofty dream to publish from Goa, the land of

Banna Halli, an English daily serving the entire of

Lord Parashuram's Konkan on the West Coast of India,

went phut. A modern press and process, an excellent

editorial team -- path-breaking infrastructure in Goa's

history of newspaper production -- lay in waste.

The venerable Bailur returned to retirement, as did

P.R. Menon. Y.M. Hegde joined Mumbai's Shipping Times

as Editor. The Chief Subs and Subs returned to their

original publications or to new jobs. A Goan Sub,

Vincent Rangel, from Tivim-Bardez, went into business,

as the Mumbai-end partner of Manvin Couriers. I joined

the FPJ Group (Free Press Journal, its

tabloid-eveninger Bulletin and fortnightly, Onlooker)

as Goa Correspondent; moved in like capacity to IE when

FPJ's Chief Editor, S. Krishnamurty joined IE's Mumbai

edition as Resident Editor; played a role in J.D. Fernandes'

decision to start an English avatar of the near

defunct Portuguese O Heraldo (including the hiring of

its first editor) -- and almost joined, but didn't

quite -- as that newspaper's Chief Reporter, for

reasons that Rajan Narayan should know. And finally got

into business. Without regrets.

Chapter 4:

Novem Goem: The Roof Caves In

Paul J FernandesPaul Fernandes, known to journalists in the state for

his amiable nature, as also his ability and inclination

to do off-beat and far-from-the-beaten-track stories,

has published a vast amount on issues that concern

rural Goa, archaeology and the average resident of Goa.

He was recently winner of a Centre for Science and

Environment (Delhi) fellowship to study water issues in

Goa.

Konkani as the official language of Goa was then still

a distant dream. And granting of statehood to the Union

Territory, a remote possibility. A few Konkani

protagonists casually discussing the issue felt that a

medium was sorely needed to project the aspirations of

true Goans. And only a "people's newspaper" free from

the shackles of the capitalist could achieve that, they thought.

A few years earlier, Uzvadd, reincarnated as Novo Uzvadd

and Novo Prakash, had become defunct after its editor

Evagrio Jorge learnt a few bitter truths. The Herald --

in its new English-language avatar as also in the

much-touted role of a champion of Konkani -- was yet to

appear on the horizon.

It was then in 1980 on a dark night ... in Panjim ...

that the idea of launching a Konkani daily was born.

And talk about the requirement of funds for the mammoth

project threw up a novel idea. The way out was a 'pad-iatra

' (or, long march across Goa on foot) through the

villages of the then union territory. At a follow-up

meeting, the individuals involved formed a Trust --

called the Novem Goem Pratishthan. They crowned the

then young seminary-student turned trade union leader

Christopher Fonseca, who floated the idea of a

pad-iatra, as its general secretary.

Trustees were Sara Machado, Advocate Pandurang

Mulgaonkar, Gurunath Kelekar, Dr F M Rebello, Advocate

Antonio Lobo, and Gustav Clovis Costa. Mathany Saldanha

and Fr Braz Faleiro played a stellar role in getting

the idea through.

And so began an eventful, and an unforgettable, 70-day

trudge through the nooks and corners of Goa. There were

some 70-odd volunteers, which included a few women and

two vivacious sisters, Tina and Colete Xavier, students

at that time.

The pad-iatra started on October 26, 1980. Fonseca

recalls that wherever they went, they received a good

response. Money, small and big sums, was contributed.

There were occasions too when -- language being a

sensitive issue in Goa -- they were insulted. But they

had decided not to retaliate in any way. A person spat

on a young pad-iatri, Srikant Chodankar, when he

knocked at his door for his contribution for the new

paper. But he bravely said 'thank you' and stepped out

with the others.

Two of the girls accompanying him burst into tears, as

participants from that venture recall.

The eventful 'pad-iatra' ended on December 31, New

Year's eve. By then, the volunteers had managed to

collect around Rs 250,000, a tidy sum considering that

this was just in the start of the 'eighties, when the

rupee still had more value than now.

Needless to say, it took about six months to create the

requisite infrastructure to launch the daily. Finding

premises, purchasing machinery and recruiting the

staff. When the Novem Goem first hit the stands in

1980, many naturally had great expectations that it

would serve as a people's paper. Several dailies in the

past had not survived for long, given the huge

requirement of funds

Indeed, Novem Goem could not scale great heights; but

it had many 'lows' during its span. The coverage could

not be extensive, nay it was even below average. This

is perhaps understandably because the publication could

not engage a big team of reporters or set up a network

of reporters in all corners of Goa. But it carried to

work with few expectations and fewer rewards.

During the agitation, the tabloid served to keep the

mass of Konkani lovers, specially in its heartland of Salcete,

if it can be called that, posted of various

developments. The paper served to forge a relationship

and bridge the gap between the old Roman Konkani

writers and those who had just started writing in the

Devnagri script. Well-known poets, writers, such as

Uday Bhembre, Dr Bhikaji Ganekar, Manoharrari Sardesai

were among those who often contributed their writings

to the paper.

The paper also sought to raise the standard of Konkani

among its readers by often explaining difficult words,

as compared to the poor quality of writing in most

Roman script periodicals. I myself recall contributing

to a column Aichim Don Utram (Today's Two Words), which

gave the readers two new words to learn daily, with

meanings in English and also illustrated by examples.

'Konkni uloi, Konkni boroi, Konknintlean sorkar choloi'

(Speak Konkani, Write Konkani, Administer The State In

Konkani), the slogan coined by one of the trustees,

Gurunath Kelekar, gained currency and set the mood

among Konkani lovers.

While the paper finally closed down, coincidentally, it

did so after Konkani was included in the Eight Schedule

of the Constitution of India and Goa was granted

statehood -- two of the avowed objectives for which the

Trust had launched the paper. Many may be skeptical

about the contribution of this small paper to these two

great and important causes. But having worked in this

paper for just over three years as a sub-editor, I

recall that Dr Rebello, as its editor, contributed

significantly to the chorus for the twin demand.

DURING THE ENTIRE existence of the paper, its

management had to face several struggles and even

upheavals among the trustees.

Its problems started from the day the presses were set

up. While an offset machine could have been bought, a

Glockner machine owned by one of the Trustees was sold

to the Trust. With that, it was only possible to print

a tabloid paper. The machinery subsequently gave

several problems. How a newspaper cannot survive

without infusion of frequent doses of capital was best

exemplified here. Advertising revenue was very low,

though there were phases when its staff pooled their

efforts to raise funds by canvassing for advertisements

through their own initiative. There were managerial

problems, too. With lack of experience in running a

paper, and negligence by some of the Trustees at

certain stages, the roof finally had to cave in.

A former trustee alleges that the quantum of

advertisements released by the government to the paper

was meagre, and the staff even led a morcha to the

Secretariat, alleging shabby treatment. This continued

even after Konkani was made the official language of

the state.

If the paper survived for around a decade, it could be

termed as a miracle of sorts. There were around 7,000

readers, who religiously read the daily. However, the

poor coverage towards the end saw its readership go

down sharply. The emergence of a slickly printed and

produced Konkani-monthly Gulab also hastened its death.

However, there was no dearth of sympathisers. Gulf Goans

contributed generously, and quite often, to keep it

afloat. But tiatrists were largely not among them as

they showed apathy towards it vis-a-vis advertisements

of their shows. They preferred an English-language

daily and very few advertised in Novem Goem, if at all rarely.

The real heroes and the sufferers in the bargain were

the Novem Goem workers, who toiled during its entire

10-year existence. Lack of revenue meant that they

often received their salaries late. On the 10th of any

month, it was not unusual for the management to

announce they would give some advance on the salary.

For one thing, the salary was being delayed; over and

above, to be told that they would get it in

installments was the ultimate affront. More so when

these were people with families to feed. But this went

on month after month, specially during the last few years.

They were entitled to a scale of salaries under Palekar

Wage Award -- the Central Government-notified standards

then in force for minimum wages to be paid to

journalists -- but they accepted graciously whatever

they were offered. This was, naturally, much below the

Wage Board recommendations.

And the employees, having few options, hung on with

commendable courage, though there was no hope of a turn

around. Their toil and sacrifices were really something

to think about. After the paper closed, they should

have received their dues from what came in as the

proceeds from the sale of machinery and the balance of

a raffle draw, which had been floated to raise funds

for the paper.

But they are yet to be given their due.

The paper finally went to bed for the last time some

time in June 1988. And a novel experiment to offer a

people's paper to the masses made a quiet and sad

exit....

Chapter 5:

The Herald of A New Ethos

R.K. NairR.K. Nair sees himself as a battle-scarred veteran too

(adding, "though close friends in Goa may describe me

as bottle-scarred"). He has 'seen action' in Kuwait and

Iraq after his departure from Goa. Back in India after

the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, he worked for the Indian

Express. He then went to Oman, returning again to take

up an assignment with the Hindu, where he currently

works.

So the Rajan era has finally come to an end at the Herald

. Sad though it may seem in human terms, it is unlikely

to surprise anyone who has at least a nodding

acquaintance with his brand of journalism -- especially

his strident and sensational approach to contentious

issues, such as the language agitation of the 'eighties.

By the time I arrived in Goa, the Herald (formerly O Heraldo

) had celebrated the third anniversary of its

re-incarnation as an Englishman -- but it was not yet

out of the birth pangs. It often looked like a one-man

show. The six-to-eight page broad-sheet was Rajan

Narayan's play-field, and he played with gusto -- solo

at times, fast and loose frequently. His output was

phenomenal. He wrote the lead story, the front-page

anchor, the edit almost everyday, six days a week, for

several years. Besides, there also was the long-winded

'Stray Thoughts', on Sundays.

Life at The Navhind Times was sedentary by comparison.

In keeping with the image of Goa being a land of

laid-back lotus eaters, the NT staffers were under no

pressure to perform. Being the dominant daily, news

came naturally to the NT. In those days, it operated

out of a small rented building, adjoining a bar and

restaurant, on the outskirts of Panjim as the new

building near the Panjim market was under construction.

The bar and the building belonged to the then Mayor of Panjim,

an affable man whose employees entertained the NT

staffers on credit. The editorial staff got an off-day

after two days of work -- that's 10 offs a month, which

was a luxury that journalists in other papers could not

dream of.

The first thing that struck one about the

English-language Press in Goa in those days was its

utter lack of respect for the readers' intelligence.

I'm sorry if this view offends anyone, but the

small-town mentality, the self-serious posturing and

the patronising editorialisation of news reports were

all too obvious in both the NT and Herald.

But there ended the similarity. In other respects, the

two papers were a study in contrast. Herald was

technologically superior. Having introduced computers

ahead of the NT, its printing was neater but the paper

was replete with errors -- typographical as well as

factual. The NT too had its share of typos. But it made

few factual errors, because, as critics would say, it

seldom reported facts!

The NT used vintage Lino machines for composing and its

antiquated printing machine broke down quite often. The

morning paper hit the news-stands well after 10 am on

such occasions. The printing was awful -- full of black

patches, missing letters and blank spaces that

challenged the imagination of the reader. Still it

retained its readership, mainly because it was

perceived as the more credible of the two.

Rajan Narayan failed to rise to the occasion and offer

a credible alternative. Herald behaved like a spoilt

brat throwing tantrums. It lacked a sense of

proportion. Too often, it played to the gallery, fanned

sectarian passions and threw norms to the wind. With

its rabble-rousing shrillness, Herald managed to gain a

foothold among a section of the Goan population,

especially in South Goa where the NT was perennially

late to arrive. But Herald was not taken seriously even

by its ardent supporters. Journalist Devika Sequeira

once summed up the situation neatly: Herald was

laughable and the NT evoked tears!

All that changed with the arrival of the Gomantak Times

. The NT Chief Reporter Pramod Khandeparker quit to

join the GT. The NT was jolted out of its complacency

-- it was facing a challenge it had never faced before.

Work on the new building was speeded up, and the

relocation carried out in a hurry. Computers were

installed and a new printing machine was ready.

But all that was not enough to ward off a threat from

the rivals. Its content had to improve. Acting Editor

M.M. Mudaliar was in a bad mood. His calm and composed

disposition gave way to a brittle temper. He yelled at

the management people, and threatened to have the

editorial staff sacked.

One day, I diffidently approached him with a piece of

writing and asked for permission to launch a column in

the Sunday supplement. He was reluctant. I was new and

untested. And I was not even a regular -- I was on

voucher payment. But he decided to give it a try and

carried the piece on the front page of the Sunday

Magazine. It was titled 'A peep into Goan psyche'. The

column was called 'Small Talk' and it appeared under

the pseudonym of R.K. Yen. The response to the first

piece was incredibly good. Mudaliar readily published

the second one and, when the third piece appeared, I

got the appointment order.

By then Mudaliar had been confirmed as Editor and the

paper was ready to face the world with new vigour. The

editorial offs were curtailed to once a week. The

printing improved and new features and columns were

gradually introduced. The NT had arrived. The threat

from GT looked feeble now. They had good journalists

and better technology, but had forgotten to hire good

proof-readers. The paper was full of typos, even in

headlines.

The NT was relieved -- at least temporarily.

The arrival of GT had a big impact on the Herald too.

Rajan Narayan began to behave like one possessed. He

blamed Chief Minister Pratapsing Rane and the NT for

all the ills of the world. His frustration was

beginning to show. He railed against the NT and Rane at

the drop of a hat. Once, two people were killed in

police-firing in Vasco following a group clash. It was

the lead in the next day's NT, but the Herald

completely missed the news.

A reader's letter was published in Herald a few days

later: "Where was your reporter when the firing took

place in Vasco? Had he gone to Baina for a quickie?"

The Editor's reply: "We don't enjoy the patronage of

Chief Minister Pratapsing Raoji Rane. So we missed the news."

(As if Rane had called in the NT and given out the news!)

Rajan Narayan is essentially a rhetorician. He has a

way with words and can argue his case convincingly. But

his writings carried little conviction, which was the

major reason for Herald's credibility crisis in those

days. But the fact that he changed the media scene

there cannot be disputed. In my view, the fundamental

error he made was to plunge into the middle of things,

rather than remaining a level-headed observer that a

good journalist is supposed to be. He made an

over-zealous effort to ingratiate himself with a

section of the Goan society and failed miserably. The

fact that even today his Goan credentials are

questioned bears this out.

As everything has two sides, the Herald experiment (if

one could call it that) too had its pros and cons. The

single most significant achievement of Herald, in my

opinion, was to raise a breed of bright young

journalists who cut their teeth in journalism there.

Most of them left disillusioned and bitter with the

paper and its Editor, but they have done reasonably

well elsewhere. But for Herald, they would not have

come to this field.

And Herald did manage to provide some relief (comic

relief, according to critics) from the tedious fare

offered by the NT. It was sharp and pungent -- too

pungent for many. Almost every report packed a sting in

its tail. Some of the fare dished out in the guise of

investigative journalism was just gossip laced with

outrageous bias. But all this lighted the scene up and

served as a reminder to the NT to wake up and take notice.

Rajan Narayan never hesitated to name his rivals,

especially the NT, while making disparaging remarks.

The NT, on the other hand, took a diametrically

opposite stance: it skirted controversies altogether.

Its unwritten policy was never to report or comment on

anything controversial, let alone naming names!

But that had to change to keep pace with the changing

times. I lampooned Rajan Narayan in my columns

occasionally, which Mudaliar permitted reluctantly. It

must be said to Rajan Narayan's credit that he not only

took my pot-shots in good humour, but, according to

Herald sources, also stopped a couple of juniors who

wanted to hit back at me.

I met Rajan Narayan only once; but then it was hardly a

meeting. Rather, I saw him from a distance at a

midnight carnival in Panjim. After the edition was

over, my NT colleague Anthony and I decided to take a

round. We saw Rajan Narayan surrounded by a group of

revellers. In a red T-shirt and bermudas, with a red

ribbon around his head and a glass of feni in hand, a

wobbly Rajan Narayan with bleary eyes was quite a

spectacle. Anthony nudged me and asked, "Can you

imagine Mudaliar in such a scene?"

Never. Mudaliar was, by comparison, dapper. In fact,

his first advice to me when I called on him for a job

interview was to be always mindful of my reputation.

"It's a small place. Everybody knows everybody. And

liquor is cheap here," he had said.

I left Goa rather bitterly.

I fell out with Mudaliar over an innocuous remark in my

column. I used to report the traditional cricket match

between the legislators and journalists in the column

in a running commentary form. That year (1989), the

Legislators XI led by Chief Minister Rane trounced the

Press XI, led by Mudaliar. I made a passing remark that

age was apparently catching up with Mudaliar. He deemed

it too personal, and stopped talking to me. There were

enough people around to fan the fire; and he refused to

recommend me for a promotion. One thing led to another

and I soon decided that my future lay elsewhere.

But I've no hard feelings about anything now. In fact,

I recall my days in Goa with nostalgia and gratitude.

It was a turning point in my career and I fondly

remember my association with a wonderful people. I

learned many things in Goa that stood me in good stead

in later life and it will always remain etched in my

memory as a part of my youth.

I wish all my friends and acquaintances over there,

especially Rajan Narayan, good health and success in

whatever they are engaged in now! I learnt of

Mudaliar's death quite recently through an e-mail. I

was saddened. I fondly recall my association with him.

Despite the differences of opinion that resulted in our

parting of ways, Mudaliar was a thorough gentleman and

working with him was an enriching experience. I cherish

his memories!

Chapter 6:

oHERALDo: an untold chapter

Valmiki FaleiroValmiki Faleiro, a Goa-based working journalist between

1975-83, covered Goa for national publications like The

Current Weekly, the Free Press Journal group and the

Indian Express. He was Staff Reporter with the West

Coast Times and as a freelancer, contributed to various

journals like The Navhind Times, Goa Today, The Sun

Weekly, Newstrek, Detective Digest, Mirror, Newsmag.

The early 1980s. Happy days were here again for Goa's

first English-language daily, The Navhind Times (NT).

After a brief challenge to its other crucial attribute,

that of being the only English-language daily, from Goa Monitor

in the late 1960s, NT had just staved off another.

West Coast Times, launched July-1978, blazed a luminous

trail in quality journalism but, like a comet after a

brief showing, vanished into oblivion.

NT was back to its snug-seat monopoly.

A slave of the economic thought of Adam Smith, David

Ricardo and John Stuart Mill, or our own Nani

Palkhivala, JRD Tata and M.R. Pai, I have been a votary

of free enterprise and competition -- and allergic to

monopolies. A monopoly is bad for any consumer. And

infinitely worse in a crucial commodity that helps form

a society's opinion.

I had been speaking to some wealthier Goans, my idea of

launching a broadsheet weekly, which would, over a

period, be converted to a full-fledged daily. A tabloid

(like Goa Monitor) did not appeal; and mere excellence

in editorial content and quality printing (like West

Coast Times) did not suffice. What mattered was the

capacity to financially sustain a daily newspaper (by

absorbing annual losses even while continuing to

maintain quality) until the product turned round, which

could take some years. That kind of money in Goa only mineowners

had -- like all of Goa's major dailies! So my idea was

start small, stay around till you built adequate

advertising recognition and support, and only then

convert to a daily -- at a fraction of a daily's

budgetary requirement and without having to own

printing facilities from day one.

Even then, not many Goan businessmen I was in touch

with were willing to risk any substantial venture capital.

It was around this time, June 1983, if I recall the

month correctly, that a mutual friend in the printing

business in Mumbai and Goa, told me that A.C. Fernandes,

Patrao of the Panjim stationers Casa J.D. Fernandes,

was toying with the idea of an English-language daily.

The mutual friend suggested I discuss my ideas with Fernandes.

A.C. Fernandes wasn't a mineowner, not yet anyway, but

I had heard he was a shrewd businessman. He purchased

Goa's only extant Portuguese-language daily, O Heraldo,

not so much for love of the language or its dwindling

local readership, but evidently for the intrinsic value

of its press and its centrally-located premises. It was

said he took full advantage of the daily's lable, in

those days of the Permit Raj, to import (from Italy?) a

Lino typesetting machine, which actually was used for

all and sundry job works of the business house -- even

as the major part of good ole O Heraldo continued to be composed

by hand!

But what the heck! A shrewd and street-smart man, I

reckoned, would any day be better than a cash-filled

dumbo. Moreover, what Patrao may have lacked by way of

adequate resources was made up in having his priorities

right. His love Goa and her way of life, his concern

about increasing corruption in Goa's polity and

aspiration for rightful honour to the mother tongue,

were transparently genuine.

The mutual friend arranged our introductory meeting,

over lunch at the A.C. Fernandes residence at Santa Cruz

one rainy Sunday. The sharp-eyed (and, as I was later

to discover, sharp-tempered) Patrao, his demure wife

and sons, John, Raul and Oswald, with the mutual friend

and I sat across a carefully laid table. I spoke about

WCT and why it failed, my ideas for a successful daily

and my business plan for such a venture. A.C. Fernandes

(the sons, those days, played second fiddle), I think,

was impressed. And thus began a relationship, where I

did my best to midwife a second English-language daily

for Goa -- or almost.

The search was on for an Editor. Ads had been placed in

the major national dailies. Surprisingly, about a dozen

pros were willing to come to Goa! But the best were out

of reckoning, they expected salaries the kind Patrao

never figured existed! Ervelle Menezes was the best

bet. When I covered Goa for the Indian Express a couple

of years before, Ervelle was a Chief Sub at IE's Mumbai

edition. After Bhat, the then News Editor, died in

harness, Ervelle had taken over as the News Editor and

was in that position at this point of time.

From deep within, I hoped that Ervelle it would be to

launch the Herald as its founding editor. A

professional and a Goan, he was a suitable choice. For

me too: I had been, by now, ordained to be the to-be

newspaper's Chief Reporter, on insistence of A.C. Fernandes

and his son Raul. My own plan had been to be with them

till the day the newspaper took off; I was, by this

time, already getting into business, developing

family-owned land at Fatorda, Margao.

I never met or spoke to Ervelle about this job. Raul

had, and I gathered that Ervelle was indeed interested.

I was aware that he had come to Goa to check things

out. Ervelle, of course, is around and it would be for

him to say why he declined. What I surmised at that

time, though, was that Ervelle must have been put off

by local opinion about A.C. Fernandes' financial

capacity to sustain a daily newspaper to the stage it

generated its own resources. Ervelle of course

explained it had something to do with his mother's illness.

Ervelle's decision was a great setback to the plan --

there was just one last application left in Raul's file

of responses for the Editor's post. If I had not urged

its consideration earlier, it was because the applicant

lacked experience with a daily newspaper. The

applicant's only exposure to a daily was a brief stint

at the Financial Express -- not a mainstream newspaper.

His c.v. spoke of experience at Mirror. But then,

magazine journalism is not the same as what goes into

the making of a daily newspaper. Moreover, the

applicant wasn't even into journalism for quite some

time: he presently dwelt in the dreary world of

advertising and public relations, at one of Mumbai's

lesser-known firms. Such was the irony.

What the NT had been to Goa's English readers, a

Hobson's choice, Rajan Narayan's application now was to

Raul and me!

Fearing that Patrao may get discouraged enough to

abandon the newspaper idea, my airflow changed and I

convinced A.C. Fernandes that we invite the man and

take a closer look at his credentials. Rajan was lodged

at Panjim's Hotel Mandovi (I wonder if he ever stayed

there again, used as in later years he was to offered

or obtained five-star hospitality across Goa's coast!)

Patrao, Raul and I met him. The parleys went so long in

the afternoon that there was no restaurant open for

lunch. Rajan and I had to make do with puri bhaji at

Cafe Real (I wonder, again, how he'd have raved and

ranted in his latter-day popular Sunday column, Stray Thoughts

. But beggars were not choosers, those days.)

To me, Rajan came out as a clever and crafty mind. But

again, what the heck! At that point of time, the NT had

a clever and resourceful skipper at its helm. I had

known Bikram Vohra from my days at the Indian Express.

When marched to Ahmedabad as Resident Editor of the

IE's local edition, to fend off competition from the

formidable Times of India, one could count on Bikram to

come up with extremely off-beat ideas: he painted the

town red with the slogan, Keen ahead of the times, read

the Express! To compete, we would need a crafty mind

and I though Rajan fitted that bill pretty well. From

me, Rajan wanted to learn more about Goa --- its

history, economy, religions, cultural mix the

background of its English-language press and, of

course, of the A.C. Fernandes clan.

Rajan was obviously impressed with my views on how the

newspaper should be. He said he was immensely happy to

have me around, that things would be difficult talking

to A.C. Fernandes and Raul alone. He was also glad I

would be the newspaper's Chief Staff Reporter. He

pleaded that I stay back in Panjim that day, so we

could discuss in greater detail. The kid that Raul then

was, also decided to stay back. We sat in Rajan's

Mandovi room, drinking his favourite Old Monk (not

Raul, then a teetotaler, I don't know if he's still one.)

We were immersed in plans and strategy, more than in

the rum.

It was well past 9 p.m. and there was a knock on the

door. Being closer, I rose to answer, but obsequious as

Raul was, insisted on doing that himself. Raul had

barely opened the door when we heard the sonics of a

resounding slap across the face. A furious A.C.

Fernandes hollered, "Mama and I were so worried about

you." (It seems those days the Fernandes household was

being terrorized by another Fernandes household in the

Santa Cruz neighbourhood, so much that no member of the

former went home unaccompanied after dusk; if late, a

group of employees from the shop or press escorted them

home.) That was among Rajan's first personal

impressions of his future employers!

Twenty years is a long enough span for perceptions to

change. But I believe my opinion carried the weight of

near finality with the Patrao. Rajan Narayan would edit

the to-be Herald.

Next morning, we met with the Fernandes, again to work

out a blueprint for the newspaper's editorial

requirements, right down to a list of furniture! From

the way bare essentials were being economized, Rajan

privately kept asking me whether these guys could

really run a newspaper. I kept assuring him they would.

We agreed that together we would keep prodding them if

they wavered. On the way back to the hotel (he was

returning to Mumbai that day), Rajan said I was the

only person he could trust and would I please mail him

on a weekly basis on the progress of implementation of

the agreed blueprint.

This was essential, he explained, because as discussed

and agreed, he would be asking some friends in Mumbai

to quit their secure jobs to join the Herald and he

didn't want to put people in trouble if the paper was,

after all, not going to take off. During the period to

the run up, I wrote and kept Rajan informed of the

progress and, in reply, he kept reminding me to press

the management on the tasks that remained unfulfilled.

Quite a balancing act, for me!

In the course of such weekly back and forth postal

exchanges, Rajan asked for my reiteration that I would

stand with them as one -- if ever the management acted

funny with any of them in future. I presumed he was

concerned with risking his Mumbai team's future. I had

mentioned to Rajan earlier in Goa how the entire

well-knit editorial team at WCT had quit en bloc in the

face of a stubborn management vis-a-vis the workers'

strike. Till now, I had no reason whatever to doubt the

man's integrity. I wrote back, naively in retrospect,

that I was committed to being one with the team and

should one be touched, all would go -- or something to

that effect.

Rajan obviously didn't throw away that letter, as I had

routinely done his.

In time, Rajan returned to Goa -- bag and baggage. His

Mumbai team was to follow once we were staffed and

ready to run dummies. At the wooden-floored 1st storey

Herald office opposite Panjim's Municipal Garden, work

was on at a feverish pace. Rajan and I conducted

interviews for 'subs', reporters and correspondents. We

bagged some gifted hands -- Frederick Noronha, Bosco

Souza Eremita.

On the field, Devika Sequeira was to assist me with

Mumbai's Sushil Silvano on the local crime beat,

together with school chum Nelson Fernandes to cover

sports and Lui Godinho on the camera. I roped in some

old field hands from my WCT days, down to the last

detail of Nandu Zambaulikar, to ferry newspaper bundles

south of the Zuari!

Ticker lines were installed, typewriters and telephones

put in place, and the Mumbai team arrived (I recall

only S. Vaidyanathan on the newsdesk, though). The

machine, finally, began to crank. It was decided we

give readers a preview. One Sunday (or was it another

public holiday?), a few weeks ahead of the formal

launch on October 10, 1983, a special edition was given

out gratis to English-language newspaper readers in

Goa. The edition was packed with features, and news of

the day. I wrote something on bus transport woes of the

Goan commuter, if I recall right.

Dummies began rolling. Agonizingly, I began to see the

penny-wise-pound-foolish dictum again at work (as I

had, in the later stages, of WCT's short life.)

Expensive computers had been brought in but A.C. Fernandes

cribbed on appointing experienced hands as

compositors. A daughter-in-law came in after her own

regular office hours to help at computer keyboards.

John's wife worked late into the nights.

Result was a delightful melange of howlers -- which

continued for a good while after launch of the

newspaper. Every expense, however trivial, had to get

Patrao's direct approval. If Rajan wanted a chair

cushion, he'd have to convince the old man why his

posterior ached! But the good news was, the rumble and

stumble continued without interruption. We were close

to D-day.

That was when one fine sunny morning, as I was about to

cross from the Panjim Municipal Garden pavement to the

Herald office across the street, Raul emerged from the

stationery shop, as if casually, and waved me to hold

back. He crossed the street and invited me for a cup of

tea at a nearby cafe at Jesuit House, Jasmal or Jesema.

Once seated, Raul developed an unusual countenance and

began vaguely referring to the salary that had been

offered to me (Rs.4,000 per mensem.) I imagined there

must have been a family council the previous night. I

reminded him that I had not asked the figure, that I

had merely accepted what was offered -- and that I was

with them in this not for the money, but for a dream to

break a monopoly. I suggested the figure could be revised.

That's when the bombshell broke. "It's not about the

amount of salary," Raul stated, "it's..."

"You mean I'm not wanted here anymore?" I butted in, in

disbelief. "You can take it as something like that,"

Raul said. I was too shocked to even ask why. Having

known Rajan fairly well by now, I instinctively felt

his hand in this. Didn't even feel like meeting the

others at the office or the Patrao at the shop

downstairs. Over the previous several months, I had

worked to virtually midwife the Herald and however much

I may have been, I did not wish to upset the scene when

the baby's umbilical cord was about to go.

I just took the next bus home.

And on that very unpleasant note ended my brief

association with a newspaper that over the last 20

years, tottered, steadied and thrived -- even if in

large measure on the guile and brilliance of one crafty

man, Rajan Narayan.

Without doubt, the oHeraldo marked a new chapter in

English-language journalism in Goa. A lot of latent

young talent found expression. Investigative journalism

got its fair image. Above all, the average Goan reader

now had a choice, and the inherent benefits of

competition. Happily for Goa, the combination at the

right time of the Proprietors and of Rajan Narayan and

some excellent members in the editorial team, clicked.

Despite shoestring budgets and lack of official

advertising patronage in the initial years, the

newspaper survived, cracked a monopoly in a vital area,

and will now shortly enter its 21st year of publication.

I lived and worked in Goa (for myself, of course!)

during these 20 years and saw the manner in which this

one man notched circulation and endeared himself to the

average English-language newspaper reader, especially

of the minority community. Rajan, a crafty

non-practicing politico, in no time had comprehended

the Goan mindset, particularly of the Cristao, as he is

fond of referring.

And the brightest star in his horoscope also arrived in

good time, in the form of the Konkani official language issue.

While other editors dithered, Rajan lost no time in

recognizing the scope of the issue (he had the genuine

backing of his Patrao of course) and almost went

overboard with his undying love for Konkani, Goa and

Cristaos liberally splashed all over the place, for

months without end. With a 'sympathy and empathy' never

before seen, the Mai Bhas formula worked magic for

Rajan -- as it did, I must concede in fairness, to a

couple of other politicos, some with a degree of merit,

like Luizinho (my namesake) and Churchill Alemao. The

true heroes, however, have almost been forgotten!

In fairness, again, it must be conceded that to have

run a newspaper with all of Herald's infrastructural

deficiencies, was no mean feat. There must have been,

in the initial stages, a lot of pain and personal

sacrifice -- but let's also not forget that Rajan was,

those days, without the responsibilities of a family

and with only a pint of Old Monk for company, and the

option to return to Mumbai's drab world of advertising!

He slogged, manipulated, and was rewarded with success.

What, however, happened after such undreamt success hit

the head sooner than Old Monk did, is a story I must

leave best to be told by many a gifted journalist, who

worked with Rajan. At least one such is alas no more in

our midst -- Norman Dantas, son of a former

publisher-partner of Goa Today. Rajan marginalized many

a gifted Goan journo because he perceived them as

threats to his position!

Back to my 1983 story.

It was some seven or eight months after that

uncivilized Cafe Jesema or Jesmal episode that the

mutual friend who had introduced me to the Fernandes

revealed the truth. Rajan Narayan, my trusted senior

colleague, days before the oHeraldo could hit the

newsstands, showed my letter to him on the editorial

team standing as one -- and quitting as one if need

arose -- and convinced the Patrao that here was a snake

already scheming to kill the newspaper before it was

even born! How the intrinsic illogic of this premise --

since the Fernandeses were well aware of my commitment

to the newspaper -- did not strike them, I shall never

know. Rajan had successfully weeded out what he

imagined would be future threat to his position (in

this case, entirely imaginary, since he at the time

knew that I was sooner or later getting into my own

business).

That was the first case. Many were to follow.

Other than weeding out rivals -- real or imagined --

Rajan is believed to have done some pretty nasty things

on the side. He played his reporters one against the

other, to fetch desired coverage of stories that suited

him the most. He is alleged to have killed many a good

story. And all this from behind the mask of being the

self-appointed keeper of Goa's conscience and probity

in her public life. The powerful Stray Thoughts (which,

incidentally, started off with Bolshoi the dog,

borrowed from the celebrated ToI columnist and later

owner/editor of Mumbai's Afternoon Despatch & Courier,

Behram Contractor a.k.a. Busybee) came in handy here. I

know the legion of Goa's five-star hotel GMs,

practicing and aspiring politicos, or even the

occasional industrialist locally mired in controversy

(like Dr. Jindal, of Meta Strips, the day after some

crude bombs went off at Vasco's St. Andrew's Church)

will not publicly admit the manner in which they rubbed

shoulders with St. Rajan!

I hear that the editor who brought a refreshing change

to the English-language print scene in Goa, has finally

been paid in the same coin he had paid many a

subordinate -- by making the subordinate's life so

miserable that there was no option but to resign.

Having known Rajan Narayan the way I did 20 years ago,

I have my doubts whether he will leave on his own. Of

course, he has already announced plans to publish a

weekly in Goa -- owned by the readers!! He knows the

Goan mindset all too well, and has already started

drumming up support via the Herald editorial columns

with typical (even if more virulent) anti-Hindutva,

pro-Cristao/Church writings that may border on the dangerous.

Of course, if and when Rajan Narayan does launch his

weekly, he will be infinitely better placed than the

Patrao, A.C. Fernandes was in the monsoon 1983. Let's

wish him luck!

Chapter 7:

The banyan tree: working under Rajan

Frederick NoronhaFrederick Noronha was part of the original batch of

trainees with the Herald during its re-launch in 1983.

In 1987, he became Goa correspondent for the Deccan

Herald. Since 1995, he has been a full-time freelance

journalist, writing mainly for the outstation media,

including the Indo-Asian News Service. He has an active

presence on the Internet, and has been for journalism

training to Germany and Sweden. He is founder of the

Goajourno, India-EJ and ThirdWorld-EJ mailing lists,

that seek to build collaborative networks among

journalists.

Reports or features critical of large companies are to

be avoided by and large. No report on a corporate

situation, however much it may be considered in the

public interest, shall be sent to the press without

prior clearance from the editor. We cannot afford to

antagonise potential advertisers. -- Editorial

guidelines, from Rajan Narayan, May 3, 1984.

Denying journalists the right to express his or her

views is like denying oxygen to a human being. -- Stray

Thoughts, by Rajan Narayan, September 2003, www.rajannarayan.com

AN ACTIVIST friend argues vehemently that this editor

single-handedly opens up space more than any other in

Goa. Some staff who worked under him have a sneering

you-don't-know-the-inside-story attitude. Others credit

the man with making them what they are. For the average

Goan Catholic, Rajan Narayan is virtually a hero in

real life, if not the newspaper equivalent of a patron saint.

Undeniably, this is the man who has shaped Goan

journalism for at least two decades, and has big plans

for more. Any venture to understand the contemporary

media in this small state would be incomplete without a

chapter on Rajan Narayan, who at the time of writing

(end-September 2003) has just announced his decision to

resign from the Herald.

This writer epitomises the love-hate relationship many

a journalist in Goa would share with someone who

suddenly descended on the Goan scene sometime in 1983.

Someone who has critically shaped the understanding of

Goa, including how we see ourselves and what are the

issues we define as important.

Clearly, Rajan -- by design or default -- has

contributed in significant manner to the Goa debate

over the past two decades. If one has to name the five

positive aspects of his legacy, it would be his ability

to extend the debate (by saying things no editor would

say); heading an organisation that, by design or

otherwise, actually gave a chance to many youngsters to

enter the profession; building up a till-now

sustainable alternative to the once arrogant lone

English-language daily in the state; giving space for

speedy growth to youngsters entering the profession

(even if, ironically, blocking that very growth later

on); and for taking on some of Goa's most sacred of cows.

But Rajan's ability to cast himself in the

'anti-Establishment' mould is equalled by his skills in

brokering deals (the recent track of contentious and

fast-confused charges over the Rs 300,000 government

sponsorship of the SARS campaign at Remo Fernandes'

50th birthday is a case in point, as are the

willingness to propose projects to a government that

are otherwise blasted from the editorial pulpit). This

rather personalised essay, obviously biased and clouded

by a string of personal experiences, seeks to narrate

one person's run-ins into Goa's most long-serving

editor. Perhaps from it could emerge a few snapshots

outlining how things really work in the Goa media.

ONE'S FIRST impressions of Rajan was meeting up with a

long-sleeve and tie-clad middle-aged 'uncle' during an

interview a month or two before the launch of the

English-language Herald in 1983. The location was in

the old balcony (now demolished) that stood almost over

today's Cafe Shanbhag, near the Panjim Municipal

Garden. Besides Rajan, also sitting in on the interview

was Valmiki Faleiro, who was egged on by the recent

public debate to tell his side of the story in another

chapter. (Devika Sequeira, then still in her 'twenties

but quite in command of the situation, willing to spend

extremely long hours and clear about what she expected

to bring out a thoroughly-worked on feature page or

front-page report as we later saw, had interviewed me

in an earlier round. Being quite thick-skinned, one

went in once again for another interview when

advertised subsequently, only to be told that it was

just as well one had returned, as the earlier

applications had got misplaced!)

In the second round of interviews, my first encounter

with Rajan, it took this then raw third-year college

kid quite some to gauge some clues about the identity

of this man shooting across the questions. Only a

syllable or two gave hint of his South Indian origins,

and with his formal clothes, he could have easily

passed off as a scion of a landed Goan family. Rajan

did seem a bit embarassed to make the offer of Rs 300

as the payment for a trainee sub-editor. But money

didn't matter, and the joy of becoming a journalist

while still in college more than sufficed. In any case,

this princely sum was thrice what one then irregularly

earned as an articled clerk to a chartered accountant.

This offer was made on the spot, and accepted as instantenously.

In no time, we got that that telegram calling on us to

join 'immediately'.

One recalls rushing into the colonial styled offices of

what was to become the Herald -- we then didn't even

know what the paper was to be called, whether it would

survive, who owned it, or whom we were working for.

Within minutes of each other, Bosco Souza Eremita of

Santa Cruz, Flavio Raposo of Carenzalem, Oswald Pinto

of Aldona and myself took up our seats on the bare

sub-editor's table, learning the basics of a profession

that some continued in. Bosco seemed to be

disillusioned that journalism offered so little scope

for creative writing; but he stayed on and worked his

way through Goa Today, Gomantak Times, the Portuguese

Lusa news agency, and the Jesuit-run UCAN, apart from

The Week and others publications. Flavio opted for a

life in academics. Oswald Pinto went across from one

form of reporting to another, and stuck with working at

the less-insecure 'reporting' section of the state

legislature. Reminiscing old times still brings back a

smile. We remain friends.

But this was not always the situation. You could argue

whether it's a Rajan-influenced legacy, but at our time

the staff would often be at loggerheads with one

another. It could have just been a faulty manner of

encouraging subordinates to improve in their

performance, but promises of promotions to more than

one candidate, and repeated if unfair comparisons with

one another, sometimes did leave strained relationships

among the staff that otherwise worked together fairly peacefully.

But there were the plusses for working in a fresh new

paper too. In the initial days, Rajan was almost a

godfather. "How much are the $%#@$%s paying you?" he

would sometimes ask juniors. Often, a recommendation

from him actually got translated into a raise.

He had his style of encouraging juniors. This, coupled

with the acute staff shortage at the Herald then and

frequent resignations from staff, meant a junior

sub-editor could get enough of an ego-boost to do the

front-page layout within a year or so of joining!

Talking about resignations, in the first four years of

its operation, the Rajan-edited Herald listings showed

that at least 30 journalists had left its rolls. Part

of this could have been due to the poor and

unsatisfactory compensation offered by a paper with

drew an infinitesimally tiny number of adverts compared

to today. Some left for better prospects; but

opportunities were few and far between anyway, then as

now. A few went on to continue their education; Alvis Fernandes,

one of the young men recruited through the informal

Miramar boys' network that proved to be a useful feeder

channel, was halfway through aeronautical engineering

anyway. But at least part of the resignations were

accounted for by the intrigue that dominated the place,

the growing curbs on free expression that could keep

the spark of idealism alive and politics enkindled

among the staff.

Among those who quit in the first four years were

Sushil Silvano (Deputy Editor), S. Vaidyanathan (News

Editor), Devika Sequeira (Assistant Editor/Chief

Reporter), Oswald Pinto, Bosco Souza Eremita, Flavio Raposo,

myself, Alvis Fernandes, Edward Rodrigues, Lovino Gomes,

George, Francis Ribeiro, Elston Soares, Lionel Lynn Fernandes,

Derek Almeida, the brothers Francis and Agnel Fernandes,

Goldwyn Figueira, Agnel Rodrigues (sub-editors/chief

sub editors), Perves De Souza, Cherryl DeSouza, Anna Mendes,

Valentino Fernandes, Armenia Fernandes, Sharmila Kamat,

Babacier Gonsalves (all reporters), Alexyz Fernandes

(cartoonist), Lui Godinho and Menino Afonso

(photographers), the other Francis Ribeiro and John Aguiar

among others (correspondents) and trainees including Sinha,

and Shanti Maria, now an advocate in Panjim. This

list would obviously be incomplete, having missed out

some names.

In 1987-88, at the time of the launch of the Gomantak Times,

a number of journalists left hoping for a better work

environment. At that time, when asked for his comment,

Rajan told the Goa Today something to the effect that

the paper he was editor was "better off after the

opportunistic and mercenary people have left us" for

jobs elsewhere.

Grabbing an opportunity to to claim our right to reply,

four of us who had just left took the opportunity to

make a point. The anger and irritation felt at that

time comes out in the note then written, to which the

signatories were myself (listing the donkey first, so

as not to deny the fact that one felt strongly about

this then as now), Armenia Fernandes, Valentino

Fernandes, and Francis Ribeiro. It's worth recalling,

to put the issue in context:

"Since October 1987 (that is, till mid-February 1988),

one chief sub-editor, one sports sub-editor, two

reporters, a cartoonist and a correspondent resigned

from the Herald. Instead of deceiving oneself by

calling these people 'opportunistic and mercenary', it

would be more profitable for Mr Narayan to be honest --

at least to himself -- over why such a number of

journalists resigned from the paper.

May we point out that under Mr Narayan's stewardship

itself, not a single journalist involved in launching

the English-language Herald a little over four years

ago is still with the paper today, except for Mr

Narayan himself.

And, would Mr Narayan care to explain why it is only in

his paper that 'opportunistic and mercenary people'

(including us, by his definition) are found in such

large numbers when it comes to looking for jobs elsewhere?

To us who know, Mr Narayan is hardly convincing when he

says that 'some junior people may have left' but

Herald's 'top is still intact'. It calls for deep

soul-searching on the part of Mr Narayan to find out

why scores of journalists have resigned from the Herald

since October 10, 1983 -- the date which the paper was

launched...

ON THE FLIP side, Rajan -- at least in his early phase

-- had the ability of encouraging his staff. After a

great job done in covering the Commonwealth Retreat,

the reward was not just a good word but also a meal at

the nearby Hotel Aroma. (For the CHOGM, Devika Sequeira

and Lui Godinho sneaked into the area, and anyone would

have thought they were just a couple of Indian

tourists; Perviz teamed up with Rajan himself to chase

the then-admired now-infamous Robert Mugabe to a church

in Chimbel where the once-charismatic leader had gone

to trace his ancestors from an empire that once ruled

central Africa and part of current-day Zimbabwe. S Vaidyanathan,

the former Financial Express chief-sub who's role in

stabilising the Herald desk often goes largely

unmentioned today, did his usual thorough job on the

desk, and we trainees simply joined in the fun with our

prank calls what not.)

Rajan can also be an ideal boss, if he so chooses and

if he trusts your work. Of course, it can also be

difficult to fathom the logic on which this trust is

based, in an editor who has strong, if unexplained,

likes and dislikes. But his you-manage-things attitude

did occasionally help. At one point, we convinced Rajan

that the long and difficult night-shifts of those days

were stressful, and asked for a five-nights, three-day

schedule. This meant that we got two off-days in every

ten days, or six in a month. Rajan's response was

something to the effect that this was fine, provided we

at the news-desk managed things among ourselves and

didn't then make a case for more staff. We did. It

worked. Any desk-man taking off during the crucial

night-shift, made sure to get in a mutual replacement.

In a word, this system probably worked better than

system of policing shifts. The point here is that if he

so chooses, Rajan's style of avoiding micro-controls

could actually make for a workable management strategy.

But this phase seems to have ended nearly exactly one

year after the launch of the English-language Herald,

when the staff got the drift their their editor was

unable or unwilling to take their issues into account,

and almost all jointly formed a union. When Rajan

learnt of this, his reaction was one of a man betrayed.

Part of the problem could have been that Rajan also

perceived the insecurity of his tenure. One got the

feeling that the paper was not being improved beyond a

point, as this could make those at the editorial top dispensable.

Over the next few years, the fetters started coming on.

Rather quickly. To the staff, it was pretty clear who

Rajan's own sacred cows were, even if the editor

posited himself as the paragon of a free press. From

industrial groups lacking their own mouthpiece in

print, to some of the dissidents then harassing the man

whom Rajan got into mutually-arrogant ego-clashes with,

Pratapsing Raoji Rane.

Rajan also had a perchance to hob-nob with politicians.

One of our colleagues always attributes his survival in

journalism to then political bigwig Dr Wilfred de Souza

. How so? Obviously Rajan had flung across a copy to

the sub concerned with a 'Find the mistake in it, or

get sacked' threat. Just that time, Dr W's car pulled

up alongside the newspaper entrance. Rajan was gone,

and so vanished the threat of a loss of the job.

(As anyone who worked on the desk would concede,

finding errors on paper, when under pressure, can be

the most difficult task. Specially if they are your own

errors. Everything looks correct. This writer too has

made the stupidest of errors, notwithstanding the

reputation of being a fairly careful and concerned

desk-person.)

In our early days at the Herald, some of us

college-kids who were blessed with two-wheelers -- even

if we needed two jobs and a loan to manage these --

doubled up as 'pilots' to the seniors. It came as a

shock to one's post-teenage idealism to hear Rajan

argue after being ferried to a lengthy confabulation

with a Congress dissident: "XYZ is a good politician.

The problem is just that he is so bloody corrupt." Or

words to that effect.

If the early freedom was quick to vanish, it didn't

take much time to realise that every new paper goes

through this honeymoon with truth -- extended only as

long as the time required to build up its credibility.

For the CHOGM, Rajan allowed this writer to report on

protests from a citizens' group concerned about the

pouring of crores down the drain in the name of

building infrastructure. If one recalls right, the

figure was around Rs 50 crore (Rs 500 million), a huge

sum by early 'eighties standards. Another issue that

was a concern then was the manner in which the event

was being used as an excuse by luxury hotels to expand

their properties. At this time, Rajan's diktat was

clear: let the criticism go before the event, but once

the CHOGM Retreat starts, no more of it.

Such attitudes, and this was surely not the only case,

meant the stifling of a crucial voice at an important

time of Goan history. Resultantly, the outstation

media, for instance, didn't get a clue that such

questions were at all being asked in Goan society. When

it comes to recording the history of the 'eighties,

there will likewise be many gaps or black holes... and

many could be led into believing that these events

simply didn't occur.

Rajan's role in the Konkani movement would be another

interesting issue for research. Many a Catholic from

Goa, both here and among the diaspora, tends to read

him as being a "hero for Konkani". (Dr Teotonio De

Souza, historian, commented on Goanet on September 18,

2003: "I have known Rajan Narayan while still in Goa

and admired his contribution to the Konkani cause.")

But the issue is more complex. Needless to say, Goa's

media adopts a dog-does-not-eat-dog approach, and for

most of the time avoids criticising each other. Rajan's

role in the language agitation is yet to be adequately

evaluated. The Week magazine, in an article written by

the journalist Ashok Row Kavi (who went on to become a

prominent gay activist, but that's not particularly

relevant here) did a critical piece on the role played

by Rajan and the other Narayan, Athawale:

It's titled 'The two Narayans' and says:

THE three worlds in Hindu mythology always shuddered

when the chant 'Narayan, Narayan' echoed in the cosmos.

It meant that Narada, the roving rishi, was making his

petty-fogging presence felt.

Goa has two Narayans and there is internal trouble

there. One is Narayan Athavle, editor of the Marathi

daily Gomantak, and the other Rajan Narayan, editor of

O Herald an English daily from Panaji. They are

fighting each other claiming that they are fighting for

two languages, Marathi and Konkani.

Their credentials can be questioned, though no one

bothers to do that. Athavle is an outsider: a

Maharashtrian Chitpawan Brahmin; Rajan Narayan is from

South India and is fighting for Konkani in English.

Athavle's editorials are pure petrol on Goa's red hot

embers. Starting with Ooth Marathe Ooth (Wake up

Marathas, wake up), Athavle, who supports Rane, has

carried on a relentless battle to show that Konkani is

a 'boli' (dialect) and not a 'bhasha' (language).

Athavle has published some 25 eminently forgettable

novels, and has had a lackluster career in Lok Satta,

the Marathi daily of the Express group.

Athavle gets quite alarmed when someone mentions

'Vishal Gomantak' (Greater Goa), which to him means

'expansionism'. But he has no qualms at all when he

says that Goa should finally merge with Maharashtra

because "their cultures are the same".

In his zeal to propagate the interest of Marathi, he

has even neglected the success of his newspaper which

has been falling in circulation. Tarun Bharat,

published from Belgaum in Karnataka, has taken away

6,000 out of the 18,000-odd Gomantak circulation. Yet

Athavle has such a strong grip over the owners, the

Chowgules, that he even overseas recruitment. No

Christians are employed in that daily.

Apart from editing O Heraldo, Rajan Narayan, a former

editor of Imprint, now speaks from political platforms.

Narayan has become more a pamphleteer than a

journalist. He often attends the strategy sessions of

the KPA. He has at times tried to maintain a balance

but has failed because he is viewed suspiciously by the

Hindus and because the Christians patronise him.

Rajan Narayan is a professional doing a job and taken

up with a cause which he would just as well drop like a

hot brick if he got a better challenge somewhere else.

However, the turn he has given to the O Herald has

taken its circulation to 12,000 from the 4,000-odd it

was selling before he took over its editorship. "I

don't make any pretensions that I'm being objective,"

says he. "I'm here to fight for Konkani."

Come what may, the two Narayans, both non-Goans, are

slugging it out through reams of newsprint. And both

are accused of polarising Goa's good people as never

before. (The Week, Jan 18-24, 1987)

The figures noted above of the Herald's circulation

don't seem to be very accurate. It was more like a few

hundred in its Portuguese days -- specially towards the

fag end of playing the role of being the "only

Portuguese language daily published in Asia". But Row

Kavi raises a point long back which probably didn't get

the attention it deserved.

By the time the 1985-87 language agitation was drawing

to a close, this writer was a chief sub-editor at the

Herald. Perhaps the cynical games visible all round

convinced one about not getting caught up in the

meaningless emotionalism that was ruling both

linguistic camps. Basic questions were not being

raised. What primarily was a caste-fuelled was being

fought out along linguistic lines. Many of those who

took up these issues -- as subsequent events showed --

were more keen on cornering a share of the spoils for

themselves and their kin, rather than really empowering

the commonman (and woman) to utilise a language they

could be more at home in. Rajan's own role was critical

in shaping the language issue the way it worked out.

The average Catholic became a hard-core, if later

disillusioned by the subsequent twist of events,

supporter of the Konkani camp, without quite

understanding the unstated issues involved.

On the language front, like many other controversies in

the state, this one too polarised journalists. The

United News of India news agency, though its then Goa

correspondent Jagdish Wagh, then put out a 10-take

article which echoed the Marathi side of the arguments.

Rajan's first response was to dump it in the

waste-paper basket. To one's mind, it made sense that

both 'camps' knew each other's positions on the issue.

Specially because this was one issue where the average

Catholic reader -- who hardly reads Marathi -- was

largely unable to keep abrest with the thoughts of one

side of the debate. To Rajan's credit, he was quick to

accept a suggestion from a junior, and decided that the

article be carried on the edit page. But if one thought

he did this because of the need for a diversity of

voices, that was simply untrue. Some days later, a

gleeful Rajan informed that it was just as well he had

taken up that suggestion, since the UNI write-up had,

in turn, provoked a series of lengthy polemical

responses from the Panjim-based Konkani hardline

supporter Datta Naik written to project the Konkani

cause. It was a point-by-point attempted refutation,

and more. A whole lot of more grist to the linguistic

mill that ultimately served to build circulation,

allowing Rajan to boost his bargaining power on this

basis.

If Rajan played a crucial role in stoking the language

controversy, he was also vital in bringing it to an

abrupt and unexpected end. On the day the language bill

was passed in the Goa assembly, an angry Churchill Alemao

stomped into the Herald office. He demanded to know

how the screaming headline read something to the

effect: 'Konkani made official language'. Alemao's

criticism (with some validity, even if ironical in the

backdrop of his own exclusivist approach which sought

compltely illegitimise the Marathi demand, in what was

in is more of a caste-defined battle) was that the

headline was not justified when the dialect and script

used by a small minority had been given official acceptance.

Later realties also elaborately demonstrated that the

Rane-Khalap drafted official language bill was

extremely ambivalent, if not wholly unimplementable.

Nobody knows for certain whether Goa has one or two

official languages, or almost-official languages. Each

official purpose for which it is to be used would have

to be specifically notified, leading to further

bickerings. Besides, almost everyone would like to

leave the act unimplemented, since it would open up a

can of worms and endless more problems if anyone went

ahead implementing it. The official invitation cards,

now printed in four languages -- English, Hindi, and

Konkani and Marathi -- are enough of an indication of

what a joke this has become.

Nonetheless, the Konkani experience did not stop Rajan

from subsequently claiming that the paper under his

steering had "demonstrated dramatically its influence

by succeeding to get more than 75,000 people for the

Konkani language". Of this, he tried to make a case for

better terms -- service conditions, allowances and

possibly commissions on advertisements "generated" for

the paper.

EVEN AS HE ANNOUNCED recently his decision to quit the

Herald and launch his own weekend paper, Rajan is back

to donning his role as a 'protector of the minorities'.

But even as he stokes fears here, a genuine question

could be whether this is anything more than a marketing

strategy. His claims of being committed to secularism

could be dismissed by critics as little more than a

cynical strategy of stoking minority fears, to build a

potent constituency, just as some politicians in Goa

have done -- to convert into a permanent votebank of

sorts a large segment of the Catholic electorate. In

July 1987, Rajan told his staff, this writer then being

one of them: "Our basic constituency are the Catholics,

whether we like it or not. So much so, anything on the

Pope or developments in Christianity should be

interesting to our readers."

Rajan was however quick to understand -- unlike most of

the other editors brought into Goa to head papers here,

who sometimes take years just to understand that this

small state doesn't need a scaled-down version of a

national newspaper -- that local news was of vital

importance. To cite a Rajanism, in the form of a blunt

directive to the news-desk: "The Rajya Sabha election

in Goa is of much greater consequence to use than a

peaceful Yath Ratra (sic) in Ahmedabad. In Punjab, for

instance, I do not think we should take cognisance

unless the death toll is above 10." (This was in times

when the Punjab violence was as Kashmir today.)

Rajan was quick to argue that a new paper in Goa should

address those segments which are significant in size.

One can question his obvious strategy of playing on

minority fears and building up a minority psychosis.

Even when viewed from a very narrow sense, this could

be damaging to the interest of the minorities

themselves.

But Rajan's ability to convince the reader still holds.

In September 2003, some Goan expats across cyberspace

were carefully watching the unfolding drama as Rajan

hurriedly launched his http://www.rajannarayan.com

site. Making his an issue of freedom of expression, and

indicting the man who weeks back graced Rajan's

birthday -- Manoharbab Parrikar -- was bound to strike

a chord. Afterall, haven't we in the Press in Goa been

complaining about increasing pressures from the BJP government?

On September 16, 2003, one expat suggested that

"perhaps the only way to overcome the muzzling of the

press is for Non-Resident Goans to fund an alternative

newspaper, where the journalists can do what they do

best without their livelihood being threatened." He

went on to suggest: "Now is the time for Non-Resident Goans

who care, to come to the assistance of journalists in

Goa. As an alternative, we could support Rajan

Narayan's new venture and give him the freedom to speak

out. Democracy and freedom are at stake in Goa. It is

time for all Goans who love their motherland, to put

their money where their mouths are, and do something

for Goa."

To quite some extent the problem with contemporary

Goa's journalism is governments who don't like

criticism and therefore target certain newspapers or

journalists. But this is not the entire story.

Managements who seek to use their papers to get undue

favours, licences, or whatever are another part of the

problem. So are us journalists who don't carry on our

job neutrally and without quid-pro-quo motives. But the

editors who have long been acting as censors, and

implement the agendas of the first two categories

above, are also part of the problem. Unlike in the

'eighties, you can hardly expect an editor to stand up

for you in today's Goa.

Journalists in Goa are facing a situation where space

to write the truth is increasingly shrinking; and

editors, including Rajan, have also played their role

in making this happen. At another level, the State is

working overtime to incorporate journalists, promote

'friendly' publications and thus indulge in other means

to control opinion. While Rajan Narayan has undeniably

been one editor who was willing to say the things

others were simply not willing to say, this was done

not very consistently. Quite a few who worked under

Rajan would probably have their own story to tell. It

would really help if the average Goan was less gullible

and didn't judge issues along emotional lines alone.

The plus side also needs to be taken into the equation.

It was Rajan who pointed out to the importance of the

readership of government employees and pensioneers; to

the fact that international news needed to be focussed

on countries which Goa had long links with, or had

large Goan expat populations. He told his staff

something that seems to be beyond the comprehension of

many Goan editors: "There is also considerable interest

in Portugal. An election is scheduled in Portugal soon.

Let us keep track of the election and other

developments in Portugal."

(But one should not get misled into thinking that those

working under Rajan always had clear policy guidelines

to work under. Most of our time at least, policies were

based on whims and fancies, to gauge the rationale of

which often left one bewildered.)

He was also among those to try and shift out of the

protocol reporting -- an attitude which says 'this

report has to be there, because it has to be there' --

that journalism in a Navhind-defined Goa was notorious

for.

But then, implementing this vision was a problem. For

one, Rajan himself didn't consistently follow up on it.

Secondly, he didn't seem to believe in having competent

persons around him and preferred to work with someone

who was less likely to pose a challege in the years to

come. In addition, a considerable time was spent in

politcking, both within the organisation and beyond.

Working under Rajan meant coping with the unpredictable.

In many cases, Rajan didn't quite give other

journalists the impression that they were welcome to

contribute to the Herald. (As an aside, one of those

asked to contribute a chapter in this book, a senior

Goan journalist who has written for a number of

national and international publications, misunderstood

that the invite was to write for the Herald. The journo

simply wrote back a two-liner to declining saying that

apart from the lack of time, "Rajan won't accept my

name in his paper.")

In one of my freelance stints there, a curious case

pertained to a curious firm selling matresses at the

price of Rs 60,000 to a 100,000 and more. They claimed

all kinds of near-miraculous properties went along with

the matresses. Concerned citizens drew one's attention

to this issue, and after researching the issue, one

wrote one's report on the issue. Rajan was furious. He

accused this journalist of "not checking the other side

of the story". In reality, the firm refused to let

anyone come to their demos, unless they were duly

introduced by someone already caught in the

costly-matress trap. It later turned out that the

persons running the operations in Goa were linked to

the family of the publisher that brought out a magazine

Rajan had earlier worked for! When this issue was

raised during a recent journalist debate, Rajan

side-stepped it by raising the issue of whether one was

a staffer or freelancer while writing for the paper. He

generally confused the issue in some barely-relevant

detail, ignoring the questions of there was a clash of

interest in his role as editor here, as in many other

issues he has faced questions over.

Perhaps the most curious experience for this writer was

the one related to "Raul Gonsalves".

Sometime in the late 'nineties, a number of prominent

editors in Goa decided to impose a private 'ban' on the

writings of that abrasive but persistent letter-writer M.K.Jos

. Jos had the style of targetting editors and

journalists, which was obviously earning him

influential enemies. One may not be a fan of Jos, but

clearly a blanket ban on an individual is something

very unbecoming of a supposedly democratic society.

This writer's feature, focussing Jos with his plusses

and minuses, appeared in the weekend magazine section

of Herald, then looked after by Ethel da Costa.

Retribution was quick to come. A long piece was

published, in the same columns which this writer was a

contributor to, trying to drag this writer into a

fictitious controversy. It also sought to give a veiled

'warning' that anyone mentioning Jos could himself lend

in trouble. It later emerged that the article itself

was pseudonymously written by the editor of a rival

newspaper, claiming to be 'Raul Gonsalves'. Editorial

staff of the section confirmed that the contentious

article had been published at the behest of Rajan himself.

It could be argued that if Rajan has built a

larger-than-life image of himself, that has been

premises on the blocking out of a generation of young

journalists, whom he himself ironically had a hand in

creating. Today, Rajan's indespensibility to the Herald

stems from both a perception, not wholly true, that he

single-handedly built the paper, and the fact that

virtually nobody else in the organisation has been

trained or encouraged to write editorials.

To some measure, everyone who shares the above grouse

with this writer must be thankful to Rajan. Being

pushed out of local opportunity has helped many to get

access to wider fields. Today, Goan journalists are

employed in a number of places -- scattered across the

Gulf, to Singapore, Australia, Canada and beyond! Even

for those of us opting to remain back home, the hard

work involving in 'proving oneself' has helped to open

up new doors. Had it not been for such 'push' factors,

this writer would have probably been doing a boring job

just as a deputy news editor in some local newspaper.

Working in a Rajan-headed establishment also can cure

you of ambition. It was simply not worth the heart-burn

and infighting to rise to the level of a humble

chief-sub. This has helped convince this writer that

it's probably worth staying a humble correspondent --

possibly even freelance -- the rest of one's career,

rather than succumb to an ambition that takes

bitterness, rancour, cutthroat competition and so much

energy just to get a post in which one has to act more

as politician or manager rather than an effective

journalist?

Needless to say, on the other hand the younger

generation of journalists can indeed learn from some of

Rajan's good points. In many cases -- though not all --

he would be quick to highlight criticism of himself, in

the paper he headed. His ability to bestow confidence

on his juniors helped some to grow. (But, this was upto

a point. Also, his criticism and barrage of memos

seemed to be more linked to whether he liked someone or

not, rather than one's qualities and abilities to put

in hard work as a journalist.)

As for the writer of this chapter, one carried on

writing... and enjoying it immensely. But for most of

the past 20 years, that has been for an audience

largely outside the Herald. By some quirk of fate, one

managed to leave the Herald exactly after four years,

as planned. (Thanks to statehood, the Deccan Herald

decided to have it's first full-time staff

correspondent in Goa. Work on the news-desk was fast

ceasing to be a challenge, and the politics on the job

also made life difficult, even if the team that worked

there had a good team spirit and a youthful have-fun

attitude towards life.) Also, as planned, one put in a

two-line resignation letter.

As anticipated, my absence there was not viewed as a

loss; anyone who stayed on too long got the feeling he

or she was becoming a liability -- or that the law of

diminishing returns were applying. Whatever may have

been my failings, some of my colleagues pointed to the

fact that this writer was one of the few who had been

around from Day One, and was known for his attempts to

bring out a good product. Paste-up artists would

comment, "The day you leave, there will be a lot of

disappointment." I suffered from no such delusions. In

part, because nobody is indispensible. In greater part,

because one was aware of the attitude of Rajan Narayan

towards anyone who might one-day be competition.

Right I was. When I told Rajan of my decision, he had

just one question in mind: where are you going? On

being told that it was the Deccan Herald, a visible

sign of relief appeared on his brow. Not only was one

not joining the Gomantak Times, then viewed as the

looming-on-the horizon competition, but also another

journo was getting out of the way. Or at least, that

was how one intrepreted it.

Perhaps one was not wrong. Since then, one was at

Deccan Herald for the first seven years, a period

during which staffers were not officially allowed to

write for other publications. But, since 1995, when one

went into full-time freelancing, never did one feel

welcome to write for the Herald, whenever Rajan Narayan

was around. On the contrary, doing this would make one

feel like an encroacher or illegal alien overstaying

his welcome at a place not wanted.

At one stage, Rajan Narayan went for his lengthy

treatment, leaving behind no editorials for the paper.

Having never apparently encouraged anyone to rise to

the task of writing editorials, he apparently often

used this as his bargaining chip (as has happened

recently). Unlike in other papers, where the

middle-level journalists write the editorial, here the

space was very much Rajan's fiefdom. Being into

freelancing, and wanting to take up the challenge, one

wrote a set of 50 or so editorials during one of his

periods of extended absences during the 'nineties. This

was done at the request of the newspaper management,

and the staff apparently appreciated the move. Yet, on

his return, and probably realising that churning out

this many pieces -- that too, all on issues related to

Goa -- could be done by someone else too, Rajan went on

to write his editorial which claimed "friends in Goa and

Bombay are eager to bury me..." . Or something to that

effect. The "friend' in Bombay was, one guesses, Alwyn

Fernandes, a former Times of India journalist, who at

one stage was actively considering taking over the

editorship of the Herald.

(At a later tenure, after the Herald faced a crisis

when chief reporter Julio Da Silva suddenly opted for

contesting an assembly election on a BJP ticket, rather

than staying on in journalism. Since one had turned to

freelancing, contributing to a local daily sounded a

good idea. This continued for some time, till, again,

Rajan Narayan's return resulted in getting the feeling

of being unwanted.)

At the end of the day -- though nobody should try to

write a premature obit for his influence on Goan

journalism -- Rajan will probably be known for what he

has written. Not for what he made sure didn't surface.

In this context, it is perhaps important to put down

these perspectives on the record, so that the future

could have other views from which to judge contemporary

journalism in Goa.

Chapter 8:

Rural Goa, unheard, unsung...

Melvyn S. MisquitaMelvyn S Misquita represents a trend among some of the

younger journalists -- well-educated (he holds two M.A.

degrees), Net-savvy, and eager to extend the boundaries

of journalism in Goa should be looking at, apart from

just the Secretariat. Recently, his work made it to the

news in a major way, when the Indian Express carried a

large spread in its national-edition on how Misquita

had traced the strange story of the sinking of a World

War II British passenger liner, BritanniaIII, which had

dozens of Goans (including one of Misquita's

grand-uncle's) on board.

If my entry into journalism was accidental, working

with rural correspondents in Goa was equally

unexpected. One morning of May 1998, then editor of the

Gomantak Times, Ashwin Tombat, asked me to handle local

correspondents who were contributing to the newspaper.

He assured me that correspondents were an integral part

of the newspaper and, that, a strong network would play

a vital role in strengthening the newspaper.

While Tombat's ability to put forth persuasive

arguments eventually convinced me to accept this task,

I was determined not to remain 'stuck' with

correspondents for long. There were many reasons for

this. Firstly, working with correspondents invariably

meant that one would end up merely re-writing their

stories and would not have much time to work on my own

stories. And with barely two years of journalism under

my belt, there was no way I would allow my ambition be

condemned to the mere restoration of correspondents'

news items.

Secondly, co-ordinating with correspondents involved

vast amounts of patience, as each correspondent had to

be handled differently. Moreover, since most were

part-time correspondents and could devote only a few

hours to the profession, I could only expect them to

function for a brief part of the day. Then again, these

correspondents were based in different parts of the

state and my interaction with them was largely

dependent on telephones and other means of remote communication.

The correspondents were certainly happy to have me

around, as till then their complaints seemed endless.

"Our stories don't appear promptly in the newspaper

and, sometimes, they don't appear at all. People in our

locality then get upset and complain that we are not

sending in their stories," was a commonly echoed

grievance. "No one attends to our telephone calls and,

when they do, they keep transferring our calls from one

person to another and they finally disconnect the

phone," was another general complaint.

Their complaints certainly had some degree of

legitimacy.

It is a common perception -- especially among

English-language newspapers in the state -- that correspondents

are third-class passengers, who deserve little or no

decent treatment. Let me cite two instances to prove

this point. In one English-language newspaper, a

correspondent sent me a crime report, which, under

normal circumstances, should have been carried the next

day. To my surprise, the report was not published for

the next two days. The correspondent called me and

sought an explanation for the delay. Unable to give him

a suitable reply, I transferred the call to the

concerned sub-editor, who simply snapped back and

insisted that the correspondent need not bother about

his report and, that, the report would appear only when

there space was available in the paper!

Some time ago, a Vasco-based couple died in a road

mishap in Porvorim and the correspondent promptly sent

in the report. The next morning, I was taken aback to

find the item in a single column, virtually hidden in

the section for continued items on Page 4.

Incidentally, the distribution of saplings by an MLA

not only merited a double-column spread, but also a

decent photograph -- ironically, just alongside the

news item reporting the tragic deaths. The sub-editor's

reply, like his news sense, left me baffled. "So what?

So many people die almost everyday. What was so special

about these deaths?" Unfortunately, the sub-editor

failed to acknowledge the fact that the same news item

was prominently displayed in the other two

English-language newspapers.

A former colleague once aptly described such an

attitude as "'news sense' value which gets transformed

into 'nuisance value'."

In most cases, those serving on the news desk in

English-language papers have never worked as rural

correspondents and are, hence, unable, or in some cases

unwilling, to understand the intricacies of collecting

and sending news items. Confined to the four walls of

the newspaper office, some members of the news desk

play a role similar to that of a cook in the kitchen;

while rural correspondents are the waiters who have to

constantly interact either with an unhappy customer or,

in some cases, a satisfied customer. The news desk

essentially plays a vital role in the making or

breaking of a story sent by rural correspondents.

But then, the news desk is faced with pressures of a

different kind, which are not always understood by

rural correspondents, based as they are in remote

corners of Goa, who rarely witnessed the hectic

activity at the news desk, moments before the deadline.

On numerous occasions, news items placed on the page

had to be removed at the last moment to accommodate

late advertisements. As such, rural reports, no matter

how essential, simply couldn't find the space in newspaper.

Moreover, many correspondents are convinced that their

news items are more important than the others, so much

so that they cannot bear to find their reports delayed

even by a day. Quite often, their unhappiness over the

delay in printing their reports would become more vocal

with each passing day and, invariably, I became their

punching bag. This was largely because some of the

rural correspondents are considered important members

of the public in their locality and, at times, their

prestige and financial gains in journalism would often

be at stake with a delayed publication of their reports.

It must be admitted that over the years, journalism has

been turned into a prestigious and lucrative part-time

option for many of the rural correspondents. A few

years ago, a former editor mentioned to me that he was

on a trip to a remote village in Goa, when he decided

to attend a function in the locality. The place was

packed to capacity and he was forced to stand behind

occupied chairs. To his surprise, the chief guest

happened to be the local correspondent of his own newspaper!

This enthusiasm towards 'extra-curricular' activities

sometimes translates into political affiliation. In a

recent event which established the BJP-journo nexus in

Sanguem, a correspondent with a Marathi newspaper and

member of the Sanguem Patrakar Sangh was been

unanimously elected president of the Sanguem Unit of

the BJP. Similarly, the president of the Sanguem

Patrakar Sangh and a correspondent with an

English-language newspaper, was appointed the BJP booth

president of Tarimol-Sanguem. In most cases, reports

sent by correspondents to the news desk, in the past,

specially when there was no one in particular to look

after this responsibility, simply lacked form and

content. Illegible words either scribbled on scraps of

paper or sent as distorted faxed messages were among

the most popular methods deployed to communicate their

reports. In some cases, only a skilled pharmacist could

decipher the words used by some correspondents. Under

such conditions, the sub-editor assigned to such

reports had the arduous task of converting them into

decent stories. Quite often, the easiest way out would

be to forward the raw report to the dust bin. A

sub-editor flooded with such reports and working under

pressure would invariably exercise this option with

considerable frequency.

Then in June 1998, it was my turn to handle the

correspondent network under the fancy and wordy

designation of "Chief of News Bureau". In reality, I

had to play God in the laboratory. This meant

subjecting numerous correspondent reports to various

quality control tests each day and, in some cases,

creating sense from nonsense, before they were ready to

be read by thousands of readers in and around Goa.

Under such circumstances, I had anticipated that my

association with correspondents would not to last long,

that is, if I wanted to maintain my sanity in the

profession.

But this was not meant to be.

The days turned to weeks, months and eventually years.

And, before I knew it, my interaction with rural

correspondents went on to complete half a decade. I

have since handled thousands of reports either sent to

me through post, fax, emails or even dictated over the

phone. In most cases, the reports may have initially

appeared trivial or insignificant, but a little

refinement and some cut-paste commands have succeeded

in giving a new look to the report. And with

encouraging results.

In a recent case, the Pernem correspondent sent me a

report on action initiated by the local health

authorities, in view of the outbreak of viral hepatitis

in the state. In the second last paragraph of his

report was a mention that the authorities had decided

to shut down the Pernem police station canteen for

operating under 'unhygienic conditions'. In my view,

this was most significant and I refined the story with

this angle as the lead. Taking cue from the news item,

the Director General of Police issued a memo to the

Pernem police inspector, seeking an explanation for the

unhygienic conditions in the police canteen.

Incidentally, Herald was the only English-language

daily to carry this report.

Over the years, I have not only succeeded in building

up my tolerance level to the specific demands of

correspondents, I have also learnt to appreciate the

crucial role of those eyes and ears spread all over the

state. This experience has led me to believe that a

local newspaper which ignores rural news content will

be as effective as an orchestra playing music before a

deaf audience.

While there is consensus on the value of local news

content, the importance of rural correspondents has not

always been appreciated by the powers that be in the

newspaper. A correspondent is often treated like the

spare wheel of a vehicle, detachable and to be ignored

under normal circumstances. The merit is only

recognised in times of emergency, when a big story

breaks out in areas represented by correspondents. Then

too, it is a common trend that newspapers would prefer

to send its full-fledged staffers, often from Panjim,

instead of relying on part-time rural correspondents,

to cover the event. This is not to suggest that

full-fledged staffers have no right to tresspass on the

territory of correspondents, as it were. Rather, a

staffer would benefit a great deal by utilising the

expertise and local knowledge of a rural correspondent

to ensure an effective story.

To cite an example, a staffer was recently asked to

interview noted people in connection with a prominent

cultural festival in a village. The staffer was unaware

that the same festival is celebrated separately by two

groups in the village and, that, the article would need

to carry the comments of people from both groups.

Instead of seeking the assistance of a correspondent

from the area, the staffer went ahead and interviewed

five persons from the village. Eventually, the staffer

realised that four persons interviewed represented one

group, while the sole personality interviewed from the

other group went on to criticise his own group! The

article was published and the damage was done.

Organisers of the second group were aggrieved and

threatened to withdraw advertisements to the newspaper.

The issue was finally resolved when the local

correspondent carried a series of reports to clarify

the position of the organisers of the second group. Had

the staffer sought the assistence of the local

correspondent, the issue would never have been blown

out of proportion.

Then again, the 'who-has-written' preference over the

'what-has-been-written' has plagued many

English-language newspapers and this has largely

contributed to the 'City-Centric Syndrome'. There have

been instances to suggest that a news report filed by a

staffer has been accorded more prominence -- both in

space and display -- than a report sent by a rural

correspondent. Recently, tension flared up along the Tuyem

-Camurlim ferry route, after the river navigation

department wanted to shift the lone ferry to Tar-Siolim

for the five-day Ganesh immersion ceremony. An MLA,

sarpanchas of two village panchayats and over angry 200

people prevented the movement of the ferry. The

correspondent promptly sent the report and the item

could only find place in the lower portion of page 7,

normally reserved for routine and unimportant news items.

The controversy then erupted again for the nine-day

Ganesh immersion ceremony, when authorities finally

shifted the lone ferry from the Tuyem-Camurlim route to

Siolim. Commuters were unhappy to travel by the free

canoe service, while those travelling in vehicles were

forced to take a lengthy detour. On the other hand,

people in Siolim had the luxury of a ferry to assist

them in a religious ceremony. The correspondent sent me

the report but, this time, the item was published on

page 4, normally reserved for stories which have been

continued from page 1. Incidentally, six of the eight

news items which appeared on page 3 -- the most popular

'inside' page for Goa news -- were Margao-based news

items. "At least, you people carried the ferry story. I

sent the same story to my newspaper. But I did not find

my story anywhere in the paper the next day," remarked

an unhappy correspondent of another newspaper.

Newspaper authorities tend to justify this

'City-Centric Syndrome' by claiming that their readers

are concentrated in and around cities and towns and,

hence, an urban-based report would generate more

interest than a remote village-based story. To accept

this argument would be similar to assume that a

nutritional and tasty meal is possible merely with a

generous portion of rice, minus the curry, vegetables

and other side dishes.

Reports by rural correspondents add spice, flavour and

variety to a newspaper. It is no wonder that the

popularity of vernacular papers in Goa has been largely

due to the quality and quantity of local stories, both

from urban and rural areas.

Different standards adopted with rural correspondents

can be quite effective to confuse and demoralise them.

In one incident, a rural correspondent sent me a report

stating that a building constructed by a firm and owned

by an MLA, was being built barely metres from a high

tension pole. A labourer while at work accidentally

came in contact with the live wires and was seriously

injured. Though a police complaint was filed against

the firm and not the MLA, the correspondent was keen to

establish the link since since the MLA was largely

responsible for the negligence. However, the editor

pulled up the correspondent for attempting to introduce

the MLA into the story, when the police complaint did

not specify the direct involvement of the MLA.

Sometime later, the sister of a minister fatally

stabbed her husband to death. Though the minister was

not involved as he was abroad at the time of the

incident, the same editor called up the news desk,

asking them to insert the statement that the alleged

murderer is the sister of the minister. The minister's

identity was not specified in the police complaint and,

yet, the editor wanted to establish the link between

the minister and his sister.

The problems faced by rural correspondents are fairly

common and are not restricted to any one newspaper and

it has become a common trend for local correspondents

to pool in stories and resources. This in turn has led

to the creation of local level associations, commonly

known as "Patrakar Sangh" in most talukas of the State.

These associations have, in turn, branched out into

constituency-level associations. At present, the

numerous "Patrakar Sanghs" in Goa include the

Sanguem-Quepem Patrakar Sangh, Sanguem Patrakar Sangh,

Murgao Patrakar Sangh, Pernem Patrakar Sangh, Mandrem

Patrakar Sangh, Bicholim Patrakar Sangh and the

Bardez-based Zunzar Gramin Patrakar Sangh. Besides

safeguarding the interests of rural correspondents,

these associations provide support to its members and

also promote interactions with society by organising

various contests and cultural programmes.

Having served correspondents across two newspapers for

over half a decade, I have grown to appreciate and

respect their enthusiasm to the profession, despite the

difficulties that engulf them on a regular basis. If my

efforts have paid rich dividends, it is largely based

on my recipe called T.R.U.S.T, which includes the key

ingredients of Talent, Reliability, Usefulness,

Sincerity and Tenacity.

TALENT: Rural correspondents have often been judged by

their talent in the collection of news from their

respective areas. It is this talent that has enthused

many correspondents to remain in journalism for many

years, even though in most cases, monetary benefits

have been too meagre to justify their interest.

I have often worked with rural correspondents who have

little knowledge of English and, yet, they have

communicated to me stories which have turned out to be

impressive reports. There have been some correspondents

who have developed such strong contacts, that they are

easily identified by the masses in different parts of

the taluka represented by the correspondent. These

correspondents are the true representatives of the

newspaper in their areas.

Correspondents with remarkable talent have always

remained the prized possession of a newspaper and, in

many cases, have gone on to become full-fledged reporters.

RELIABILITY: By and large, rural correspondents have

been a reliable lot and have stood by the paper in good

times and in bad. These correspondents have sent in

their reports all year round, without taking into

account their weekly holidays, public holidays or

annual leave. In one newspaper, correspondents were not

paid for a number of months due to acute financial

difficulties and, yet, that didn't retard the flow of

their reports and they continued to serve the newspaper

with the same level of enthusiasm. This level of

commitment and reliability of correspondents will

always be an asset to any newspaper.

I had a correspondent who happened to fly to Bombay in

the morning, but that didn't stop him from sending me a

news item over the phone. Beyond doubt, this

correspondent, despite his busy schedule in Vasco, has

been one of my most enterprising correspondents and a

crucial component in my network of correspondents.

Correspondents located in remote areas usually cover a

huge geographical area and in most cases, travel many

kilometres to either collect or send a report to the

newspaper. Yet, this rarely deters them from sending

their reports.

USEFULNESS: While rural correspondents are primarily

responsible for covering events in their localities,

they are extremely beneficial to newspapers in a number

of ways. They can be of invaluable help in the

promotion of newspaper, be it circulation, generation

of advertisements or other areas of interest to a

newspaper. In fact, some correspondents have even

started advertising agencies of their own.

SINCERITY: This ingredient distinguishes rural

correspondents who pursue journalism as an end from

those who manipulate the profession as a means to an end.

Over the years, I have learnt to respect the large

number of rural correspondents, who have been sincere

to the journalism. This is not to say that rural

correspondents are insulated from pressures while

discharging their part-time duties. On the contrary,

they are most prone to influences within their locality

and hence, their ability to withstand the gravitational

forces of politics and economics has to be appreciated.

TENACITY: Another hallmark of most rural correspondents

is the persistent determination which has been the

driving force over the years. News items on a series of

issues filed by rural correspondents have prompted

authorities to initiate action. Recently, a

correspondent persistently highlighted the illegal

felling of trees in the taluka, inviting the wrath of

timber smugglers. Ignoring numerous threats to his

life, his efforts eventually paid off when arrests were

effected, lethargic local authorities transferred and

brakes applied on the illegal activities in the area.

My association with the Herald is yet to complete two

years, but I am glad that the Herald News Bureau has

developed a team of talented, reliable, useful, sincere

and tenacious correspondents. And I am grateful to have

been involved in this process.

Chapter 9:

A year apart... journalism and leaving home

Daryl PereiraDaryl Pereira came to Goa as a lost young member of the

widespread Goan diaspora. He promptly won many friends

by his friendly ways and have-fun attitude. In turn, he

not just discovered his roots more deeply (Daryl

recently chose to have his wedding in Goa), but also

earned for himself a profession. Besides opting for

Media Studies back in the UK, he currently works for a

search-engine promotion agency (or, put in plain

language, an initiative that skews search-engine

results, to allow you to be listed first, if you can

afford to pay).

A lot has happened since my time as writer and

sub-editor for The Herald's international edition. But

a brief stint in the mid-90's has left an indelible

mark on my psyche. Having said that, the Herald for me

is largely synonymous with India, journalism and

leaving home, so discussing it in isolation isn't easy.

Also, there was no clearly defined plan -- it was

something I more or less stumbled on by chance.

It turned to be a chance encounter of which I still

feel the repercussions.

I arrived in Goa from the UK early in 1995, after

scrapping a potentially lucrative yet un-inviting

career in accountancy, originally no more than another

faceless backpacker with meagre funds hoping to enjoy

the chilled hazy life of a shack-wallah. Shame I didn't

check the weather forecast. The small matter of a

monsoon put paid to any chances of beachside employment.

Offices filled with ledgers piled to the roofs were

enough to put me off venturing into the world of Indian

accountancy and, not wanting to follow the aimless road

back home, I desperately cast the net out wide. An

answer to an advert for a 'Person Required for English

Publication' -- one of the more ambiguous ads to grace

the career opportunity pages -- led to an interview and

my first trip to the Herald offices.

Finding the office more energetic and boisterous than

previous working environments I had experienced, a

barrage of writing tests and interviews left me feeling

like I had been through a whirlwind. The whirlwind

moved quickly. That very same day I found out I was the

new sub-editor for the Herald International Review, a

paper intended to serve the Goan diaspora.

Well, what this role meant in reality was that I would

read the articles awaiting publication, picking up the

odd grammatical error, but more importantly I was the

lowest common denominator litmus test -- if the pages

didn't stand up to my paltry knowledge of the Goan

political system then (the argument goes) it would not

be understood by Goans in the furthest-flung corners of

the globe.

Day in day out, I would take the long dusty climb up to

the top floor -- at the time we were sharing office

space with accounts. Not quite the close separation of

duty to which I'd become accustomed. And although their

elaborate entries in ledgers never became any less

cryptic, it did give me the opportunity to mingle with

those outside the editorial department.

During the early weeks of my tenure in May, the heat

soared. Then early in June the rains broke -- with a

fanfare of grumbles from most of the populace for the

three-day delay. Funny for me, as in the North European

climes to which I was accustomed, rain pretty much

randomly came and went. The ferocity of the storms also

came as a shock. Days heavily punctuated with storms.

The power cuts that ensued, hobbling our much needed

computers, led to a greedy lunge for the last drips of

juice out of the backup generator in order to crunch

out a few extra words. Once that dried up, we would

have little more to do than meditatively stare at the elements.

In the English political system, the summer is the

silly system. It's the time for stories of twins joined

at birth and how a routine trip to the hospital to have

a wart removed leads to three-years incarceration.

Falling over the same months, the monsoon season in Goa

seems to have a similar effect. The supply of news is

low, but the column-inches keep up their incessant

demand. Ministers with long-shot pleas for 'raindrop

tourism' (to wake up a beachside industry all but dried

up over the period) is enough to make front page news.

Perhaps that is the reason that it was felt pushing me

out into the midst of Goa on the hunt for fresh stories

couldn't do too much harm. It was only later that I saw

this as one of the perks of working in a small team

(there were only three full-timers bringing out a

24-page tabloid weekly edition). Feeling like a young

bird pushed from it's nest way before time I was forced

out, between showers, onto the streets of Panjim, to

interact with the local populace. Quite early on, I was

struck by the stony faces of small-league civil

servants. The UK broadcast journalist Jeremy Paxman

claims the relationship between a politician and a journalist

is like that between "a dog and a lamp post". I could relate.

However, a useful mentor, T helped me through my first

real interview. This got off to a bad start when, after

biking it through sheets of rain, we knocked on the

door -- only to be greeted with the merest slither of a

gap with a voice behind it. I could almost smell the

fear as the middle-aged housewife exclaimed 'naka,

naka', as T tried to negotiate us into the flat. Her

son, a bright student looking for entrance into

engineering college, had come up against a wall of

resistance -- communal motivations were suspected.

Eventually, after agreeing to keep the article as vague

as possible, she succumbed and we entered the flat.

Once in, hot chai and samosas were thrust upon us as we

sat on the main (and only) sofa in a clean and basic

flat. Seems like hospitality begins at the sacred

entrance -- perhaps the reason why were kept out for so

long. Antagonism and Indian snacks don't sit that

comfortably together.

Well, for my first time, all seems to be going well.

However, looking down as I rapidly scribble, I start to

notice a puddle emerging around me on the stone floor.

Early on in the rains and I haven't yet made the

connection between downpours and sandals. The puddle

grows and I feel like my shoes are slowly turning into

the source of the Mandovi. I have little option other

than to come clean. What followed was an episode with

me apologising, receiving a maternal smile and a towel

and a level of empathy I'm not sure could have been

reached any other way. As it happened, the article

created few ripples and the power of the press didn't

have quite the force the lady had anticipated.

My confidence grew, and, as the rainy season drew on, I

ventured out more and more.

Towards the end of August, the rains finally showed

signs of letting up. However there was talk in the

market place -- the fish didn't return. At street level

housewives were struggling to find the plump shimmering

mackerals with which they normally populated their

spicy yellow curries. In the areas surrounding the big

resorts, blame was laid on the proliferation of hotels

with their ever-growing need for the freshest produce.

Out at sea, traditional fishermen blamed the trawlers.

The National Institute of Oceanography, which is

responsible for monitoring the seas, observed from the

fence. Whatever the cause, changes were afoot on this

rural coastal land -- the once abundance of resources

strained as it's popularity started to mushroom.

As the clouds melted away for good, shacks started to

spring up like primroses in May. The hoteliers grumbled

-- their 'multi-cuisine' menus just weren't being read.

Politicians took sides with either faction. Some

framing the fight in favour of the shack-owning

under-dogs, others pointing to their lack of civic

responsibility with their spliced electricity wires and

overflowing rubbish out of the backs of the flimsy

beach side establishments.

On the backs of the tourists and travellers flocking to

Goa came the stories of the parties, drug deaths, Anjuna

hot-spots that managed openly flout local licences and

throb on till the early hours of the morning. Crime

also increased -- the mugging of tourists, either on

desolate stretches of beach or in their insecure

dwellings, became more and more widespread. The hotels

brought problems of their own. This being a time of

huge growth, water was sapped up beyond the limits of

the local ecology and the coastal regulation zone (the

area demarcated on the beach up to where the hotels

could be built) was debated and apparently ignored in

many instances.

The international ramifications of a sordid paedophile

ring is exposed, following the conviction of Freddy Peats,

a German national involved in the abuse and traffic

of Goa's under-age. As the grim facts unfold, including

naive support by the Catholic church, the society looks

on in repugnance, wanting to distance itself from such

heinous activities. Once again, Goa's flirtation with

other cultures in a bid to make the most of its

picturesque rural ideal is put into question.

One of the major benefits of such a small team bringing

out fortnightly publication is that we had the

opportunity to experience each of the many ingredients

that make up a well-rounded news magazine.

Towards Christmas, to lighten the load of the heavy

political wrangling, I took to the fields. The paddy

fields that is. As a Goan urban dweller, I am familiar

with the white side of rice -- as it appears in all its

culinary simplicity and elegance on the plate. I am

however completely ignorant of the involved process of

getting to that stage. An 'expose' on the inner

workings of the paddy harvest -- the cutting,

thrashing, pounding and milling -- gives me the chance

to wade through the paddy, chase frogs, and be

generally mocked by good-tempered field workers. Not

quite sure if this is in the general job descriptions

of most journalism openings.

As the season starts to draw to a close, like a hungry

tiger the news machine goes in search of whatever

morsels are on offer. Once again the rains come and

Panjim is filled with the sight of sodden journalists

speeding around in reversed raincoats.

For personal reasons, it's time for me to head home.

On return, an enthusiasm for media leads into trendy

multimedia and somehow I end up dumped in full-blown

information technology, where I am today. As such, I'm

not in the perfect position to be able to compare the

practice of journalism in Goa with that of elsewhere,

although the peculiarities of the working environment

do stand out.

From the original office on the dusty top floor, we are

eventually reshuffled into the air conditioned first

floor vault. The cool air brings a much needed respite

from the heat and dust, and the environment is

definitely less makeshift. The room does have another

feature -- low hanging beams at the end and

(particularly hazardously) in the middle of the room

level out the worst excesses of pomposity with a short

sharp shock. I'm not sure if they are part of a larger

shrewd plan of management, but over the years they have

cracked the head of a number of prominent Goan

journalists and contributors. Exactly quite how this

has affected the quality of output, I'm unsure.

And then there was the technology. Aside from the

hardcore printing machines, large metal plates and

dangerous chemicals lying around, the computers that

sponged up our picture and prose were actually more

contemporary than the ones I had left behind as a

Liverpudlian accountant. As the adoption of the

computer had come in here at a much later stage, the

Herald machines tended to be newer, faster and bigger.

There were just fewer of them. Working under such

limited resources would at time inevitably lead to

fractures. Although we worked on the computers

feverishly in the morning to make way for the daily

staff (whose strict deadline gave them precedence), as

deadline approached tempers could occasionally erupt.

This thing called the Internet had been kicking around

for a few years but towards the end of my tenure was

finally picked up by a journalist fraternity that had

viewed the Internet with scepticism and suspicion (as

did many other people at the time). For us it was just

a dial-up modem taking about two minutes for a standard

sized email, as long as nothing happened to the fragile

connection. As our publication was aimed squarely at

the Goan living abroad, this was an excellent resource

for finding out what the Goan diaspora was up to and

how Goa was perceived on the world stage (especially

important in the area of covering tourism). As an

aside, it also meant that I no longer had to write all

the letters to the editor. Other resources such as the

Goacom website appeared, with intentions sturdy enough

to keep it valid to this day (I can heartily recommend

the recipes!). I think it is safe to say that the

Internet has irrevocably changed the face of

researching, collecting and distributing news. The

availability of this service in The Herald and other

Goan papers marks Goa out as one of the more fortunate

areas of the developing world.

I often wondered how powerful the pen we were wielding

actually was. Beyond the massage of ego of seeing a

by-line in print, it was hard to work out if our

columns of verbiage could actually make a positive

meaningful difference. Covering the depletion of fish

stocks after the rains did, to my surprise, seem to

create a few ripples.

Liquor (hard and soft), was often present in the world

of Goan journalism. Anecdotal evidence from the UK and

US suggests that this is common throughout many other

parts of the world. As with many stereotypes, the one

of the hack at the bar does contain some truth. There

is a quite widely held belief that alcohol gets the

mind churning and the pen moving. A pint at lunchtime

can help be a bit more assertive and searching when the

proud owner of the new enterprise slips into pompous conceit.

There was one ritual we adhered to quite regularly --

once a fortnight, after we had put the paper to bed, we

took to the city to celebrate. A restaurant would

inevitably mean a few pegs of rum. Then onto one of the

few late night drinking establishments: a seedy

corrugated bunker alive with the chatter of civil

servants, cops and journalists. Indian rum formed the

cohesive force -- the basis for a number of nefarious

deals in shady corners. Being not so familiar with the

more subtle political machinations I felt largely sidelined.

I did get a glimpse of the more unsavoury effect if

taken to excess -- seeing the image of older

journalists whose idealism had turned to advanced

alcoholism. Exactly what were the causes remained

unclear, but it wasn't pleasant to see.

But how politically unbiased were we allowed to be? The

advertising versus editorial debate in the press is a

perennial one. Over the year I was with The Herald,

there were a few lapses where there would be direct

influence from commercial interests to have articles in

their favour. Being asked to give the owner of a

prominent luxury hotel a mouthpiece through an

extensive interview did give me the sense of being in

the pockets of big business. However, I had the

authority to go to press with quotes throwing into

question the viability of luxury tourism in a land

where the season lasts little over four months --

slightly dampening the gushing tone of the article.

Rather than being downright manipulative, in hindsight

I would describe the management style as slightly

neurotic, characteristically protecting its own

interests. This led to occasional grumbles, back-talk

and skirmishes among the editorial team; however they

say the best relationships flourish under tension.

Perhaps this was the cohesion needed to keep together

the tribe of English-language hacks who refer to

themselves as 'ex-Herald'.

Being a Goan born and raised in the West, interested in

keeping contact and learning about my more distant

roots, the attempts of The Herald to reach out to the

Goan across the globe was admirable, and I was honoured

to be a part of it. The edition has since folded and it

is a shame that the paper doesn't do more at the

international level now, perhaps utilising new

technologies available to streamline the whole process.

All in all, I feel my tenure at The Herald was a

fruitful one. That is not to deny that the paper has

its troubles, but to an extent newspapers (like

politicians) are merely mirrors of the society they

serve. The fact that it has been a part of the Goan

social and political landscape for the last twenty

years is, if nothing more, testament to its success

within the community.

Chapter 10:

Growing up with the Herald...

Visvas Paul D KarraVPDK was an outspoken sub-editor at the Herald, where

he also covered sports for the daily's special

supplement. Subsequently, he has shifted to working at

the prominent Bangalore-based daily, Deccan Herald.

After the Herald, journalism seemed to me like a dress

rehearsal. Always a bridesmaid, never quite the bride.

Surviving months of introductory sessions with Francis Ribeiro,

I was firmly convinced that I had a role in nation

building. I started behaving my age and silently

promised to skip rum the next Saturday night. And on

moon-less nights, I stayed awake thinking about the

burden of the Fourth Estate, lying face down on my

leased estate. At the office there were daily hunting

trips, as I went on poaching for angles and words from

the alphabet forest.

In short, Herald was the 'journalism school' where I

learnt all the elementary tricks of the trade. But what

set apart this journalism school was its sense of

applied practical nightmares. None wanted you to come

up with a neat circle. If it got a reader's attention,

rhombus would do, this I learned from the Herald.

The continuous slogging on the desk, day in and day

out, soon scratched away the sheen off a 'oh-you-are a

journalist' comment and introduced me to a world of

words. This wordy world consisted of stories and

stories, each of them carrying a life of their own,

each one clamouring for attention. The more attention a

story deserved, the higher in the page it appeared. The

less attention the story received, down in the scale

you go.

My 'studies' did not end with desk itself. I did my

internship on the field as 'unofficial special stories

reporter'. The love for writing prompted me to scan the

paper for interesting news and do follow-up on these.

This in the long run gave me the rich experience of a

deskie as well as reporting, something which no

journalism school would probably offer.

But I was not prepared for all this when I applied for

the job of a sub-editor. Neither was I prepared for a

question like 'Do you know English?', when I came for

the interview. Asking a question like this to someone

who has applied for a job in an English-language daily

does seem to be a strange question. But the interviewer

was Rajan Narayan, the editor of Goa's oldest daily. I

was almost in a stupor after meeting the man whom I had

admired for over a decade. But this was an interview

and I stumbled out an answer. Thankfully, the interview

was very short and soon Rajan introduced me to the then

Deputy News Editor of Herald, Francis Ribeiro, who

after initial hiccups became my friend and mentor.

Francis Ribeiro's hand was in a crepe bandage when I

first shook hands with him: Later on I came to know

that he broke his hand in an unsuccessful attempt to

jump over a bull while riding his scooter on the road

to Saligao at night.

Not even in my nightmares had I ever seen myself

sitting in the office of the Herald happily churning

out copies or giving headlines to stories which

thousands of readers would read the next day. But this

happened on December 31, 1996. Since then, my innings

in the Herald was full of excitement. Not even one

single unnecessary off, as Francis would put it.

My tryst with the Herald began as a reader though.

Those were my school days in Don Bosco, Panjim. Coming

to think of it now, it does seem to be a strange

coincidence that I joined Don Bosco school in 1983 as a

fifth standard student, a few months before the Herald

was launched as an English-language daily.

Don Bosco is such a fine school because, as one

realised later in life, this was a school which

awakened the latent talent in every student. Here my

appetite for news (and, or course, lunch) grew day by

day. Every morning, just before classes began, snippets

of important news used to be read out over the school

loudspeakers. One fine morning, it was announced that a

newspaper has been launched in town called the Herald,

and that the front-page and sports-page of this

newspaper would be displayed daily on one of the

ground-floor notice boards. A crowd of boys used to

gather around this newspaper board during the 11 am

interval, snacking on every word. I used to be part of

this crowd. It became a ritual, to read the front-page

and sports-page of the Herald in school.

In my higher classes, one enterprising fellow used to

buy the whole newspaper and bring it to class,

inevitably triggering a mad scramble for the eight

pages. It was in my eighth standard, when one of the

then Salesian fathers, Jude Borges, who taught moral

science, brought copies of the Herald into the class

and asked us to count the number of advertisements and

the number of news items on each page. The verdict:

There was more news than advertisements. The moral that

day for us kids was: read the Herald newspaper, it

enriches your knowledge because it has got more news

than advertisements compared to the other leading

daily. Father Jude left us behind with one moral. I

felt like crying.

Meanwhile, Rajan Narayan's editorials and Stray

Thoughts rose to dizzying heights, and so did my

reading interest in the Herald. So finally when I met

the man himself, I was in a kind of daze.

Of course, the man never ceased to amaze me.

Much water has flowed under the Mandovi bridge carrying

with it the angst, dismay, despair, frustration of many

people who worked with me in the Herald into the

Arabian sea over my style of functioning. Call it what

you want, my stars, fate, karma, foolishness, anything,

but I have this knack of raising the hackles of people.

This inherent nature was actually a boon for me as it

was a kind of weeding out process through which I

landed in the company of those who mattered most.

Because, for a rookie like me, who had no formal

training in journalism, getting trained or learning the

nuances of journalism was of utmost importance. If I

need to tweak my brothers for that, a little 'mea

culpa'.

My innings in the Herald was a kaleidoscope of events

both inside and outside the news-room. But, Goa being

what it is, with sports and politics dominating the

news-pages, I kept myself out of the politics and

devoted myself to sports. Among other things, some

months after I joined, the Herald launched the

Sportswatch, the only sports supplement in Goa at that

time. Francis Ribeiro, affectionately called Choppy,

given charge to bring out the supplement every Friday,

was running short of hands. So I got an opportunity to

help in layout and editing of stories. This was really

an exiting break for me because, being a sportsman

myself, having played competitive judo, and with keen

interest in football, I naturally took to Sportswatch

like a fish to water.

My first big story was an interview with cricketer

Arjuna Ranatunga, the then captain of the Sri Lanka

team, which came to play in Goa. The highlight was not

my interview with Ranatunga but the startling

discoveries we made of some of the murky path in which

the cricketing world travels. Aravinda de Silva asked

us to speak his manager for permission to do a write up

on him. To our chagrin, we realised that his manager

was in Sri Lanka and this was an excuse by Aravinda de

Silva. This came amidst reports of some cricketeers

expecting to be paid a fee -- or extract money,

depending on how you see it -- for an interview. The

standard rate then it seems was Rs 10,000! Sunil

Gavaskar too behaved oddly with us when we asked him to

talk to us. This was much before the match-fixing

scandal broke out.

Thanks to Choppy, even though I started by helping him

out on the desk, I also got to do many stories for

Sportswatch. This taught me many lessons in writing,

meeting deadlines, and building up a nose for news. One

incident I remember is the disbanding of the Sesa Goa

football team. Somehow, Choppy got wind of this. So we

went to the Sesa management, which denied plans for any

such move. We ran a story to this effect in Sportswatch

. By the next week, things took a dramatic turn and the

news became official. The Sesa Goa football team was

indeed disbanded.

On the day when the decision was announced, both Choppy

and me did not even have time for lunch. We grabbed

some samosas and straightaway landed at the team

manager Joe Vaz's office in Miramar. Here we collided

with a collage of emotions from the coach to the

manager and the players all in a stupor. This was a

unique experience. One which provoked us to criticise

the management strongly; but journalistic ethics reined

us in. It taught me not to be emotional when dealing

with a profession.

It seems that Alvito D'Cunha, one of the dashing

forwards for East Bengal today, was one among a group

of Sesa Goa players who ditched the club midway in the

Second Division league and came back to Goa from

Bangalore during the players transfers period. Shorn of

its cream players, the team was left high and dry

without any strength, nullifying it chances of

qualifying for the Big League. Peter Lima Leitao, who

was the corporate manager for the team, is on record

saying that if Sesa Goa had qualified for the National

League, then perhaps the decision to disband the team

would have been put off.

Of course, it was not all hunky dory for me on the

Sportswatch desk. Neither could I boast that I had

become a full-fledged writer with hardly two years of

experience. When Brahmanand Shankhwalkar won the Arjuna

Award, Choppy asked to me to go to Fatorda for a

profile of this great football player. But I almost

chickened out as I did not have the guts to meet such a

famous personality like Brahmanand. Help came in the

form of Ashley do Rosario, into his second innings in

Herald by then, who offered to accompany me. In Fatorda,

I found out that some great people like Brahmanand,

who win laurels for the country and win accolades for

themselves, have no airs about themselves. This Arjuna

awardee was just an ordinary person who performed

extraordinarily. Sheer grit, determination, hard work

and humbleness were his only tools of success.

My passion for all things football sometimes landed me

in trouble too.

Officially, my job at the Herald, by this time, was

being part of the Goa desk. On a few occasions, the

news editor and the editor discovered that I was going

all the way to Fatorda, 40 Kms from Panjim, to watch

the National Football League. Soon enough, I got a

'goonish absurdism' from the editor asking why action

should not be taken against Mr Visvas Paul for

'subsidising' work. There were two or three points with

which I was accused, one among those was that I had

defied the News Editor Sergio Caldeira. I denied

everything in a written reply. What they did not reckon

was that I would sincerely came back from the football

match, and complete my day's work, which was doing the

Goa page. But seniors later did not have any qualms

about accompanying Choppy and me for an important match

during working hours. What's more, after coming back

from the match, he even helped me complete the page!

Doing a Goa page was the dreariest thing on the desk,

because, of the kind of stories that landed in from the

correspondents.

Stringers used to send three or four pages of

hand-written foolscape papers, which, when edited,

turned out to be just single column stories. I wonder

how the scene is now. In those days, there was no

re-writing desk and the sub-editors had to do all the

dirty work of re-writing, editing and making a page. It

was a tough job but it improved one's editing skills

and my patience and perseverance too. So how could one

be blamed for opting to take a few hours for a harmless

passion like watching a football match? I footed hefty

petrol bills for this by the way, but could not claim

the travelling allowance.

One's desk job also threw up some funny situations.

For one, there was the traditional rivalry between

sub-editors and reporters -- an unpalatable and

unacknowledgeable fact to many. In the Herald, we had

another kind of rivalry. This running feud was between

compositors and sub-editors on the Goa desk. The

intensity of this feud became more pronounced during

the night shifts. It used to turn into a bitter fight

complete with the usage of the choicest abuses

available.

Department of Information press notes (trust the

politicos and their wise words of wisdom to have a hand

in any kind of fight) and hard copies sent by stringers

were the cause. The compositors used to concentrate on

composing advertisement, after reporting to work

regularly irregular, while we sub-editors breathed down

on their necks to type our stories which were our

life-line to fill the page. I think that Herald was the

only place which recruited an assortment of a

government servant, wannabe-advocate and a shoe-shop

vendor as compositors.

In short, Herald became their heart break club.

Mehboob was one of the finest composer we had, although

he could not discern the difference between bail and

jail. One night shift, I gave him a faxed copy from

Margao bureau filed by Minoo Fernandes. It was a court

case and Radharao Gracias was the advocate for a

defendant. Our man, Mehboob, usually is deadpan on the

keyboard but that particular day, he finished it on

time. When I opened the copy, suddenly, the story

seemed to be different from what I had read earlier.

Wondering whether I got my story wrong, I rechecked the

hard copy and found that apparently, Mehboob misread

the surname of Radharao wrongly and so it read like

Advocate Radharao Greasiness instead of Gracias. From

that day onwards, I opened a new file called 'MTV

Enjoy' and stored all the bloomers of composed copies,

courtesy Mehboob.

This same guy, during the Lent season, decided to skip

work on Maundy Thursday, because someone told him that

Good Friday fell on Thursday that particular year. All

said and done, Mehboob was a sweet guy because he would

come with delicious beef kebabs for all of us during

Ramzan evenings.

Talking of bloomers, readers of the Herald newspaper

would have had an early morning wire trip one morning

if this one hadn't been detected just in time. The

edition was put to bed, and the customary good-nights

were done with. At that time, there was a process known

as spooling, in which Page 1 was printed on a film

paper to do away with the 'hazards' of cut and paste

process. The Linotype operator was an apology of a man,

most of the time reeking of a combination of the local

urrak or feni and ghutka. The chief sub sent the page

for spooling and left. Before I signed off from the

office, I just happened to go to the plate making

section to see how my page was shaping up and just

glanced at Page 1 which was spooled and ready for

plate-making. Lo and behold, yesterday's front page was

gloriously laid out on the pasting grid and ready for

plate-making. Even the pasters did not realise the

mistake as the advertisement for that particular day

was the same size as the previous days. Our Linotype

operator spooled yesterday's page and sent it for

plate-making. I gave him a big dressing down but did

not report it to anybody as he begged me not to do so.

Talking of the pasters, Umesh, a big bull of a guy was

my 'best friend' as he always liked to trouble me by

going to sleep just as I finished page 3 and brought it

up for cut pasting on the grid. Somehow, our animosity

made us wary of each other and we developed a mutual

respect. Despite numerous complaints by the chief-subs

about his behaviour, he remained non-chalant as he did

not expect the powers that be to take any action on him.

I guess that this attitude for disregard towards people

in power is all prevalent and all pervasive in society.

It is an universal truth that any law is meant to be

broken. As a corollary, frozen laws are enacted by the

government only in order to freeze some people, though

these laws are hardly taken out of the freezer and

defrosted. A case in point is the anti-smoking and

anti-spitting law decreed in Goa with much fanfare and

welcomed by many quarters. One aspect which was raised

by noted anti-tobacco activist Dr Sharad Vaidya, was

how effectively would the anti-smoking law be enforced

in the State. A valid point which I had raised with the

then Chief Minister Francisco Sardinha. He said on

record that it was difficult to implement. He also

admitted that there are always those who want to defy

the law.

Rules are there on which the government seems to suffer

from selective amnesia, because they are unable to

implement in the right spirit as they have no clue as

to how to go about it. When the High Court gave an

order banning loud music after 10 pm based on a

complaint by the environmentalists, Choppy and me wrote

a series of articles for Insight analysing in depth,

the pros and cons.

One point that had us puzzled was from ought the sound

to be measured. At its source, or from the point where

the complaint was made. Obviously, the authorities

could not place their sound-metres at the mouth of a

10,000 watt music speaker and say the decibel level

were high. When pointed out, the Secretary of the Goa

State Pollution Control Board talked greek. For that

matter, we discovered that the pollution control board

was not even equipped with proper sound-metres. Neither

could the government come in defence of the music

industry and allied activities like the night clubs

which depended on music and entertainment to draw

tourists to Goa.

After the much touted and much publicised millennium

rave party by Mumbai tycoon Jay Wadia was banned by the

High Court in December 1999, I was witness to two rave

parties in January 2000, though on a smaller scale, but

where the corruption by the police was displayed in its

full naked glory nonetheless. At one rave party at

Bamboo Forest in Anjuna, instead of stopping the party,

the police arrived, collected their share and left the

place as unobtrusively as they came. They were blind to

the open sale of drugs and were deaf to the raves'

sound pollution which carried on well past midnight

into the wee hours of the morning.

Another rave party also organised near Anjuna was

completely insulated against police harassment. Such

was the extent of influence asserted by the organisers

of this rave party that the police just turned a deaf

ear to phone calls made by Choppy and me just to check

how much the police is interested in enforcing the law.

We do not know whether money had changed hands but when

we did not get any response to the repeated phone calls

we made to the nearest police station we personally

went to speak to the police officer on duty -- but to

our horror found the police station was closed, lock

stock and barrel, as deserted as a place hit by a

typhoon. But our labour was not in vain. Next day, this

was in February 2000, Ashley ran an exclusive report on

the front page based on our first hand account. But the

surprising part was the way the DySP North Goa denied

everything, including our calls and visit to the police station.

My days in Herald are truly memorable. Along the way I

did trample on a few toes inadvertently, but my well

wishers and the learning tips they provided me are

invaluable. Any memories I carry of Herald must be

painted with the pictures of Choppy, Rico and Ashley,

who contributed greatly to my development as a

journalist. I can safely include this trio into the

list of the other great people like Devika Sequeira,

Pamela, Derek Almeida about whom I have heard a lot.

I guess, the journalistic calibre of the above

mentioned people and their attitude of being go-getters

rubbed off onto people like me. The excitement of

running after news, rather than waiting for news to

land in the form of press notes or government

hand-outs, is a different ball-game altogether. It was

a question of being there first which I liked most in

Herald. During the police firing incident at Cortalim

on the anti-Meta Strips agitationists, when two or

three people were grievously injured, I know it was we

from Herald who reached the hospital first. I fail to

recollect whether it was Choppy or Ashley with whom I

landed at Goa Medical College where the injured were brought.

Although the photographer had gone missing during this

crucial hour, we were nevertheless armed with our

dictaphones to record the first hand accounts of how

the police firing started in Cortalim. We managed to

elicit the names of injured, right from the horse's

mouth so to speak, got reactions of the people who

accompanied the injured and were back in the office in

front of our computers.

Even as the day's incidents took shape in the form of a

lead story for the edition, our faces were somber and

anger welled up in us as we could not forget the gory

images of the body parts of one injured youth. He was

shot through his genitals. But we were journalists and

were supposed to objective in our reports. That was

Herald, getting it right the first time and all the time.

In a sentence, I stitched my cloak and bought my

dagger, from Herald.

Chapter 11:

In black & white... newsdesk nuggets

Derek Almeida

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek Almeida, besides being one of Goa's finest and most

aesthetically-balanced deskmen, steals time to write humour columns whenever

possible. This product of Goan journalism has won the respect of his juniors

by his honesty at work, his ability to stand by his subordinates, as well as

his considerable if under-appreciated talent. Memorable headings like

'Sirsat elected, Tomazinho selected' (after a controversial election to the

Goa Speaker's post) are credited to Derek, as every self-respecting deskman

of that era in this state would recall.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I joined the Herald in 1985, the news desk

consisted of two unvarnished desks and three very

uncomfortable chairs. The chief-sub's chair was

distinguishable from the others because it had wheels.

It also had a back-rest and seat fashioned from woven

plastic which had given way due to continuous use by

Anthony Fernandes alias Anton, Frederick Noronha alias

Rico and sometimes Francis Rebeiro alias Choppy. I was

one of those who did not have an alias.

Those were the days when the PTI and UNI machines were

hardly two metres away from the news-desk and Rico had

invented an ingenious way of preventing the clatter

from getting to him. He used to stuff paper in his

ears, because it was cheaper than cotton.

I also remember Anton completing his work before dinner

on the night shift and reading a novel while waiting

for galley-proofs. How nice it was to be chief-sub back

then. I thought, one day when I reach that post I too

would read novels. When I finally made it, the system

had changed and there was no time to read novels. So I

do have some regrets.

Rico, by the way, was very possessive of the TV which

projected black-and-white images of the news. He never

let us watch anything more that the news and, if I

remember well, used to take out the `on-off' knob and

stash it in his pocket till the end of the shift. He

was, and still is, a work-is-worship chap. Rico was

also the only man on the news-desk who could type with

the speed of a steno.

We also had a thin wiry fellow named Madhu who made tea

and did some odd jobs like taking edited to the

composing room on the mezzanine floor and oiling the A4

paper print-outs to make them transparent. Every time

he bunked work he would return the next day with a

mournful look and announce that some relative had died.

Five days later he would conveniently kill another

member and disappear for another two days. This never

stopped because he had and extended family of relatives

comprising several aunts, uncles, aunts-in-law,

uncles-in-law, cousins and god knows what. He never

followed any pattern and killed them at random. Some of

his relatives died several times. By the time he left,

I am told, he had bumped off almost all the members of

his family.

I can't remember if Madhu made good tea or not. To me,

a cup of tea at work was a welcome luxury, especially

because it was free. I say this because Herald was then

paying trainee-subs Rs 400 per month. Not enough to

keep body and soul together. So, when I was confirmed

and my salary jumped to Rs 750, I moved into a new

economic bracket of professionals who could afford to

buy Maggie two-minute noodles. The Rs 750 put an extra

bounce in my walk and the chin vent a notch higher,

even though I still had to depend on my Dad for clothes.

The only reporter we had was Rajesh Singh who was very

good at chess and devoted a great deal of his time

playing Rajan Narayan, the editor. Apart from his

writing skills, he was adept in getting other subs to

buy him cups of tea.

It was at the Herald that I first met Elston Soares

alias Paku (some years later, we met again at Newslink,

the Belgaum-published English-language sister

publication of Tarun Bharat). He had a huge grin, wrote

with his left hand, ate with his left hand and edited

copy with his left hand. In short, he was a `leftie'.

He had an interesting sense of humour. I am told he

coined the term `Romi-Marathi' for the language written

by some correspondents.

Apart from the tea, another luxury enjoyed by

sub-editors living in and around Panjim was a home drop

at night in the office jeep. On one or two occasions I

remember being dropped in the Patrao's black Mercedes

to the Don Bosco Hostel. This luxury was withdrawn

after we formed an employees union several years later.

This was also the time when I met Alexyz, the

cartoonist. He came across as a very friendly person

with a benign face covered with a lot of hair, mostly

black; a very hearty laugh and a penchant for practical

jokes. I remember him standing on St Tome street and

directing all passersby to the Herald. The poor souls

would enter the office with blank looks not knowing

what had hit them.

Those were the days when the post office was a bigger

landmark and Herald was referred to as `behind the post

office'. So Alexyz once sent us a cartoon enclosed in

an envelope. It said: 'To Rajan Narayan, behind the

post office; From Alexyz, behind the bars.' That was Alexyz.

A few weeks after I was formally accepted at

trainee-sub-editor a local farmer, this was before the

advent of progressive farmers, or whatever they call

them these days, horticulturists and what not... So, a

local farmer came to the office with a very long

snake-gourd. Since volunteers were hard to come by, I

was ordered to pose with the vegetable. The next day my

photo was published on the inside page of the Herald. I

did not know whether to feel proud or embarrassed.

Today, I still don't know.

After a year, I returned to Belgaum and two years later

when I returned the Herald had changed. Rajan had a

bigger cabin. Norman Dantas had a smaller cabin and

Gustav Fernandes the manager had a cabin of

intermediate size. The News Desk had morphed from two

unvarnished desks to a large one with a sunmica top.

Now it looked more like a cheap dining table from the

Holy Spirit Church fair. It was was positioned between

Rajan's and Norman's cabins and under the altar.

Rico had left and Anton had become a reporter. The

others had left too. Wilfred Pereira, who was a

stringer from Margao, had become chief-sub. Willy, as

he was known, was a very organized man. His drawer,

which was located at one end of the news-desk, was

neatly kept and contained almost everything like pens,

scales, soap. It was like a mini-stationery shop. I

always suspected Willy also had a tin-can opener and a

Swiss army knife stashed somewhere in that drawer.

Willy also had a lovely handwriting.

It was during this second stint that I met Ivo Vaz from

Varca. He was blessed with cat feet and always walked

into the office with an old airline bag without making

a sound. Ivo looked dead serious all the time, even

during picnics. He once organized a picnic for Herald

staffers at Varca, where he sat in one chair throughout

the day. When we left, he was fast asleep. Ivo also had

a strange way of editing copy which reminded me of an

automobile assembly line. After editing each news story

he would attach a rectangular piece of blank paper with

a pin to the left-hand corner and keep it aside. After

piling up several copies in this manner he would start

giving each story a heading. Ivo had an antique olive

green Morris Minor, which he treasured, and a daughter

whom he loved. Everytime his daughter recovered from

some ailment he would treat all of us to ice cream,

with our peon Jose acting a facilitator in the whole

process. Jose would do anything for a free cake, ice

cream or anything edible.

Then there was Bone-Crusher Agnel who took pleasure in

squeezing the life out of anyone who made the mistake

of shaking hands with him. My hand some how survived

Agnel's vice-like grip.

Another sub-editor who caught my attention was

Cornelius Gomes who worked on the sports desk with

Nelson Dias. Cornelius always sported a beard and

mustache which covered most of his face and gave him a

Ringo Starr look. Cornelius also played football for

the Herald team and had this 'queer' technique of

tackling rough players. When ever he encountered a

player leaning on him to head the ball or digging an

elbow in his ribs, he would tickle the chap's backside.

This technique proved to be more effective than the

ref's whistle.

By the time Herald completed its tenth year we had a

formidable team with players like Tulsidas, Jason,

Alaric, Jose, Domnic, Pradeep, our platemaker, and

Vilas Sarang who never made it to the team. Umesh alias

Umi, our sleepy paster, was a live wire in the goal.

With Choppy as manager we were willing to take on anyone.

On one of our anniversaries Choppy set up a match with

the Navhind Times. Two or three days prior to the match

we were shocked to discover that NT would be fielding a

few first division players from the Dempo team. We

nearly suffered a stroke. But then Choppy always had

this never-say-die attitude. In a crisis he would take

two deep inhalations from an anti-asthma pump which he

always carried in his pocket, and, in seconds go from

Bruce Banner to The Hulk. In a day, Choppy's

never-say-die attitude spread to everyone and off we

marched to the Don Bosco school ground in our new

uniforms for the slaughter.

Guess what? We won.

That was not all. Choppy loved ceremonies and had

arranged an elaborate function with a chief guest,

prizes and speeches. After the speeches the Herald team

captained by Tulsidas (I think) went up and received

their medals. Everyone who had adorned the Herald

colours got a medal. Next was the turn of the Navhind

Times team to collect their medals. Half way through

this process Choppy realized that he had bought less

medals. We hit the panic buttons. But then, in the

Herald you have to be resourceful to survive. We

quickly formed a human chain and started passing medals

presented to the Herald team back to the chief guest.

It was a smooth operation. Months later, when the time

came for Navhind Times to celebrate its anniversary,

they did not dare play a football match with us.

I also remember playing a football match on the beach

during a picnic at Candolim. Our team had earned a

penalty and Pamela D'Mello decided to take it. (Yes,

she played football). By the way, picnic matches are

scaled down versions of the world cup. The goals are

tiny, the playing field is small and there's no ref.

Before the penalty could be taken, a dispute broke out

between us and Ashley do Rosario over how the penalty

should be taken. Ashley grabbed the ball and insisted

that the spot kick should be taken with the heel and

with the player facing his back to the goal. I don't

know where Ashley found this rule, but we were aware of

Pamela's prowess as football player, and hence,

objected. Those were pre-mobile phone days, so there

was no way of contacting FIFA for their take on the

rule. Finally after much cajoling and arm twisting,

Ashley relented and allowed Pamela to take the kick.

The ball was placed five feet from the goal which was

one-and-half foot wide. Tulsidas, our captain, who was

desperate for a goal gave Pamela a thorough briefing on

how to take the kick. Next he drew a line in the sand

starting from the ball to the center of the goal line

to make it easier for Pamela. Ashley did not object. We

all stood back and waited. Pamela positioned herself

behind the ball, lifted her right foot and kicked with

all her might. The ball missed the goal by three feet.

That was how Pamela missed her chance to enter the

Herald football hall of fame. She went on to be a very

good reporter.

This was also the picnic when Ashley drove from Candolim

to Betim in his Fiat without releasing the handbrakes.

Somewhere during the eight years I lived and worked in

the Herald, a fellow villager named Lirio Vasconsales

found employ as a sub-editor. This wiry chap had a face

full of hair and was a die hard Navhind Times fan. He

used to fold the NT and stuff it into his trouser

pocket, to be retrived for leisure reading on the last

bus to Margao. This habit earned him a sobriquet --

pocket Navhind Times. Lirio also possessed a

matter-of-fact sense of humour. One day Lirio was

feverishly editing copy with a ball pen refill even

though he had an empty ball pen in his pocket. Sports

editor Nelson Dias, who happened to pass by, asked

Lirio: "Arre baba, why don't you put the refill in the

pen and use it?" Lirio looked up at him through his

glasses and said: "No time". This was the one and only

time I saw Nelson hit for a six.

In those days before the lazer printer was perfected by

HP the A4 sized `butter` paper used to get `jammed`

inside the machine very often. During one such occasion

Lirio who had been observing the machine for over

half-an-hour in the composing department turned to me

and said: "We insert butter paper in the machine, so

how do we get paper jam?"

My first encounter with Rajan Narayan was not

awe-inspiring. Rajan was never a dresser and, on the

few occasions when he managed to get into a long

sleeved shirt and ironed trousers, he looked quite

smart. The first time I saw him for one of the

anniversaries when he came with a slightly over-sized

navy blue coat. The next occasion was when he returned

from Dubai on the first Air-India direct flight from

the Gulf. His attire never bothered him or any of the staff.

Rajan had two indulgencies -- smoking and chewing

`Halls' sweets. And the smoking nearly burnt him out

one day. I was in the office that day when a couple

arrived to see Rajan. As usual he lit a cigarette and

was puffing away when the couple noticed smoke under

the table. It didn't take long for Rajan to realize

that his trouser pocket was smouldering. He thrust his

hand into the pocket to put out the fire and in the

process burnt his fingers. After a little slapping here

and there the fire was put out. I was quickly summoned

and told to buy a tube of Burnol. Rajan never believed

in moderation. He squeezed half the tube on his fingers

and continued conversation with the couple with the

yellow paste all over his hands. I don't know how his

pocket caught fire, but I think Rajan absent mindedly

shoved the match in his pocket instead of the ashtray.

There were a lot of other interesting incidents that

happened in the Herald, some nice, some not so nice.

Like how we played mandicot all night in the composing

room or how we celebrated on Independence eve with a

bottle of whiskey and nearly got caught or the

formation of the Union, or the time when the electrical

system short circuited and Pamela, Alaric and Paul

filed stories in candle light, or Rico's hoi-te.

Perhaps some other time? Perhaps, for the twenty-fifth

anniversary e-book.

Chapter 12:

The proof of it all...

Tony MartinTony Martin, the better-known pen-name of Anthony

Barretto, worked his way through Goa's English-language

newspapers, before shifting to education. He has gone

into self-publishing, and, in his own modest and

low-profile manner, has managed to put out books with a

print-run of 5000 copies (amazing by Goa's standards).

Currently, he is working on a website on Canacona.

Just an out-of-school teenager that I was, life then

posed a 'Catch 22' situation when one first landed in

Panjim. Without any experience, it was difficult to get

work. Yet, at the same time, it was difficult to get

experience because I couldn't get any work.

So one fine day armed with a recommendation from the

late music maestro-priest Fr Lourdinho Barreto, who

hailed from my village of Galgibaga in the southern

extreme of Goa, to Fr Freddy for the post of proof

reader I arrived at the Gulab office. This got an

I'll-let-you-know from the editor.

Well at least I knew what job I was looking for.

Then, with a fantastic helping of luck I got a job with

the Herald -- oops actually it was with Norlic India,

the firm shown as the employer of those doing the

proof-reading of the Herald, in those days.

The job was as a proof reader, and the date was August

12, 1985.

To us, whether it was Norlic India or Herald did not

then matter, I was getting my bread, so there was no

point complaining about missing the cake.

But along with my bread, I also got a taste and a

first-hand glimpse of what I had only heard of earlier

-- exploitation. Obviously the Norlic India tag was

meant to deny us the applicable scales for

proof-readers. We were almost like daily wage factory

workers. Accept it or leave it. With pressing financial

constraints, and at that time there wasn't even a

functional union in the Herald (it came sometime later,

and have worked in fits and starts) the option was

clear: shut up and do your work or speak up and get

kicked out.

All said just-enough-to-survive Rs 400 a month was

still a luxury.

So I got myself testing the waters in the novitiate of

journalism. For a tender 'naal' (coconut) like myself

the sub-editors of the time -- Anthony, Rico, Godwin

Figueira and sports editor Nelson, to name a few --

were exceptionally good. If I had peanuts for salary, I

had gems for seniors.

For most people proofreading is basically checking

spellings and omissions by the typesetter. It was not

much different here. On the few occasions we, the

humble proof-readers, particularly Jack, ventured to

show our mastery in punctuation and grammar, the

concerned sub-editor would get furious, of course in a

playful way. Often we would end up exposing our

ignorance to the world.

Ignorant or well-informed, those two years in the

Herald were years of youthful exuberance and bliss.

And there was this noble soul Caetano. Well I call him

a noble soul because even as the foreman of the

composing section, he never gave me an opportunity to

see him angry although we proof readers (which, of

course, includes me) used to give him a chance to be

angry almost every day.

One day when 'penis' became 'mightier than the sword',

he laughed at it together with the subs, and then,

after they had left, politely warned us to be careful.

He had no special training in people-management; he had

surely not attended any hi-fi seminars now conducted by

self-proclaimed management gurus. Yet, if there was one

thing he knew other than typing at an incredible speed,

it was to keep his juniors motivated. We owed our

productivity and effectiveness to him. He would

challenge the Subs to a rupee for a mistake in a report

or an article. On that count we didn't let him down, at

least not often, even considering that overlooking

errors in a straight read-through -- without the luxury

of checking print-outs, but doing the proofreading on

the flickering screen itself -- was a distinct possibility.

Ironically, on the few occasions, the editor, Rajan Narayan

-- he was not yet the super-man of the Herald then; he

acquired almost that status during and after the

language agitation -- entered the composing room, we

were just logs of dead wood for him. Not a side glance

even to acknowledge our greeting. My view: perhaps all

these years Mr Narayan was soaring too high on the

pedestal the management had seated him on, after

granting him a free hand. And as is the rule of nature,

every thing that goes up comes down. And he came down

with quite a bang.

But that was just a stray cloud in the silver lining

the Herald offered. That indifference apart, our Herald

innings is something to look back and laugh about. I

can still sense the taste of the first sip of urak at

an after-work session. Not long later, Remy and I

crashing into a cow with my rickety cycle on our way to

the Don Bosco Hostel. Time: around 3 a.m.

Another party we had in the office was a chicken party.

Nice dry fried chicken. Courtesy Jack. Everybody had

and there was still more to go around, much like in the

Biblical parable of loaves-and-fishes. But nobody

except Jack knew, until the next day, from where the

chicken came. The next day a notorious looking man

walked into the Herald office. To make bad matters

worse he happened to meet the 'patrao', the publisher

and then patriarch A. C. Fernandes. They talked a while

and he left. The next moment the old man came charging

and thundered, "Kal kombeo konnem adleo re?" (Who

brought in the chicken yesterday?) "Aayem Patrao, mhaka

rostear podlo mevloleo," (I, boss. I found it fallen on

the road) Jack confessed not unlike a frightened

rabbit. "Faleamson kamank enaka," (You're fired). And

Patrao left. Of course all those who had enjoyed the

chicken the previous day came to Jack's rescue.

In the good old days, the pace was leisurely, stresses

fewer and everything was rosy. But the pay packet was

not growing significantly heavier even after two years.

I was stuck at Rs 500. We were free to ask the then

Manager Gustavo Fernandes for anything except a raise.

Asking for a raise was invariably met with a simply

question, 'Do you want to continue?'

There was no choice. Choice came knocking with the

arrival of Gomantak Times. And some of the more

enterprising journos left their training ground and

joined GT. But, to this day, Herald remains an

enriching and fond experience.

Chapter 13:

Birth pangs at Sant Inez

Elston Soares

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Elston Soares, a veteran of the desk, has worked at the Herald, Newslink and

Gomantak Times. Since moving out of Goa, he has worked in publications in

the Gulf and Singapore.

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February 15, 1987 marked a watershed in the history of

English-language journalism in Goa. That date marked

the launch of Goa's fifth English-language daily to be

launched in the union territory-turned-state.

Fifth, that is, if one includes the now defunct West

Coast Times and Newslink, an English-language newspaper

launched by the Tarun Bharat Group, and targeted at

Goa, though like the Tarun Bharat in Marathi earlier,

it too was printed from the neighbouring city of Belgaum.

This writer spent two months with Newslink in late 1986

in Belgaum, together with Haseeb Shakoor and Derek Almeida,

bringing out the newspaper in very trying and

primitive conditions.

Strangely, the Tarun Bharat group then thought that

they could do another Tarun Bharat with Newslink, that

is, to produce a newspaper for the Goa market from

Belgaum. But with one significant difference.

We did not have the wide correspondent network of Tarun

Bharat. We were, instead, expected to translate the

stories from Marathi -- something we did rather more

successfully in Gomantak Times a few years later.

But then, at Belgaum, this was a task easier said than

done. And as anyone who has tried translating stories

from Goa's Marathi press will testify, most stories

contain enormous amount of comment and a large number

of them are un-sourced.

Our plight could therefore be well imagined. Things I

guess have become somewhat better in the last few

years; but then it was a nightmare. Trying to fill up

six broad-sheet pages with material translated from

Tarun Bharat was way too optimistic a goal, to put it

mildly. So at best you managed a couple of pages. The

rest of the paper was trusty old teleprinter copy,

courtesy UNI (United News of India) and PTI (Press

Trust of India).

And as for our own reporting resources, there was

Lionel Messias who slaved all alone in the Panaji

office. This couldn't last. So in early December 1986,

when the Gomantak Group advertised for staff, I jumped

at the opportunity and applied. Besides being a good

opportunity to return home from Belgaum -- anyway one

used to travel home every week -- the adventure of

being there as a newspaper was being born was too good

to miss.

Not that I was totally unfamiliar with the birth pangs

of newspapers -- having joined the Herald as a trainee

when it was a few months old and Newslink when it was

in a similar position. But, birth pangs or whatever,

there's nothing like competition to add a little

excitement. It shakes up established players, and all

the poaching for staff only pushes up salaries and

gives hitherto ignored journalists their day in the sun.

I too was offered more money -- more than double my

last salary drawn in the Herald -- which I had quit a

few months earlier in less than happy circumstances.

Meanwhile, just as Gomantak Times was about to be

launched, Rajan Narayan in his inimitable style

launched a broadside against the to-be-launched

newspaper. For days, he wrote about how the Maharashtrawadis

were planning take over Goa's English-language media.

Never mind that most of the to-be-launched paper's

staff were old Herald hands.

However, GT -- as the paper was later referred to --

seemed on to making great progress as we neared launch

date. For the first time in the history of Goa's

English-language media, we had newspaper designers

working on what the paper would look like. A two-man

team from what was then Bombay was paid a princely sum

of Rs 25,000 to come up with the new design.

But that was where the good news stopped. The company

which had sold the Chowgules the desk-top publishing

equipment for the new newspaper had amazingly been able

to convince the management that there was no need for

paste-up artists. So there we were, trying to put

together a newspaper without artists or computer

operators or journalists who could do screen-based page layout.

There were no dummy runs; in fact, on the night before

the first edition, I was forced to call one Herald's

former paste-up artists to come in and help produce the

paper. Today, all this may sound strange -- given the

technological innovations of the last decade -- but

then it was crazy, particularly given that the

Chowgules had a fully functioning newspaper Gomantak

and should have known better.

Then to the issue of staff recruitment, and and one of

my pet peeves.

Goan newspaper managements have always hired

journalists from outside the state -- at exorbitant

salaries -- believing them to be better than local

talent. And so was the case with GT, where my then

chief-sub colleague, a sub from the Times of India, was

paid twice as much as I was. But just because they are

imported, foreign talent isn't always good or suitable

for the job at hand. This Bombay veteran was such a

miserable creature that on launch night, with editor

Mohan Rao shouting his head off, one was forced take

charge and ensure that we got the paper to the press.

But no mention of this paper's launch can be complete

without a mention of the role Gomantak editor Narayan Athawale

played. While generally supportive of the idea of the

newspaper in the early days, including recommending the

hiring of staff whose knowledge of the language was

less than adequate, he almost knocked the paper off its

feet before it was launched.

For this the late Mr Rao was to blame; but it was an

innocent mistake. A few days before the launch, Mr Rao

asked Mr Athawale to write a piece for the new

newspaper -- it remains the only one he ever did.

And with good reason.

In it, he proceeded to say that the new newspaper would

convey the views of the Marathi Gomantak in English. It

was a ridiculous claim; but something that the new

newspaper took years to live down. This proved to be a

real gift to the paper's rivals, which they exploited

to good effect.

The early days with GT were fun, because most people

didn't give us much of a chance. Our staff resources

too were meagre. There was Pramod Khandeparker, who was

the Assistant Editor but was more of a chief reporter;

and a retired English professor M.N. Pal as news editor

-- who spent a few months with us -- and G.K. Mohan Nair,

the ToI sub.

Ex-Herald colleagues included Francis Ribeiro. And

among the trainees was my good friend Vidya Heble. But

most of the staff were raw and we stumbled along in

those early days. The first year passed with GT barely

making a dent. I believe that the paper's circulation

barely exceeded a few hundred copies. And as the second

anniversary approached, Mr Mohan Rao was preparing to

say his goodbye. He original brief was to set up the

paper and leave after two years.

This set the stage for Ashwin Tombat to take charge of

the paper. And immediately we began to see a dramatic

change in the paper's fortunes. Of course, we were

helped along by the Narvekar molestation scandal. But

to be fair, it's not the issue that matters, but how

you handle it. If we did manage to raise our

circulation it was because of our reporting. Some in

media, did take exception to the fact that we named the girl.

But I feel it was needed then, specially if you have

are up against a powerful political figure. For those

who still doubt this view, I can only point to the way

the Miramar sex scandal died down without the guilty

being brought to book. However, one is not suggesting

that the victim in sex abuse cases should be named. The

only reason I have raised this issue is to explain why

the girl was named.

Sorry for digressing; but another turning point in the

history of paper came in 1993 when we were faced with a

contempt notice from the Supreme Court. Sadly, this

proved to me that whatever a management tells you, if

you get into trouble you face it alone. In the case in

question, we were hauled up for what was taken to be a

suggestion, in a cartoon, that a Supreme Court judge

was being bribed to adjourn a hearing in a case related

to the disqualification of then chief minister Ravi Naik.

How I got involved in the matter -- even though it was

my day off -- is another matter. But the real icing on

the cake was that what the court claimed we had

suggested in the cartoon apparently was the truth.

Unknown to us then, a colleague in our sister newspaper

had apparently tried to bribe a judge. But the deal had

fallen through because the judge wanted more money than

the politician was willing to pay. The story came out

when the journalist apparently did not return all the

money that he was given by politician and claimed he

had incurred "expenses".

Ravi Naik ultimately resigned, ironically after himself

losing an appeal against his disqualification in the

Supreme Court; and I was cleared of contempt charges.

Two years later I left GT.

But the memories remain.

Chapter 14:

An era of free sheeters

Miguel BraganzaHaving an educated father with a flair for speaking and

writing helps : Miguel's is a typical case study. As a

school student of St.Britto, his contributions to the

school magazine were like a celebrity column -- ghost

written by his father! His first original contribution

to the printed word was in a tabloid, bilingual 'free

sheeter' of sorts called the 'Vanguard' ('O Vanguardo')

in the mid 1970s. While at the University of

Agricultural Sciences,Bangalore, he was a

founder-member of the "Writers' Club" and one-time

Editor of the FYM: the Farm Yard

Manure..ooops...Magazine. Since then, Miguel has been

Goa University's first and only Garden Superintendent.

He took to writing more seriously after getting in

touch with journos in local newsrooms. He became the

first Consulting Editor of the Mapusa Plus free-sheeter

in July 2001.

Just imagine a user-driven economy in which the user

has to only pay attention; absolutely nothing else.

This improbable scenario has arrived in an increasingly

consumerist society with the birth of the 'free sheeter

', now making their presence felt in Goa too.

Unlike the mainstream broad-sheet and tabloid

newspapers, the user can take home a free-sheeter free

of cost and with no obligation, save the ethical one to

read it. There is no fine print to this free offer. The

offer does not read 'Do not pay anything for it now'

nor 'Nothing free'. The reader obtains a copy of the

free sheeter absolutely free of any financial

consideration, present or future.

There is also a greater freedom of expression in a free

sheeter since the publication is not tied to the apron

strings of a business house or interest group with

vested interests. The degree of freedom available to

the editor is almost boundless, though within the

limits of decency, propriety and libel laws. The editor

cannot be allowed to declare freedom from good sense

and decency. This is possible only because of the

multifaceted funding base that finances the free

sheeter and, often, the dedication of the editorial

team. A free-sheeter does not have to toe a line that

many of its bigger cousins make their way of life.

What is a free-sheeter?

A simple description of a free-sheeter is a periodical

(daily, weekly, fortnightly or monthly) that is made

available to its readers at no financial consideration

whatsoever in terms of price, subscription, membership

or donation. (I will attempt no further definition and

I do not know is a proper definition exists for a free-sheeter.)

The lowest frequency expected of a free-sheeter is an

issue a month. Frequencies less than that tend to

render a free-sheeter irrelevant and it cannot sustain

its readership. It is the readership that justifies the

existence of a free sheeter and helps to draw funds to

finance its publication. The existence of the

readership is the raison d'etre of a free-sheeter.

News Content: People do not lose interest in issues

just because the mainstream newspapers and tabloids do

not carry them on their front-pages. There is always an

interest in the 'positive' things happening around us.

There is as much interest in the fisherman who saved

six persons from drowning as there is in the one person

that drowned while swimming at a beach side resort. The

drowning hogs the headlines in the mainstream

newspapers and tabloids. There is 'space' in the

free-sheeter to portray the hero of the event, the

humble fisherman who saved six lives. People want to

read about him even if he saved them simply because of

an impulse, or just because he could not bear to see

them die! Bravery and courage do not need to be

pre-qualified or rationalized. Brave deeds have a

readership in the land of Rana Pratap, Rani of Jhansi

and Shivaji, just as in the land of Napoleon Bonaparte

or George Washington or Nelson Mandela or Winston Churchill.

Local news is another 'blind spot' in mainstream

newspapers. This is often the result of the need to

make the newspaper meaningful to a wider readership.

You cannot focus on details when using a wide-angle

lens in your camera. The same holds good for a

newspaper. The free-sheeter, on the other hand, can be

like the 'camera lucida' and put local issues under the

microscope and draw out all the minute details.

While the newspaper only sees a fine air-conditioned

restaurant with a fantastic menu, the free-sheeter can

note that the cook uses the same broom to sweep the

floor and also to dispense oil on the king-sized hot

plate for making your favorite 'dosa'. A good

free-sheeter can give you the details that most

newspapers have no access to. In the local context, a

free-sheeter has an advantage.

The editorial team of a free-sheeter normally comprises

of local people. It is, thus, in a better position to

understand local nuances, culture and tradition. For

example, a woman who is topless may cause a riot in our

metropolitan cities; in some tribal areas, remote

Polynesian communities or the beach-front from Hawaii

to the Riviera, a topless woman may not even cause

anyone to raise an eyebrow, except if she is

exceedingly beautiful! The local perspective makes a

free-sheeter interesting to the local readership

because they can identify with it.

Local issues are of great interest to local readership.

What is being done about the water pipeline leak is

important to those living on the first floor of

buildings in the locality. Poor pressure in the

pipeline means that the water will have to go to a sump

and then be pumped up. Besides the cost, time and

effort, this could also lead to increased contamination

of water. A small pipeline leak in a neighbourhood has

no news value to a mainstream newspaper. It means the

world to the people in the locality that is affected.

Such issues have local news value and, hence, the

justification of a greater emphasis on local

readership. This is where a free-sheeter can step in.

Editorial Content: The right place to express one's

views is in the editorial and in the feed-back column.

It may be regarding the news or current issues or some

other matter of importance to the readers at that point

of time. The fact that a significant section of the

readership skips reading the editorial should make the

editors sit up and assess the relevance of the

editorials they write, or get written on their behalf.

Just as the front page is the 'face' of the periodical,

the editorial should be its 'heart', not a vestigial

organ like the appendix.

In the free-sheeter context, it would be appropriate to

put the editorial through the 'Four Way Test': "1. Is

it the truth? 2. Is it fair to all concerned? 3. Will

it built goodwill and better friendship? 4. Will it be

beneficial to all concerned?" The editorial is about

opinions. The editor's views should not create ill-will

between possible groups in the local milieu. It can

have disastrous consequences for both, the readers and

the publishers.

Advertorial Content: The term 'advertorial' is fairly

new to me. It is the presentation of an advertisement

'outside the box'. The advertorial content of many

periodicals, both free and paid, has evolved so rapidly

that it is sometimes difficult it to separate it from

the news items. The 'lakshman rekha' (sacrosanct

dividing line) between the two has even blurred further

and some journalists palm off advertorials as 'news'.

The 'line of control' may have to be redefined before

newspapers become like the souvenirs issued at various

social events -- comprising almost entirely of

advertisements. This is specially true for a

free-sheeter that depends solely on advertising to

finance its publication. The temptation is great. Yield

to it with open arms and you will perish.

Advertisements: Front page advertisements vie with the

news items for space. Sometimes, the fascination with

the ear panels diminishes the prominence of even the

mast-head, the very name of the publication. Since the

cost of a front page advertisement is double (or more)

that of one on the inside pages, the temptation is to

accept maximum number of front page advertisements. It

is a constant battle between funds and readability,

between wealth and credibility. It is not rare to see

Mammon win the battle and it shows on the 'face' of the

free-sheeter that has two-thirds advertisements and

just one-third news content on page one.

Mast-head: The mast-head is the name-plate of the

periodical. Unlike the name of a person, whose traits

we do not know at birth, the name of a newspaper is

indicative of its purpose or focus. (For example, the O

Heraldo was the harbinger of news in Goa during the

pre-Liberation era and continues to this day with a

Goan accent; the Navhind Times brought in more national

level -- and nationalist -- news after 1961 ,while the

Gomantak Times has more of a state level flavor.)

Among the free-sheeters published in Goa, Vasco Watch

keeps a watchful eye on the happenings in Vasco while

the Plus group sheds 'positive light' on Mapusa,

Panaji, Margao and Ponda. A lot of thought goes into

condensing of the 'mission statement' of a newspaper or

periodical into two or three, easy-to-remember words.

The name seems easy in hindsight, but requires

considerable foresight and thinking to arrive at.

The mast-head must not only be good, it must look good,

too.

Proper designing of the mast-head, including the

selection of the font, is imperative. Ideally, the

mast-head should not be changed during the lifetime of

the periodical, even if the page design and layout is

changed to increase its visual appeal. The mast-head

must be the single-most prominent item on page one. All

attributes of the publication must be associated with

its mast-head. Once you see it, you must remember its

worth, its credibility and its readability.

Footer: The footer of a newspaper or free-sheeter comes

in fine print at the bottom of the last page. It is

inconspicuous to the casual reader. It gives the

details of the publisher, editor(s) and printer. This

is mandatory by law. In libel and defamation cases,

these names become the 'defendants' along with the

correspondent under whose by-line the news was

published. The Advertisements Standards Council of

India (ASCI) also knows who, besides the advertiser, to

go after for violation of the law. The footer also

gives the registration number of the newspaper with the

Registrar of Newspapers (RNI). Every free-sheeter has

to apply for registration through the District

Collector. The organization distributing and issuing

the free-sheeter is not free from responsibilities. The

footer is an acknowledgment that it knows its business

and how to mind it.

Organization: A free-sheeter is not like a

free-wheeling collection of articles and news reports.

Like any periodical it has to be organized into

sections like current news, issues, campus and club

news, entertainment, competitions, brain teasers, and

the like. Such a grouping of information makes it

easier to find the item one is looking for. A person

will first glance through the page that is likely to

contain information of interest to him or her. If it is

interesting, the copy will be picked up. Free-sheeters

are generally not 'delivered' at home; so each issue

has to pass the clinical test of reader's interest.

Layout: A tasty dish that is not presented well may be

left untouched on the buffet table. The same is the

case with a free-sheeter at the news stands or

distribution counter. It is not a monopoly. People who

have a choice exercise it. A good blend of visuals

(photos, illustration, and the like) and text makes a

copy appealing. Even advertisements can be used to

achieve this. If the publication has access to a layout

artist, it helps.

Advent of Free sheeters in Goa

Perhaps the first free-sheeter to hit Goa was Vasco

Watch, edited by Cmdr (Retd) A. Narayanan who is

associated with the group Citizen's Watch. His attempt

at Margao News was not half as successful, basically

because there was no significant local involvement and

input in Margao. Local involvement is the essence of a

free-sheeter. Perhaps, the Salcete News spread the

'local' context too wide and did not do too well, either.

Coming to North Goa, the pioneer was Panjim Pulse. In

my opinion it did not place its finger properly on the

pulse of the citizens in this thriving town and its

municipal council (now corporation). Its readership

should have crossed the ten thousand copies mark by

now, but the Panjim Pulse is nowhere to be seen. It

does not have a 'presence' that is so important for

survival. More than a year later came Panjim Plus,

which is doing reasonably well as a monthly

newsmagazine. Obviously, it could do better. Panaji is

such a 'happening' place that a weekly free-sheeter

could grow comfortably covering the cultural events,

exhibitions, sales, educational scene, etc. Perhaps,

the would-be journalists from the non-formal courses in

journalism at the Mushtifund Institute and elsewhere

will 'jam-up' to fill this void sooner rather than later.

The Plus series began with the Mapusa Plus on July 04,

2001, first as a fortnightly and later, after crossing

the quarter-century mark, as a monthly newsmagazine.

The trigger for this paper was a college student,

Rohini Swamy, who made a foray into journalism like a

meteor. She did so, before moving off as quickly, after

moving through a couple of local newsrooms. (Rohini is

back reporting for an outstation TV network, posted in

Goa.) It was Sapna Sardesai who sustained Mapusa Plus

production, while her co-directors in Wordsworth Communications

Ltd. led by Lester Fernandes generated the revenues by

'marketing' advertisement space. This writer have been

associated with this free-sheeter as its consultant

editor and mid-wife from the very first issue. Two

years and a little re-structuring later, the labour

pains are visible in Mapusa Plus, but, after 35 odd

issues, I do not know whether the issue will be

delivered or aborted. There is little that a midwife

can do if there is a congenital complication.

The Plus group also entered the Margao area

simultaneously with Panjim in December 2001. The Margao Plus

is as robust as its publisher, Roque Fernandes. From

August 2003, he has fathered the Ponda Plus through a

new partner, Diamond Publications. The Ponda Plus is

the first free-sheeter to start off with glossy art

paper and colour printing, not the humble black

printing on grey newsprint paper of all its

forerunners. It has got no competitors in its class in

Goa. The Ponda Plus has raised the ante. It has got

class, it has got good readership and it is still free.

Hard work pays, hard sell pays better. Roque is doing

both: hard work and hard sell. The results are visible

in black and white -- and in colour! The challenge now

is to do better than that and still be free.

What makes a free-sheeter tick: Ask any good physician

and he (or, as per the recent trend in MBBS graduation,

she) will tell you that one's circulation must be good.

Whether it is blood, air or free-sheeter, your health

depends on its 'circulation'. There is no other way. A

well produced free-sheeter is easier to circulate

because it is free. Once it has attracted the attention

and reached the hands of a potential reader, it will be

glanced through even if it is not read in detail.

That is a wonderful way to deliver a well-designed

advertisement to a potential buyer of any goods or

services. It makes more sense for a local shopkeeper or

institution to advertise in a 'local' free-sheeter than

a state-wide newspaper with ten times bigger

circulation (and, subsequently, far higher advertising

rates). Most free-sheeters have a circulation of 3,000

to 5,000 copies, a figure which ranks better than some

mainstream newspapers in Goa. A free-sheeter is a

better vehicle, less expensive and less bothersome to

handle than a 'flier' inserted in a newspaper for local

distribution. A flier is often discarded unread. Not so

with a free-sheeter. It pays to advertise in a

free-sheeter. The advertisements pay to keep the

free-sheeter alive and free.

Miguel Braganza Consultant Editor & Horticulturist,

Mapusa Goa.

Chapter 15:

Journalism in Goa: An outsider looks in

Shiv KumarShiv Kumar is a Mumbai-based journalist who

occasionally para-drops into Goa for some sun, sea and

opportunities to tilt at a few windmills there. A

journalist, a freelance and subsequently as a

full-timer since 1992, Shiv Kumar was the Goa

correspondent of The Indian Express from 1998 to 2000.

After moving back to Mumbai, he is with the Indo-Asian

News Service (IANS).

Today, happily there is a vast talent pool of

journalists among the Goan Diaspora that is making its

mark in news media across the world. The movement of

journalists from Goa to newsrooms across the globe is

perennial. The Middle East and the West are popular

destinations but then so is Mumbai: a popular stepping

stone to this peripatetic breed. Reporters, deskies,

the butterflies flitting through the features pages...

one can count first generation migrant Goans everywhere.

As a rookie reporter in Mumbai in the 1990s, lesson one

was about Goan journos fresh off the boat (the

Bombay-Goa steamer was a recent memory then) gladly

beginning at the bottom despite having done duty in one

of Goa's three English-language newspapers. Editors

marveled at the `material' coming out of Goa with

well-rounded exposure in a city where people are

quickly slotted into different 'beats'.

At first, one wondered why someone with several years'

experience in the profession was willing to take the

bullshit dished out by preppies all for a measly six

grand gross monthly. And just when we got used to

seeing their bylines, off to the Gulf the Goenkars went.

The penny dropped much later when one moved to Goa on

assignment. Poor pay and lousy working environments

surely could not make up for Goa's fabled joys of life.

But then Mumbai's charms too quickly faded in the face

of the daily grind one had to endure. So it was only a

matter of time before the Goans pulled up their posts

and set sail Westwards, to the Middle East and to other

uncharted territories.

One doesn't have to go too far -- only till the Goajourno

Mailing List

(http://indialists.org/mailman/listinfo/goajourno) --

to figure out how far the hack pack from Goa go. They

are out there in Bangkok bringing out a jumbo newspaper

for a community that can barely read English. In Fiji,

from where the Indian population flees after every coup

d'etat, journos of Goan origin move in the reverse

direction. In Stockholm, it was a Goan journalist who

found himself on the headlines while trailing the

killers of a Swedish Prime Minister.

So why do journalists from Goa bloom only on alien

terrain?

A conversation I had with the venerable Lambert Mascarenhas

comes to mind. Just settling in for a long chat at

someone's house at Dona Paula, Mascarenhas asked me why

I was not trying my luck outside. I told him about the

variety of experience I enjoyed as a journalist, the

wide range of stories I could do and the opportunities

to travel though the profession paid only slightly more

than my earlier employer, the government.

Free Goa's first English-language editor sighed, nodded

his head wisely and told me no newspaper in Goa would

ever send out a reporter even to cover a major event.

"And the money is so much better... the Gulf newspapers

pay so much more," Mascarenhas told me. Perhaps

Mascarenhas would have thought differently had

newspaper owners in Goa exhibited more commitment to

professionalism. Just browsing through the back issues

of Goa Today edited by Manohar Shetty proved to be an

eye-opener on what could have been.

With Devika Sequiera and others, the old Goa Today

turned out to be a delightful surprise. Well researched

and crisply written stories like the ones on the

protests against charter tourism in the early 1990s

were a joy to read long after the magazine became a

pale shadow of itself.

One saw similar flashes of the classic fire in the

belly kind of journalism during the agitation against

Meta Strips metal recycling plant four years ago. But

matters have since slipped back into the safe routine

of old. While mediapersons elsewhere in the country are

agitated over the loss of substance to the infusion of

style and gloss in the age of colour, it's prolonged

siesta time in Goa.

The English-language newspaper market ensures that the

readership is carved equally among both the players.

Just 2000 copies separate the number one daily oHeraldo

and the runner-up Navhind Times as per the latest Audit

Bureau of Circulation survey. But with neither of them

aiming to break out for total dominance there is little

investment either in editorial or in printing technologies.

Though tourism is major contributor to Goa's revenues,

the newspapers offer little to a visitor. The colour

and vitality of the tiny state simply does not reflect

in its English-language newspapers. Though it is the

beach belt that draws all the tourists, there is very

little coverage from these areas in the local

newspapers. As one senior journalist remarked to me,

Goa moves simultaneously on two parallel lines. And the

beach belt is a whole world away from the hinterland

that provides all of Goa's journalists. So the hotels

and the party scene appear rarely on their radar, and

that too only when disgruntled politicians in the area

rake up environmental or other issues.

There is a thriving party scene on the beach belt that

could have been happening on some other planet going

strictly by the newspapers in Goa. Purely as a

marketing play, newspapers here should be allocating

resources to ensure adequate coverage of the tourism

sector. There are any number of marketers eager to tap

the floating tourist population and the newspapers here

missing out on big opportunities.

But then even the coverage of day to day issues in

Goa's English-language newspapers leaves much to be

desired. During the two years I spent in Goa, I can

remember barely three or four memorable stories from

the state's three English-language newspapers. The

regional language newspapers, on the other hand, have

stolen a march over their English-language counterparts

as publications of record. A comprehensive coverage of

Goa, aided by a network of stringers spread all over

the state, ensured that the Marathi Tarun Bharat was a

newspaper of choice for anyone looking for a bird's

eye-view of Goa every morning.

Tarun Bharat's strategy to topple existing market

leader Gomantak by investing in people and technology

makes an interesting case study in the newspaper

business. With very little marketing muscle on the

lines of the Times group or Dainik Bhaskar to speak of,

the newspaper simply worked at reporting from the

grassroots to capture a leadership position in the

market. That Tarun Bharat has still not found favour

among Goa's Marathi-speaking intelligentsia is another story.

On the other hand, Goa's English-language newspapers

have sold out to petty politicians and the mining

lobbies as weightier examples from other contributors

to this e-book indicate. Lethargy runs so deep that

there is little coverage of even the staples like

society, courts, crime and health that form the

backbone of newspapers all over the world. Owners of

English-language newspapers here are so indifferent

that the photographers on the rolls have to bring their

own cameras to work -- something unheard off in the

mainstream media.

So the big stories in Goa are buried in two-para

dispatches from the mofussils. I still cannot figure

out why the dispute between a section of gaunkars in Cuncolim

and the Catholic Church received poor display in Goan

newspapers. Here was a big story of unresolved caste

conflicts that transcended religious conversion and

economic prosperity spread over half a millenium. Let

alone dwell on the academic angles in the edit pages,

Goa's English-language newspapers, barring the Herald,

downplayed the story. Even Herald's reportage consisted

of allegations and counter allegations from interested

parties with out any indepth coverage. I am happy to

say that my then newspaper, The Indian Express played

up my stories on the episode prominently as the anchor

on the front page nationally. Unfortunately even after

the national and international media picked it up,

there was little improvement in the coverage by the

local press.

Another story played out as a farce in Goa's

English-language newspapers: when former chief minister

Shashikala Kakodkar's estranged husband passed away,

the news received prominent display in all the major

English-language newspapers. Only the lady's

relationship with the deceased was suppressed in the obit!

With complete censorship, voluntary or otherwise, Goan

journalists seem to exist in a blissful state of

non-competitiveness. Trained to break stories and score

one on the competition, I was amazed at the unofficial

news pool system that operates at the Press Room at the

Panjim Secretariat. The twice-daily 'edit meets' at the

Adil Shahi palace ensures that only the very junior

reporters intimidated by the Press Room circle break

stories of any importance. One could depend on the

juniors at The Herald and Gomantak Times (under Ashwin Tombat

) to put out at least one readable story a day.

Understandably, Goa's newspapers survive on a staple of

political verbiage all generated from the safe confines

of the Press Room. Unverified allegations that would

not pass muster with even a trainee in a national

newspaper find play on the front pages. With no

facility to train journalists in the state, trainees

here look towards the Press Room as some kind of a

finishing school!

Over the years, the Press Room crowd have attached

themselves to the camps of different politicians. It's

a temptation common to journalists in every small town

and Goan journalists have fallen neck deep in it. With

nothing exciting enough, politics becomes the

all-consuming passion for 'senior journalists'. So the

current storm over journalists accused of obtaining

favours from the current BJP-run dispensation comes as

no surprise.

It has always been easy for journalists to be sucked

into different political camps considering the

proliferation of politicians in the state. There are 40

MLAs, three MPs -- including one in the Rajya Sabha --

and scores of municipal/panchayat level 'leaders' for a

population of less than 1.4 million which includes the

Gulfies and shippies).

Even junior reporters easily manage to invite a

minister or two for family functions. Journalists are

also not above seeking the help of politicians to solve

problems even in their workplaces. Many of them even

grow to depend on the ruling politicians for basics

like accommodation in the capital because of inadequate

remuneration from their employers.

It's the same story everywhere in the country, but the

sheer number of journalists in a big city like Mumbai

or Delhi helps mask the dilution of ethics among a

select few. Like everywhere else in the world a few

journalists in Goa too happily combine their jobs and

elective roles as fixers for politicians. The icing on

the cake is however to inveigle into a chief minister's

coterie thereby ensuring government contracts for self

or family members.

Under the chief ministership of Manohar Parrikar, the

issue has hit the headlines especially after Rajan Narayan

announced his resignation from the Herald (in

September 2003). But during his days in the opposition,

Parrikar slogged at wooing the media. As leader of the

Opposition, Parrikar could be depended upon to come up

with all sorts of files to put the then Congress

government on the mat. Journalists looking for a juicy

story never returned disappointed. To be fair to

Parrikar he did not even hint about the need for a quid

pro quo from the journalists tapping him for

information on the then Congress government.

Journalists who are now accused of obtaining favours

from the incumbent chief minister were even then known

to be part of Parrikar's coterie, though a large number

of journalists sought out the former leader of the

opposition. However with the media eating out of his

hands, Parrikar had the mantle of Mr Clean wrapped on

his shoulders -- either by design or by default. One

now gets the feeling that a small group of journalists

probably played a part in building Parrikar's

reputation with the expectations of being paid back at

an appropriate time. Agreed, there is genuine

admiration for the man -- IIT Bombay alumni, quick

acting, with a vision for the middle class, etc. But

the cause of good journalism is compromised.

Today, there is very little criticism coming up against

the ruling BJP government in Goan newspapers. For

instance, there has been very muted coverage of some

elements in Parrikar's cabinet -- like a minister who

is rumoured to be pushing illegals into Europe. Another

worthy has a reputation of being a ruthless moneylender

whose rumored 'sex scandals' could even put Jalgaon to

shame, as the BJP leadership is itself known to have

once argued.

The kid-glove treatment meted out to the BJP government

has also been extended to the extend Sangh parivar,

despite the ideological opposition to it in many

sections of the Goan society. Parrikar's handing over

government schools to unregistered groups of alleged

RSS-linked activists barely registers a presence in

local discourse even among members of the minority

Christian community traditionally opposed to right-wing

Hindu politics.

While the reluctance of local newspapers to rattle the

ruling politicians is understandable, there is really

no reason for correspondents of outstation newspapers

to follow suit. But for a couple of honorable

exceptions, correspondents with outstation publications

too have decided to toe the government line.

Unfortunately for Goa, the market is too small to

attract the attention of any national or international

investor in the media scene.

Most of the quarter-million or so households in Goa who

can afford to do so, already buy a newspaper and a new

investor can only hope to net a marginal increase in

circulation. The failure of The Times of India to

penetrate the Goan market is a case in point. With its

financial muscle, the Times was best placed to shake up

the Goan market. Even while skirting controversial

issues, the newspaper could have made an impact with a

comprehensive coverage of Goa. But the newspaper

clearly did not see it worthwhile to continue and

pulled out after a four-year long presence, and 'Goa

edition' plans, in the state.

Even the Sakal group, the other outside group to enter

Goa, has not been able to figure out the

English-language newspaper market here. Having bought

over the Gomantak from the Chowgules, the Sakal group

does not seem to be interested in making big-ticket

investments in the English-language Gomantak Times. As

Goa's third English-language daily continues to bleed,

there is a very strong possibility that there would be

one less player in the English language market in the

near future.

One can only hope that increased competition following

the entry of foreign publications in India provides

enough incentives for future players to dig their heels

deeper into the Goan market. Hopefully, national

players in the media business and expatriate Goans will

see a market in selling quality journalism in Goa.

Chapter 16:

An accidental Bhailo

Rahul GoswamiRahul Goswami, one of Goa's most hardworking and

innovative outstation correspondent, covered this state

for the Business Standard, in the mid-nineties. He is

today based in Singapore. On a lighter note, RG says he

was offered, several times during his stint in Goa,

bribes by various colleagues envious of his posting as

inducement to trade places with them. Instead, he went

to Bombay to quarrel with newspaper vendors, went to

the Gulf to start up a dot-bomb, went to Singapore to

learn Mandarin, and is now wondering if those bribes

are still on offer.

Arriving to live and work in 'aparanta' -- a place

beyond the end, as the Sanskrit texts would have us

believe, where time stands still -- was always going to

be a challenge for the conscientious newspaper

correspondent. Even when one does not do so blind, as I

comforted myself in 1993.

It was Goa Dourada, Golden Goa, Perola do Oriente,

Pearl of the East, Roma do Oriente, and other such

colourfulness that I was being assigned to. The imagery

was breath-taking -- corsairs, corruption and

conversions. There were heart-warming tales of gruff

compassion -- whether from the dashing Marathas or

their debonair Portuguese rivals. There were edgy

accounts of the rivalries of contentious nationalisms,

delicious stories of grand thievery, fabulous stories

of immoral profligacy, of debauched viceroys who

equalled in pomp and splendour the Asian potentates

they dealt with.

This was, I thought to myself, the stuff of a hundred

feature stories, the mother-lode of post-colonial

memorabilia, the gateway to phantasmagorical

explorations. Indeed they were, but in no way that I

had imagined at the outset, overcome then by the

cultural fecundity of 'aparanta'. Imaging Goa, as a

curious ingenue, as a journalist, as an informed

participant, has never been an easy task and indeed is

one that has grown more onerous over the years.

Indeed the provenance of such a view is a curious one,

and yet one that is well-known. The widespread tendency

in Western writing of India -- and, by extension, of

Goa -- has been to condense the description of the

scenic beauty and natural resourcefulness, the

cosmopolitan life and the imagined mercantile

prosperity of the early colonial period, into

pastel-coloured, palatable images. So it is too with

Goa Dourada, or Golden Goa.

The Goa that has been perpetuated in the newsrooms of

the media conglomerates of urban India -- an English

construction, I would like to emphasise -- has even now

more in common with the hazy feel-good miasma that

occulted the communal perceptions of the dharma bum

generation that made its way from the West, in a slow

and tortuous ganja-laden, booze-sodden crawl, through

the tolerant places of the 'Third World'. The

difference was, and is, that the dharma bums smoked and

drank and blissfully fornicated under the moonlight

that bathed the silvery beaches of 'aparanta' and

dreamt of equality and human emancipation (to be fair

to many of them).

The news editors and feature editors and

editors-in-chief and numberless marketing imbeciles who

chose to imagine Goa, within the narrow and noisome

worlds that defined their own existences in the

megapolis of their choosing, had on the other hand no

such overarching humaneness, despite generous

applications of all that is narcotic and alcoholic.

'Aparanta', I found, may welcome all comers, but it

also encourages those processes that sift out the unbelievers.

How, I asked myself, is one to distinguish? What is the

Goan-ness that one is seeking to understand and, if

possible, to give substance to in a 1,200-word report

(under the illiterate regimes that run newsrooms these

days, that is a torrent of words)? Can one encapsulate

all that seeks to be distilled by this multitude of

experiences, of personal encounters, by listening to

the narratives of the histories of Goa? And when one

does become an ideological sympathiser of the dharma

that is 'aparanta', how can one convey it to the

hard-eyed stewards who rule over the column centimetres

in Bombay or Delhi?

It was a question that had no simple answer. My own

method was to attempt to blend in with the rhythms of

the village in which I lived, Betim, which lies across

the river Mandovi, opposite Panaji. The river is like a

slow-moving artery that expresses Goa -- the rusting,

elderly ferries of the River Navigation Department chug

across the gap with a ponderous regularity, and in

doing so determine the schedules of legions of Goans

who live within a short bus ride of the water --

'aparanta' tends not to respect time-pieces worn on

one's wrist.

In this I was marginally successful. Mahadeo was one of

my neighbours -- a generously-bellied Betim elder who

with surprising agility climbed into his canoe and laid

his meagre nets along the river shallows. Mahadeo was

also adept at catching river crabs, and when one

morning I found a pair -- neatly trussed and no more

than two hours old -- squirming outside my front door I

realised with a thrill that I was accepted by the Betim-kars.

Mahadeo -- despite his belly a very handsome man with a

tanned visage crowned by a mop of white curls, with a

commanding presence and possessing an enviable facility

with a little skiff barely a foot across -- was only

one of a series of revelations. There were the nearby

family Bhosale, whom I had been warned "were trouble",

the "rowdy boys" of the village who tended to be

destructive, the crooked 'possorkars' from whom I would

be forced to purchase my groceries. The roll-call of

potential villains was long indeed.

All unfounded. The rhythms of 'aparanta', as they found

this 'bhailo' in Betim, ensured harmony. My dilemma

was, how might I convey this to urban-bred news editors

who have little tolerance for a mofussil

correspondent's rural romanticism, as they saw it?

Sometimes, fortune intervenes. In my case, while

reporting for Business Standard, it came in the form of

C P Kuruvilla, to my mind the most super-aware news

editor of the last two decades.

Kuru, as we called him, was (he has voluntarily

withdrawn from the circus that is print media, hence

'was') a maverick before the term found fashion, and

was so within the relatively severe environs of the

Ananda Bazar Patrika. Kuru provided the intellectual

get-up-and-go that impelled a legion of correspondents

to hit the road in search of stories that were to

become memorable ones, and even more remarkable, was

able to do so in the context of a mainstream business newspaper.

Will you find a Kuru nowadays? No, is the likely

answer. Editors, sad to say, tend to be almost

uniformly useless. It is left to the greater community

of journalists to provide the context, the space, the

encouragement, and the means. The encouragement,

context and professional support has perforce now to

come from within. This working alternative has not only

become desirable, it has become imperative for for the

non-sarkari journalists.

The problem is a systemic one today; there should have

been manuals passed on, but system administrators have

deleted them. Where binaries perish, we must turn to

mnemonics. There was a time when some of us in The

Sunday Observer successfully ran a tactical media

counter-insurgency within the framework.

An immediate provocation at the time was a faux

editorial regime presided over by an imposter named

Pritish Nandy. Every Friday (dak edition) and every

Saturday (city edition) we would have to redefine and

re-take our territory and remind the insurgents that

they had no place in it. It was hard work -- outright

threats and go-slows, files full of protest notes and

minutes of meetings, and the halting evolution of a

code that cut across the barriers that traditionally

define a functioning news organism. I think it worked

well at the time -- the guerrillas who did this are

still here.

Our questions were basic -- why can sanitation not be

"sold"? Why can education not be? Labour not be? Health

not be? The elderly not be? That this not only assumes

but reflects the dreadful significance of "sold"

indicates why we still need guerrillas in the newsroom.

These guerrillas, if they still exist and can still be

drafted, will come up against some formidable mantras.

"All things are more or less of equal import: all are

only daily" is one. If you ask one of the system

administrators she will reply: "All data are equal, but

some are more equal than others."

That is why, we are reminded by those who give the

system administrators their wages, the media have

produced their own heroines and myths, which can

compete with the traditional ones and moreover happily

embroider over them. I was once advised that

"journalism asks us to invest in the stock-market of

momentary sensation". After such sexualist reduction,

what forgiveness?

The difficulty lies in the accepted impermanence of our

art, our skill, and the relentless transformation of

today's news feature into tomorrow's newsprint into the

day after tomorrow's wrapping paper for pakodas. The

media that we construct (from the point of view of the

consumer, and the brokers who interpose themselves

between writer and audience) offers titillating

speculations on danger, scandal, death, nightmare, opportunity.

Like a television talk-show host tripping loquaciously

on industrial-strength amphetamines, it rattles noisily

on, uncaring of the quiet interjections about

sanitation, infant mortality, unreported police

atrocities, tribal communities flooded out of their

homes. And that is so both in an India that has

reclaimed 'aparanta' without caring to know the

topography of Goa, as it is in the desolate urban

scapes that seek to define the middle classes who --

reliable sources say -- are the new India that seeks to spend.

The rules of the game have changed and we do need a new

set of guerrillas. Newsroom disobedience is not what it

used to be (is it at all what it was?). Who is willing

to explore the new paradigm? It is so easy to stay in

the bunker of assurances. No conclusions, no certainty;

only performance analyses, management matrices, and

practical wagers. We really do need a bunch of newsroom

narkasurs here.

Can one seek for and hope for such a dimension in Goa?

Will 'aparanta' provide it? Not readily. Early in my

apprenticeship as a correspondent in Goa I ran into the

local brand of sarkari thought. It was one of those

endless afternoons in the old press room, the one in

the corner of the Idalcao. A minion from one of the

chambers above clattered in through the swing doors and

muttered something. He was half asleep and so were the

occupants of the press room, those who were not

wrestling with the typewriters.

We all streamed out, following the minion. Through the

wooden security gate we filed, the one that is supposed

to detect the presence of suspicious metal objects on

one's person, and up the stairs we climbed. Across a

landing whose timbers had been scuffed shiny by the

passage of tired footwear, then down a verandah over

which hung tattered pieces of plastic in an ugly and

half-hearted attempt to keep out the rain. And finally

into some functionary's room.

It turned out to be occupied by some minister, who

lolled indulgently behind a desk. He was Luizinho Faleiro,

before he became a big wheel, but who was even at the

time odious. We chose seats. Greasy khitmutgars passed

amongst us, proferring cups of tea and soggy biscuits.

Luizinho grinned a sepulchral grin, as if privately

awaiting the demise of one or another of those who had

just seated themselves. Then, as if disappointed by the

absence of such drama, he coughed and began.

"I have called you here," he announced brusquely, "to

comment on..." and there followed some dull government

programme or the other. Luizinho, with another

graveyard grin, then collected his belly, cleared his

throat and barked: "Take down!". And then proceeded to

provide what I can only call dictation. To the credit

of about a third of his audience, they did not whip out

a notebook to scribble. The rest, shamefully, played

the part of stenographers. It was my first encounter

with the Establishment's view of the Press, and of the

willingness of that part of the state's press to permit

such a relationship.

Luizinho was merely following tradition, just as surely

as the passage of the full barges bearing iron ore,

which announced themselves with a dull throb as the red

mineral made its way to the mouth of the Zuari and the

hungry ore carriers berthed there. For they were -- and

are -- one and the same. Government functionary and

river vessel -- both vehicles of the powers that seek

to control 'aparanta'. Does it work? Should it?

It does in fact work. Teotonio de Souza, before he

departed from the Xavier Centre of Historical Research,

had chatted with me on a few occasions. He had been,

then, as critical of the Church as he was of the

gradual change he saw in Goa's politics and

middle-class political consciousness. He had told me,

up there in the haze of one Porvorim afternoon, how he

had been amused to read that "Goans are largely a

T-shirt wearing population".

That comment came from one Arun Sinha, who was then,

and as far as I know continues to be, editor of The

Navhind Times. Teotonio seemed at first mildly

intrigued by this person's interpretation of the

Goanness of Goans. But then the historian also revealed

a resigned bitterness about what else he perceived in

the journalist's prose. "One wonders," he wrote later,

"if to be wholly Indian one has to chew 'paan' and spit

it all around, or replace T-shirts or G-shorts with

kurta-pajama or safari suit."

It is part of a misguided mission which propagates

itself apparently tirelessly and without mercy -- that

there are caricatures which continue to be attributed

to Goans. Very often, they are invented by bureaucrats

and self-styled "professionals" who want to teach Goans

to be less easy-going or less un-Indian. I suspect that

one Manohar Parrikar, the current Big Wheel in the

circus that is Goa's government of the day, is just as

keen to socially re-engineer the Goan masses. Nor is he

the first, nor most zealous of those who have wished to

do so.

The trouble for the correspondent in Goa -- zealous or

cantankerous or otherwise -- is that one never seems to

escape the impression that, in a certain way,

de-colonisation has not yet been digested. It is not

that the departure of the Portuguese is regretted

(there are exceptions, of course) but the question of

why, Portuguese colonisation remains so strenuously

berated. How is one to internalise this truth, seek to

convey to our readers the paradoxes that abound in our

reading of this beautiful, bewitching 'aparanta'? How

can one negotiate for oneself the editorial space to do so?

I do not mean this to be a disheartening preface for

the hapless correspondent who finds herself deposited

in Goa, without the benefit of an immediate

acquaintance with Peter's (St Inez), Joao's (opposite

the now notorious Hotel Neptune), or Martin's (whose

staff has long since relapsed into slumber). Given the

dismal state of the print media in India today, the

days of the full-time state correspondent seem to be

distant memories (my friend and comrade Prakash Kamat

has on the other hand proven to be remarkably resilient!).

The simple truth is that the "Goan culture" that is so

venally peddled aboard the tourist boats that

shamelessly and noisily ply the Mandovi off Panaji (how

I wish they would cease) is far from easily definable.

Cultures never do remain isolated or static, and

certainly not the seaborne cultures of which Goa,

Govapuri, Gopakapatnam, became a part.

And it is indeed true that the mechanism which

supported the 'Estado de India' nourished a very unique

place, one which internalised the life-affirming

concept behind a word redolent of the very essence of

Goan-ness, a word that resounds with wisdom -- sussegado.

Chapter 17:

Why Konkani failed its readers...

Raju NayakRaju Nayak, one of the home-grown products in

journalism that Goa can take pride in, has worked on

the newsdesks of mainstream Marathi newspapers in the

media-capital of Mumbai, has edited the Sunaparant in a

tumultous period (as this essays shows) and today tells

the story through the Indian Express to the ire of

politicians who would like a more flattering image to

be put out. Together with Devika Sequeira, he is behind

the recently launched and yet-unnamed forum that meets

monthly to discuss issues of relevance and concern to

the media profession.

If I am told to evaluate Marathi and Konkani journalism

in Goa, I would surely rank the Marathi media ahead of

its Konkani counterparts.

Despite of it being accused of creating a rift between

Hindu and Catholic masses over the issue of Goa's

merger with Maharashtra in the 1960s and 1970s, the

Marathi press has managed better to maintain the

standards of journalism. The Marathi media in Goa has

all along borne the torch of social activism, by

backing the cause of the 'bahujan samaj' or the

backward communities, and also fought hard to expose

corruption in Goa's polity.

In comparison, the Konkani press hopelessly failed to

live up to people's expectations. The only Konkani

daily, Sunaparant failed to instill journalistic values

in the Konkani media. The newspaper, which was

originally set up to promote Konkani, never became a

complete newspaper in its own right. Rather it has

become, in recent years, a platform for sections of the

Konkani language activists in Goa. The Konkani press in

general abjured professionalism in order to cosy up

with the political party in power.

On the other hand, the Marathi press was infused with a

new vitality following the launching of several new

publications at regular intervals. Gomantak, Tarun Bharat,

Navaprabha and Rashtramat have been product of

Marathi journalism flourishing in this

Konkani-dominated state.

A glance at the circulation figures of these dailies

unearth the story behind the real tastes of Goan

readers. It is estimated that Marathi newspapers

collectively sell more than 50,000 copies per day. In

comparison, the sole Konkani daily sells less than 500

copies per day.

The Goan newspaper reader's search for quality has

resulted in Tarun Bharat, for long published from

Belgaum, becoming the state's highest-read daily,

pushing even the market leader Gomantak to second place.

The success of Tarun Bharat stems from its management's

professional approach to journalism. With a wide

network of young stringers without any ideological

orientation spread across the state, Tarun Bharat

provides comprehensive coverage of Goa like no other

newspaper sold in the state. Tarun Bharat also ushered

in winds of change in the Goan media with supplements

and booklets to cater to popular tastes. While

cannibalising a large chunk of Gomantak readers, Tarun

Bharat also attracted new readers from among the youth

and women, thereby revolutionising Marathi journalism.

Gomantak's management never realised the threat posed

by Tarun Bharat till it was too late. In my opinion,

the Gomantak management's lackadaisical attitude

towards its readers worked in favour of Tarun Bharat.

For instance, Gomantak's staff strength is higher than

Tarun Bharat's, but most of them are concentrated only

in Panaji.

Tarun Bharat also invested heavily in news gathering

operations. Apart from widening its correspondents'

network, the newspaper also equipped them with

amenities like fax machines and cameras. Tarun Bharat

also set up district-level bureaus and local offices

all over the state as a strategy to source local content.

(Tarun Bharat then managed to steam-roll even smaller

newspapers like Rashtramat which lost its readership

base. Despite the backing of powerful industrialists in

Goa, Rashtramat lost out despite its history. The

newspaper, which swayed Goan thinkers during the

Opinion Poll, failed to instill a sense of

professionalism. Rashtramat is now trying to capture

lost ground with hard hitting editorials by Sitaram Tengse,

besides addition of supplements.)

Gomantak's failure in the face of Tarun Bharat's

onslaught is an example of how a market leader can fail

by sitting on its laurels. The Gomantak was originally

started in Goa to advocate the state's merger with

Maharashtra and furthering the cause of the Marathi

language. Gomantak owed much of its success to its

former editor, Madhav Gadkari. By the own admission,

Gadkari gave Gomantak a Hindu face and supported the

cause of Marathi through his speeches. Mr Gadkari's

enthusiasm, foresight and hard work were instrumental

in the growth of Gomantak. The newspaper's circulation

shot up from 3000 copies per day to 15,000 copies per

day and kept growing. His successor, Narayan Athavale,

known for his inimitable style of writing, kept up

Gadkari's legacy.

Madhav Gadkari has been always accused of fostering

pro-Maharashtra sentiments, fueling the language

controversy and creating disharmony between Goa's main

Hindu and Catholic communities. Konkani protagonists

continue to level these allegations and suspect that

Gomantak is still aiming to merge Goa with Maharashtra.

Gadkari admitted that he had come to Goa to campaign

during 1967 elections. Though initially he was not the

editor, he used to write regularly for Gomantak. In all

Gadkari spent ten years in Goa.

Despite being labelled an outsider, the Marathi press

in Goa owes its professionalism to Gadkari. He turned

Gomantak into a platform for the Goan bahujan

community. He started the Shiv Jayanti celebrations in

Goa and, in his tenure of 10 years, he fought several

intellectual and political battles.

To begin with Gadkari was very close to Goa's first

chief minister, Dayanand Bandodkar. The relationship

proved profitable, with Bandodkar leaking several

stories to Gadkari that were published prominently in

Gomantak. Later on, the two fell out, and Bandodkar

stopped government advertisements to Gomantak.

Bandodkar went on to accuse Gadkari and the Gomantak of

vitiating communal harmony in Goa, in a complaint to

the Press Council of India.

Gadkari believed that in the Vishal Gomantak (a

'greater Goa' state that included within Goa areas

outside its current boundaries) he envisaged, the rift

between Hindu and Catholic communities in Goa would be

solved peacefully.

Gomantak has played a big role in the development of

Marathi in Goa, by creating two generations of writers

and journalists in the state. In contrast, the Konkani

media failed to create an intellectual constituency in

the state.

In Sunaparant

During my tenure as editor of Sunaparant, between 1989

and 1995, I strived to inject some amount of

professionalism in the newspaper. Unfortunately, I did

not receive the needed support from the stalwarts of

the Konkani movement. They never wanted the Sunaparant

to become a professionally-run publication. My efforts

faced severe opposition and I personally went through

acute stress.

Purshottam Kakodkar, Uday Bhembre and his group led the

movement against me. With the help of Congress

politician, and former chief minister, Ravi Naik, they

managed to have Uday Bhembre installed as Chief Editor

of the daily. Unfortunately, Uday Bhembre never had the

time for this newspaper. He just concentrated on how to

sabotage my attempts to professionalise the newspaper.

During my tenure, Sunaparant had the best of

supplements on Diwali and other occasions. We even

managed to bring out special evening editions during

Iran-Iraq war. Sunaparant's campaigns during the

agitations against the Konkan Railway and Nylon 6,6

projects was followed up by other newspapers in Goa.

We even started a fund raising drive during the 1990

Shiroda canoe disaster and helped restart the ferry

service. In addition, more than 20 books compiling

different articles, investigative series, fiction and a

dictionary was published during my tenure.

Only readers will tell whether during his eight years

tenure Uday Bhembre had taken up even a single issue

and fought it out till the end. Readers acutely felt

the non-professionalism of the product during Bhembre's period.

Bhembre held the position as Chief Editor for eight

years later when the newspaper had but lost all its

base. Sunaparant is owned by a mine owner and hence

protection of corporate interests, rather than the

fostering of Konkani, has played a big role in

Bhembre's continuation as Chief Editor at Sunaparant.

In the end, Bhembre had to go after running a series of

editorials against Chief Minister Manohar Parrikar.

Until then, the owners of Sunaparant were oblivious of

Bhembre's lethargy, inefficiency and inactivity that

took an immense toll on the newspaper. An example:

during his tenure, Bhembre failed to call even a single

meeting of staff reporters, let alone stringers.

Once again, Dattaraj Salgaocar, owner of Sunaparant,

has recently made up his mind to re-build and re-launch

the newspaper on a commercial basis. This is a welcome

step. Whatever may be the language of newspaper -- the

language is merely a tool for communication -- its

success depends on the information provided, in-depth

analysis and its commitment to important issues.

In an effort to make Sunaparant a 'mouthpiece' for

Konkani, Bhembre seems to have overlooked all these

issues. This is precisely why Bhembre had to seek the

support of a newspaper like The Navhind Times to

counter the likes of Jaisingrao Rane, despite heading

Sunaparant himself.

Needless to add, such incidents have proved detrimental

to the cause of Konkani. Almost 45 years ago, Konkani

protagonists had to depend on the crutches of Marathi

newspapers to enhance their cause. The situation is no

better today, largely due to the apathetic nature of

the leaders of the Konkani movement.

Vital ingredients

In my opinion, the major requirements for a successful

daily newspaper are: a state-of-the-art establishment,

a steadfast commitment to the reader, comprehensive

coverage of all sections of the society, and the

ultimate aim of becoming the voice of the Goan populace.

Sadly, all these factors remained low on the priority

of Konkani protagonists. Professionalism was never on

their agenda. With an eye on the leadership of the

Konkani movement, the likes of Bhembre used the

newspaper to carry out attacks against all his

opponents during the elections to the Konkani Bhasha Mandal

Bhembre has still not given up. He is now on the

advisory board of the soon-to-be-revamped Sunaparant.

This move obviously suggests the intention of halting

the progress of the restructured newspaper.

When I took over as an Editor of Sunaparant, Uday

Bhembre, then editor, was asked to vacate his post. Not

surprisingly, this angered Bhembre. Some of his

friends, who had been pampered with free publicity,

continuously worked against me.

To illustrate how this worked, one can cite here the

example of columnist Dilip Borkar whose satirical

column "Borkari", on various ills plaguing Goa, gained

all-round popularity. Borkar had even even taken

humorous digs at me through his writings. But, that

apart the column was a masterpiece as regards its

content and the lucidity of the language was concerned.

But it hurt a number of people, and added them to my

list of enemies. Uday Bhembre, on taking charge as the

Editor, stopped this column and replaced it with

another one penned by one of his supporters. However it

did not find favor with the reader and failed miserably.

Much of my work at Sunaparant -- like a supplement on

business, in-depth analysis of important events, expert

views and analysis by experts in relation to important

events, a well compiled Sunday edition -- continues

with little change.

Dattaraj Salgaocar himself admitted that Sunaparant had

become popular with readers, but reactions from

politicians made him restless. It may be recalled that

Sunaparant had mercilessly attacked Ravi Naik for

usurping the chief ministerial gaddi (throne).

Dattaraj, being close to Naik, could not digest this

criticism. What seems to have irked Salgaocar was

Sunaparant's highlighting, on its front-page, the news

of the nomination of Vasant Pilgaonkar (a family friend

and close aide-cum-adviser of Ravi Naik) as the Goa

Public Service Commission chief.

Strongly retaliating against this, Dattaraj called for

a meeting at Pilgaonkar's residence. And Pilgaonkar, at

this meeting, lectured me on journalism. A decision to

name Uday Bhembre as the Chief Editor was finalised.

Interestingly, Bhembre is a relative of Pilgaonkar and

close to Ravi Naik.

Bhembre got a dose of his own medicine when Manohar Parrikar

took over as chief minister. On realizing that Bhembre

refused to toe his line, Parrikar publicly blasted him,

and, in turn, Sunaparant. The age-old tradition of

industrialists supporting the government came into play

here. By the same token, Salgaocar unsurprisingly

supported Parrikar.

Most importantly, the group of journalists close to

Parrikar is now getting attracted to Sunaparant.

According to the grapevine, the government is doling

out a largesse of Rs 50 lakhs (five million rupees) by

way of advertisement revenue to Sunaparant. How can a

newspaper which expects revenue in the form of

advertisements from any incumbent government remain

loyal to its reader?

I believe, a Konkani daily has to follow an independent

line to succeed. It has to protect the interests and

self-respect of all Goans. In the process, a newspaper

like Sunaparant should not hesitate in stepping on the

toes of a section of the Konkani protagonists. Whoever

edits the newspaper should realise that a news item

killed by Sunaparant would be grabbed by the Marathi

and English-language press.

Any sort of defalcation, even if it pertains to the

darling of Konkaniwadis meaning the Goa Konkani Academy

or Asmitai Pratisthan, should necessarily find an

important place in the pages of this newspaper. And

that too, before any rival publication vigorously

pursues the issue. Various issues like the efficiency

of the teaching community, the state of education

institutions, or the pathetic condition of Konkani in

schools, have to be taken up with missionary zeal. Only

a relentless pursuit of such issues will take Sunaparant

to the masses.

Lessons to be learnt

It could probably draw on the lessons from the Marathi press

. It holds Marathi dear to its heart, without in any

way making reference to the Marathi movement. At a time

when veteran journalists like Gadkari and Athavale

forcefully argued the cause of Marathi, it was done

without prejudice to other issues of social and

political importance which continued to find place in

their newspaper.

Gomantak was always on the forefront in fighting

alongside Goans on vital issues that cropped up from

time to time. In my opinion, although Tarun Bharat has

a greater circulation than its immediate rival

Gomantak, I would still give full marks to the latter

for its vigorous fighting spirit.

During my involvement in the student agitation, despite

it being ideologically oriented towards our policy and

mindset, Rashtramat did not entertain us. On the

contrary, Gomantak, while holding diametrically

opposite views, gave us wide publicity. Further support

was found in the editorials. It has been the policy of Rashtramat

and Sunaparant to always be on the side of the Establishment.

The roots of the decline of Sunaparant lies precisely

in this same policy. It has always given a wide berth

to any agitation. Given the fact that Sunaparant is a

Konkani daily, it does not necessarily mean that all

literature pertaining to and written by Konkani

litterateurs has to find a mention in it.

Sunaparant has to nurture, cultivate and discover new

journalistic talent. I was instrumental in encouraging

Marathi protagonists to write for Sunaparant. As a

resultantly, Sunaparant found readers among the

supporters of Marathi as well. Such efforts have to be repeated.

To live long, Sunaparant has to sell. The issues

highlighted by the newspaper have to be discussed, and

a conducive atmosphere in favor of the newspaper needs

to be created. Is this too much to expect?

Chapter 18:

Romi Konkani, hanging on a cliff

Peter RaposoPeter Rapose considers himself "just a five-year-old

priest" given the responsibility of editing a

seventy-year-old Konkani weekly. Says he modestly: "The

only thing I have besides my priestly studues is a

Diploma in Journalism from Xavier's Mumbai and a lot of

enthusiasm to do the best I can." The enthusiasm shows;

recently the publication he edits put up its website

(something other larger publications in Goa don't take

seriously) at http://www.v-ixtt.com. He has earlier

worked for three years in Bombay Archdiocese.

To say that Roman-script Konknni journalism did not

make a mark would be a fallacy. However, that it did

not maintain and live up to the challenges of modern

day journalism is a fact that caused its very decline.

The total number of Konknni-speaking people spread in

India (Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka and Kerala) and

scattered across smaller pockets across the world is

five million (or, 50 lakh). This population of

Konknni-speaking people is further divided between

people who write the language and read it in four

different scripts: Devnagri, Roman, Kannada, and the

Malayalam script. While the Konknni people of Kerala

use the Malayalam script and Konknni people of

Karnataka use the Kannada script, the Devanagiri and

Roman divides the Konknni people of Goa and coastal Maharashtra.

Among the four scripts, the population that understands

or follows Roman script (RS) Konknni would be around

300,000 to 400,000 approximately. (This is a rough

calculation based on the 1991 census.) However, going

by facts and figures of Konknni journalism on the

whole, we could definitely put Roman script Konknni journalism

as the fore runner.

A Brief History of Roman Konknni Journalism

The first Konknni weekly Udentichem Sallok was

published in Pune by Edward Bruno D'Souza in 1899. It

started as a monthly periodical which later became

fortnightly. In 1894 it was closed down. It came out in

Konknni-Portuguese. In 1891, O Luzo-Concanim was

published. It was a bilingual weekly in

Konknni-Portuguese. Aleixo Caitano Jose Francisco was

its editor.

From 1892 to 1897, A Luz, O Bombaim Esse, A Luo, O

Intra Jijent, O Opiniao Nacional Konknni-Portuguese

weeklies were published. In 1907 Sanjechem Nokhetr was

born. B F Cabral was the editor of this paper. Since it

was published from Mumbai, this paper carried Mumbai

(then called Bombay) news in detail. We can say that

this periodical is the first newspaper in Konknni.

Soon after this Roldao Noronha started a monthly named

Katolik Sovostkai, which later became a fortnightly and

then ceased publication. In 1907, Honarato Furtado and

Francis Xavier Furtado published a weekly named O Goano

from Mumbai. This weekly was independently divided into

three parts: Portuguese, Konknni and English. In 1912

Konkan Magazine a monthly magazine was started by

Joaquim Campose. In 1914, a monthly named Dor

Mhoineachi Rotti came into existence in Karachi. Fr.

Vincent Lobo and Fr. Ludovic Pereira were instrumental

in starting this magazine and it had a circulation of

8,000 subscribers. Today, the same Rotti is published

and printed in Goa; Fr. Moreno de Souza is the present

editor.

In 1916, Sebastiao Xavier Vaz started Amigo do Povo, a

Konknni-English weekly. In 1919 O Goano and O Amigo do

Povo were combined and named O Amigo do Povo Goano,

which continued as a Konknni-English weekly. Manuel

Fernandes was the editor. It stopped in 1926. In 1919,

three more periodicals were stated in Mumbai -- Ave

Maria (Konknni-English-Portuguese), edited by Antonio

D'Cruz, Goa Mail, a Konknni-English periodical edited

by Dr. Vasco da Gama and F X Afonso, and Popular

Magazine (first as monthly and then as fortnightly)

which was edited by Joaquim Jose Silvestre.

Amcho Sonvsar, a weekly, was started in 1927 by Jose

Caitan Francis De Souza. It was purely in Konknni. In

1930 Agnus Dei, a Konknni-English monthly was started

and went on being published for 13 years. Fr. Alarich

Pereira and Joaquim Felix Pereira looked after this

periodical. In the same year, Respecio Alfonso and

Roque Pereira started a weekly called Goa Times. It

came out first in Konknni-English and, then, only in

Konknni. Dr Simon C Fernandes was the editor of Goa

Times.

In 1932 Antonio Vincente D'Cruz started a small-sized

daily named Konknni Bulletin. This was published from

Mumbai and it too continued for 13 years. In 1933, Joao

Lazarus De Souza started the Goan Observer, a

Konknni-English daily. In 1934 Inacio Caitano Carvalho

started Emigrant, a weekly which later on turned to a

daily.

In 1930, Luis de Menezes started a weekly from Goa

named Amcho Ganv. In 1932, two other Portuguese-Konknni

periodicals came into existence: Porjecho Adhar, which

was started by Jose Baptist Vaz, lasted for 30 years

and Padri Jose Vaz, which was started by Francis Xavier

D'Costa.

In 1933 Vauraddeancho Ixtt, a Konknni weekly was

started by Fr. Arsencio Fernandes and Fr.Graciano

Moraes. It is still run by the Pilar Society till date.

This writer is its present editor. In 1934 Gova Nova, a

Konknni-English-Portuguese weekly, was started by

Venktesh Alvekar.

From 1936-50 Mhojem Magazin, Catholic Indian, Amcho

Sonvsar, Novem Jivit, Goenkrancho Ixtt, Gova Kamgar,

Gomantak, Porjecho Ulas, Gova, Chabuk, Golden Goa,

Konkan Times, Sontos, Aitarachem Vachop, O Heraldo,

Konknni Journal, Tujem Raj Amkam Ieum, all from Mumbai

were in existence. Besides these, Udentechem Nekhetr,

Niz Goa, Jai Gomantak, Gomant Bharti, Voice of Goa,

Azad Goem, Sot Uloi, Porjecho Avaz, Ghe Uzvadd, all in

Mumbai, and Uzvadd from Africa were published.

After the Liberation of Goa, Felicio Cardoso started a

weekly named Goencho Sad and later changed it to Sot.

1963 saw a weekly named Uzvadd stated by Ameterio Pais.

In 1967, the two weeklies Sot and A Vida were combined

and Divtti, a daily, was brought into existence by

Felicio Cardoso. Hugo Souza was the managing director

of Divtti. Later, Felicio Cardozo turned Divtti into a

weekly called Loksad. During this period, Goa saw a

lots of other periodicals like Gomant Suria, Goencho

Fuddari, and the like. During the same period, Mumbai

witnessed the birth of Goan Express, Goan Sports

Weekly, Porjecho Ixtt, Vavraddi, and Cine Times. Today

none of these publications are in existence.

In 1970, Gomantak Private Limited Society started a

daily called Uzvadd. Evagrio George was the editor of

this paper. Later he started two of his own weeklies

and named Novo Uzvadd and Prokas.

In 1970, periodicals such as The Blade, Goencho Mog and

Goenkar were started. In 1980, Fr. Planton Faria

started Goencho Avaz which was later changed to

Goenchim Kirnnam. In the same year, Dionisio D'Souza

started a monthly and called it Goenchem Ful.

In 1982, following a people's initiative, a Konknni

daily called Novem Goem was born. Gurunath Kelekar, Dr

F M Rebello and Felicio Cardoso served as its editors.

In the same year, Prabhakar Tendulkar stated his own

publication called Goenkar. In 1983, Fr. Freddy J da Costa

started a Konknni colour-printed magazine named Gulab,

which still continues. In 1989 Fr. Freddy Da Costa also

started a daily called Goencho Avaz which became a

fortnightly after one and a half year. However, it had

to be stopped due to financial burdens. Today he comes

out with occasional issues of Goencho Avaz.

Currently, the Goan Review is the only Konknni-English

bi-monthly magazine published from Mumbai. It is edited

by Fausto V. da Costa. In 1996 an English-Konknni

fortnightly called the Konkan Mail was started from

Panjim. Cyril D'Cunha and Jose Salvador Fernandes

edited the English and Konknni section respectively.

The past of Roman Konknni Journalism is perhaps

unprecedented in the history of vernacular languages of

India, where umpteen numbers of periodicals -- not

proportionate to size of the population of speakers and

readers of the language mushroomed to meet the needs of

the readers in Roman Konknni. At the same time, it is

equally disheartening to note the sharp decline it

underwent. Today Vauraddeancho Ixtt is the only weekly

and Gulab is the only monthly that exists as complete

periodicals in Roman Konknni journalism.

Several reasons could be pointed out for having

contributed to this downfall:

* Publishers failed to unite and join forces to meet

the wider scope and greater market they could have realised.

* Publications failed to exploit the then existing

journalistic demand of the people in a systematic and

collective way.

* Publications failed to meet the demands of modern-day

journalism.

* Many of the publications didn't work because of

internal bickering and lack of patronage.

* Financial problems were a common factor of most of

these publications.

* Elders failed to inculcate of love for reading

Konknni among the younger generations.

* The western influence, along with the popularization

of the English language in Goa, was highly

detrimental to the growth of Konknni.

* After Devnagri script was granted official status,

Roman script was looked down upon.

The Why of Roman script Konknni

Goa consists of two major religious communities, the

Hindus and the Christians. Due to historical

developments, especially after the religious

persecution and the destruction of Konknni literature

by the Portuguese, the Hindu community had to depend on

the neighboring Marathi speaking areas to meet the

needs of their cultural, social and religious life.

Marathi, which is akin to the Konknni language, was

adopted by the Hindu community as a medium of their

expression or communication and fulfillment of

spiritual, cultural and educational needs.

The Catholic community, however, had to face bitter

experiences. At first the Portuguese ruler imposed

Portuguese as their medium of communication. In the

course of time, the Portuguese Bishops of Goa and the

Portuguese missionaries realized that this was not

viable. And so in order to educate the Christians and

strengthen their faith, the Church authorities had to

take recourse to Konknni, which was spoken by the people.

Due to the existing political situation, under which

the Church of Goa lived, it was unthinkable to have

religious literature in Devnagri Konknni. Already the

medium of education was the Portuguese. The Goan clergy

was being trained in the seminaries through an

extensive use of Latin, Portuguese and other Western

languages. Therefore the only solution to impart the

Christian Doctrinal teachings to the masses in Konknni

was by using the Roman script.. It was against this

background that Roman (or Romi) script made inroads in

Konknni literature.

In the course of time, the Portuguese language could

not meet the bare economic needs of the people and

gradually they had to learn English in order to get

access to jobs outside Goa. Thus the Catholic community

was completely cut off from the Devnagri roots.

With the advent of Liberation and after the official

status was granted to Konknni with Devnagri as its

official script, the younger generation is now coming

in increasing touch with the Devanagiri script. If the

trend continues successfully, we hope that after 25 to

40 years or so, we will have a new generation to whom

reading Konknni in the Devanagiri script will be easy.

Till then, the present generation will need the

services of Roman script Konknni for at least another

30 to 40 years. This is a foregone conclusion.

However this is not to water down the bright chances

Romi Konknni journalism has in the future. If, in the

course of coming 25 years it makes large strides in

terms of excellent literary, scientific and religious

publications and keeps abreast with modern journalistic

trends, then Romi Konknni will not easily die but will

survive for a long time to come.

Present-day Romi Konknni media

The weekly Vavraddeanchi Ixtt and the monthly, Gulab

are the only complete Romi Konknni publications of Goa

today. Recently, in early October 2003, Ixtt celebrated

its 70th annual day and Gulab has completed 20 years of

existence. Today Vauraddeancho Ixtt (Worker's Friend)

is the only weekly that has survived (since 1933) and

is thriving to meet the present day challenges of the

fast moving media. Started in 1933 in the backdrop of

the spread of Communism, the weekly was to reach out

the working class and people at the grassroots to

educate, inform and educate them on Communism vis-a-vis

religion. However, over the years, and as it gained

wider popularity, the scope extended to the coverage of

social, political, cultural and religious themes. Ixtt

can boast of a glorious past as one weekly that

provided news and views that satisfied the reading

appetite of a large readership in Goa and Mumbai.

Having run by priests and the Society of Pilar, its

credibility and respect always remained consistent.

Ixtt's contribution to the freedom movement of Goa is

worth the mention. Ixtt under the aegis of the Society

of Pilar followed a line of thought closer to the

aspiration of the freedom movement of our Motherland

India and Goa. It was on the Vespers of the

independence of India that Ixtt began to publish from

the precincts of the old Monastery of Pilar, where its

editorial office and press was housed.

The weekly enjoyed quite good freedom to express itself

without rigorous Portuguese censorship upto the early

50's. However, the picture started changing after the

Liberation of Dadra and Nagar Haveli and the freedom

struggle movement to liberate Goa from the clutches of

the Portuguese. During this period, the Press buckled

under the pressures of rigorous Portuguese censorship.

Nothing could be published in Goa without getting it

censored by the Portuguese Police with the rubber-stamp

of approval that read 'Visado pela censura' (Seen by

the Censor).

Ixtt, under the editorship first of Fr. Conceicao

Rodrigues (1944-54) and later of Fr. Jeronimo Pereira

(1954-69), had to face insurmountable pressures to toe

the Portuguese line. In order to survive most of the

times, Ixtt maintained silence towards the policies of

Salazar the Portuguese dictator without however openly

criticizing the Portuguese Government, which would be

suicidal. But this silence was construed as opposition

to the Portuguese Sovereignty in Goa.

On August 12, 1961, three months before the liberation

of Goa, the Governor Vassalo da Silva, by his decree,

suspended the publication of Ixtt for 90 days as a

punishment for not being patriotic towards Portugal and

showing pro-India tendencies. Thus Ixtt was the only

paper of Goa which remained firm and suffered for its

nationalistic aspirations.

Today Ixtt still continues to be popular. Since more

than a year, Ixtt has seen lot of changes in content

and presentation. In keeping with modern trends in

journalism and the needs of readers, Ixtt is slowly but

steadily progressing. At present Ixtt has almost 7000

regular subscribers and in fact this number is

increasing at an unexpected rate. After a systematic

campaign started recently, Ixtt hopes to cross the

10,000 figure before 2004. While Ixtt was online since

1999 sharing a link on Goacom.com, today it has its own

website (http://www.v-ixtt.com).

Gulab is another magazine, which is on the lips of

every Romi Konknni reader in Goa and even abroad.

Started in 1983 by Fr. Freddy D'Costa, who continues to

be its editor, Gulab has maintained a certain standard

in its language and has strived to keep up the tempo of

advancing journalism.

This monthly is printed in a magazine format, with an

attractive glossy and coloured cover. Writings of

interests to the young, old, children and women and on

literature are included, besides covering news on

films, Konknni language and culture. Sports and tiatr

have projected this monthly as a popular family

magazine. Gulab is also online with its own website

(http://www.gulabonline.com). By running this magazine

single handedly since the last 20 years, Fr. Freddy

D'Costa will surely go down in the annals of Roman

Konknni journalism. If the Gulab (literally meaning

'rose') is still blooming it is because of the support

of its founder and his Press -- New Age Printers.

Scope & Challenges?

A large section of the Konknni-speaking people still

reads Roman Konknni. This section reads neither English

nor the Devnagri and is totally dependent on Roman

Konani literature. Besides there are a lot of people

who read English as well as Roman Konknni, who want to

read in the vernacular and get a different slant in

coverage. Therefore, to say that the demand for Roman

Konknni will go for another 25 to 40 years will not be

inaccurate. This is strongly complimented by the Church

factor. Meaning, till the Church transliterates its

entire set of Roman-script liturgical, ritual and other

holy books to Devanagiri, the use of Roman Script will

not die.

There is also an increasingly felt demand among the

Diaspora population of Romi Konknni-speaking people who

are migrating to other countries over the globe. This

population will also take more than a generation to

assimilate the language or culture of the residing

countries. Further, if care is taken to make these

papers or periodicals at the same time competitive,

attractive, people-friendly and useful, then the scope

and longevity of Roman Konknni journalism will be ensured.

Roman Konknni journalism needs to be more aggressive in

their marketing strategies. Over the years, it has

relied more on well wishers and only subscribers. Many

times huge loses have incurred and had to be borne by

publishers. It cannot afford to rely on donors,

individual persons or trusts for its existence. Without

shedding its principles, it needs to look to adapting

to new trends, being more competitive, and delivering

the needs of the readers. These are some of the serious

challenges that needs immediate attention. At this

given period of time, there are a few Roman Konknni

writers. However that there is huge potential is a fact

that needs to be exploited and utilized.

Conclusion

With just two periodicals around, Roman Konknni

journalism hangs on a cliff.

Even if there still continues an awareness of the

importance and love for Konknni, yet the chances of

Roman Konknni journalism gradually fading away are also

visible. The odds are in the same measure as hope.

Enthusiasm seen at the recently held 70th annual day of

Vauraddeancho Ixtt and its increasing number of

subscribers, the 20th annual day of Gulab, the

existence of 65 parish bulletins and other literature

in Roman Konknni is a proof of the huge potential and

clear hope that has to be cultivated and exploited. Can

we rise to the opportunity?

Chapter 19:

Comrades in crime: Police reporting

Mayabhushan Nagvenkar

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This young journalist has repeatedly shown his ability to come up with that

unusual story that everybody else overlooked, only to cause ripples in Goa

and beyond. His hard work, uncharacteristic honesty in telling the story

as-it-is, and young-man-in-a-hurry quality stand out strongly. These

approach have won him the respect of readers in as much measure as the ire

of those who would not like the media to tell the whole truth.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This chapter is being written much after the deadline

set. My apologies. But generally deadlines have

traditionally slipped by in the place of employment

many of us earlier used to share. At present, I am

dispensing my duties as a reporter at the Herald. So

here, I make it amply clear, that my licence for

unbridled freedom is at present indebted to the firm,

where I draw a salary from. Anyway without delving more

time and space on Utopian and impractical ideals as

freedom of the press, I shall proceed further.

My few years of covering the crime-beat in Goa, have

been marked a considerably easy tenure. And press

freedom, rather the lack of it, has been one of the

reasons for my being fairly successful at the beat.

With reporters from newspapers like The Navhind Times

(manned by any editor) and The Gomantak Times, recently

under Pramod Khandeparkar, as rivals, it has been

rather easy to come up with exclusives. Especially

because, the two competing newspapers do not seem to

carry news which scalds. And when they do manage to

rustle up some exclusives, it is more often in form of

some sort of a balm to cover the wounds of the

Establishment. Or a day or two late.

A few aspects of this deduction could be explained by

interactions I have had amongst journalists from both

the newspapers. Press freedom and ideals in most

newspaper organizations take a back-seat. In The

Navhind Times especially, that's way back.

Editors and crime -- what's the connection?

With the death of former Director General of Police

Rajinder Singh Sahaye, Goan editors (most of them,

anyway) have lost a great patron. Let me illustrate the

extent of the warm hold late Mr Sahaye had over our

enlightened mandarins.

I was in the employ of The Navhind Times some years

back. Press notes handed out to newspaper offices are

meant for lowly hacks to tackle. Lowly hacks meaning,

either sub-editors or reporters, who generally gloss

over them.

Following a press conference addressed by DGP Sahaye, I

came back to office one evening and filed the story. I

was then told that a press note, which had been issued

at the conference, had already been composed by the

editor and that I need not file the story.

Surprising? Not so.

The DGP had made a few important comments, other than

those, which had been mentioned in the press-note. So I

altered the already composed press note, to fit in

these changes. The next day, an irked Mr Sinha, who is

anyway a man of few words, did not have very pleasant

words to say about this. The press note, one should

note, had been composed to ensure the inclusion of some

adulatory phrases in the first paragraph.

Later, Sahaye was controversially transferred from Goa

and he expired after a few months. Think that was his

last press conference I had attended before he was

transferred out of Goa. His transfer was followed by

attempts made by a section of the editors to portray

that the state's top cop was transferred due to his

crusade against the 'matka' lobby. Whether he hated

matka or not I have not been able to ascertain....

(More information on this issue can be sourced from DIG

Karnal Singh or then DIG and presently Joint

Commissioner Crime Branch Delhi Qamar Ahmed, both whom

were then going hammer and tongs against DGP Sahaye.)

Then, take the case of Deputy Inspector General of

Police Karnal Singh. This man cannot be called an

enigma. That is because his his intentions are so very

articulate. For example, this man wanted the Bharatiya

Janata Party to win the last assembly elections. Forget

the leverage of the Dayanand Social Security Scheme, it

was Karnal Singh's khaki force which was largely

responsible for the BJP ride to power.

Until recently, Karnal Singh, the chief ministers

point-man in the police department, was normally the

one-stop shop for journos for daily information. In

comparison to Karnal Singh's clout in the police

department over the past few years, the last two

Directors General of Police were mere senior officers

biding their time until retirement, holding their hands

over a soft fire in their respective offices to keep warm.

Karnal Singh may be responsible for a lot of

not-so-pleasant issues. But the alleged instance of

insensitiveness, where Mr Singh categorically stated

that a recent much-publicised rape victim's hymen was

intact, but possibility of a two-finger insertion was

possible, was actually an issue that Mr Singh was

wrongly lynched for. This writer was present at the

press conference then. It was only after persistent

questioning by reporters, that Mr Singh to come out

with an in verbatim response, reading it out from the

medical report.

This was quite unlike the press conference of an

unabashedly media savvy cop Superintendent of Police

Inder Dev Shukla, involving the sexuality of star

athlete Pratima Gaonkar who had committed suicide in

mysterious circumstances.

There are other issues that come up repeatedly in the

contentious relationship between police and

journalists.

Today, a journalist inadvertently narrated to me a

story from the Jataka tales, with a moral vis a vis a

peculiar situation in his office, a local

English-language newspaper. Endless hours have been

consumed by journalists especially at Cafe Prakash as

to how an editor could allow his dupester reporter to

carry on, despite complaints of cheating filed against

the reporter at the local police station. It is another

story that the officer Police Sub Inspector Raut

Dessai, who was handling the complaint, was also duped

off a few thousand rupees by the same journo.

Sorry, I have digressed. This is how the story goes....

A she-monkey is trapped in the middle of the flooding

river. As the water level rises, she keeps pushing her

little one upwards away from the watery jaws of death.

But as soon as the water reaches her nose, and keeps

swelling further, the mother shoves her little one

below the water on the bed, and stands on it, in order

to gain additional height that could possible allow her

to survive.

The story's original moral is the survival of the

fittest. But I think one should give the listener some

liberty enough to alter it a bit. The moral which fits

the bill here, I think, is survival of the canniest.

And Goa is no more alien to such philosophies, which

generally appear to have a genetic similarity with

Bihar and the other cow-belt states, where the motto of

survival is, Jiski lathi uski bhais (He who wields the

stick, own the buffalo).

(For more information on this issue, one could contact

just about any journo from The Navhind Times)

We could shift to the equation between the Police Press

Relations Officer (PRO) and the media.

If a layman is of the opinion that this is a source

where the news from the police department actually

flows from, it is a very incorrect assumption. For, in

the Goa Police, the office of the PRO is that of a

sorting department. The juiciest morsels extracted from

the reams of wireless messages and kept under lock and

key, while the unwanted and sanitized thrash is offered

to media representatives.

No complaints there. That is the PROs brief.

But if there was one PRO a few years back who managed

this with elan, it was Deputy Superintendent of Police

Apa Teli. This man had generated such goodwill amongst

mediamen, that the police department should really

offer him a police medal, solely for ensuring that the

image of the police in the media remained somber for

half a decade or so.

Evenings at Mr Teli's office comprised of the

invariable cup of tea and on several occasions pakodas

from Cafe Real. Mr Teli's strategy was to ensure that

discussions over such sessions never focused around any

crime-related events for the day. And he ensured that

his agenda stuck. And then there was also the annual

get-together at one of the city hotels where

liquor-happy journos abounded. Almost no journo could

say no to Mr Teli. The same was the case with the liquor.

Things they say were even better during Umesh Gaonkar's

tenure as the officer in charge of the Panjim town

police station, with several weekend outings for

journalists covering crime. Umesh, who is now promoted

as a Deputy Superintendent of Police, has kept up his

press management tactics in Margao. Correspondents

often walk up to him and complain that they had lost

their purse and Umesh readily obliges, not with the

purse, but at least with some money. (For more

information please contact the late 'eighties and early

'nineties language-loving journo clique and primitive

Margao based correspondents-cum-teachers)

This uneasy equation also has its own kind of 'freak

shows'.

A journo attached to a Marathi newspaper, who belongs

to the Somnath Zuwarkar school of thought -- one of

those few loyal sycophants who refused to turn sides in

favour of Babush Monserrate -- was involved in an

embarrassing incident a couple of years ago. Shopping

in the departmental store in the capital run by the Goa

Marketing Federation, he tried flicking a tooth-paste

and slipped it inside his pocket. His sleight of the

hand was noticed by an employee, and was promptly

reported to the manager, who hauled him up and informed

the Panjim police about the incident.

When the reporter revealed his professional identity

and explained that he too owed obeisance to Somnath

Zuwarkar, the complaint was duly withdrawn. Another of

Mr Zuwarkar's cronies was in charge of running the

marketing federation then. The journo is now dubbed as

"Colgate" and he really does not bristle with joy when

he is called by the name. (For more information on this

please contact Police Inspector Mahesh Gaonkar)

But that's not all. Journalists pimping for the police

is also not very uncommon. Pardon the word pimping, but

there are times when the lines between both the

professions blur.

Only recently, a South Goa correspondent for an

English-language local newspaper, who also manages a

newspaper agency in the region, was the force who

thwarted Police Sub Inspector Jivba Dalvi's likely

suspension after the latter had played 'funny' while

investigating a theft case. Incidentally, the

complainant in this case was Vithaldas Hegde, a popular

persona amongst journalists and policemen alike.

The Baina police outpost is one of the more lucrative

postings for police officers and a few select

journalists. Lucrative in terms of the hafta streaming

in from the bars and brothels in the area. A journalist

attached to Goa's largest-selling Marathi daily, did a

one-up on the police sub inspector in-charge posted

there. The journo 'enforced' a system where he would

collect a regular hafta from the Baina police outpost,

in return for blanking out any damaging news emanating

from Baina.

One more nugget about Baina: a few hard-core journos

based there have some commercial sex workers on call,

just the way some cops do. The second most assured

source of income for cops is the hafta from matka

agents. Here too a few journos have not lagged too far

behind. A long-standing correspondent for an

English-language newspaper, who has been mentioned

earlier in this chapter, runs two such gaddas located

opposite the Margao police station, where matka bets

are accepted, even amidst the worst of police

crack-downs on gambling outlets.

While writing this, I may appear to be very partial to

the Margao journos and cops. But reality is that the

place is just so colourful. Here's another one. A

journalist's spouse posted as a head constable at the

Margao police station is audacious enough to accepts

matka bets in the police station building.

QUOTE UNCOUTH: One of SP Shukla's latest pursuits is

philosophy. Once upon a time, it was English. A Deputy

Superintendent of Police never tires of this tale. Mr

Shukla, who loves positive interactions with the media

and issuing press notes, had just typed out one such

press note and called the DySP in. "Maine press note

draft kiya hai. Aap jara isme grammer bhar do" (I have

drafted a press note. Could you please fit the grammer in?)

chapter 20:

Of sports... and sports journalism

Cyril D'CunhaCyril D'Cunha is a figure hardly anybody in post-1961

Goa journalism would not know. While editors came and

went, he stayed on at the desk, at the Navhind Times --

and contributing to many outstation journals, as

outlined towards the end of this essay. Earlier, he

began his journalistic career in Bombay. He is highly

rated for his knowledge on Goan sports, as also

acknowledged by a recent book on Goan football.

It has been such a long while and so much that has

happened since, that it has become difficult to

recollect everything in the sports that one has been

connected with in Goa chronologically. In fact, in what

follows, I have mentioned a few dates, which I can

connect as correctly as per my records and memory. But

in many cases, I've avoided being date-specific, only

because I'm not sure of them.

The events were of different hues; but they all stamped

their mark on the Goa scene in many ways and only the

mean-spirited will fail to appreciate this

cross-section of happenings. Agreed, we are not living

in a state of hedonists, strictly speaking; yet

criticisms, in any form, generally do hurt. It's an

universal phenomena and Goa is no exception to that.

But then, that's no reason to cringe, as after all,

nobody is picture perfect.

Mind you, I'm tracing a period when TV in Goa was an

unknown quotient, in the early 1960s. When the cliched

few Goan icons were confined only to football players

and its organisers. Athlete mates did an occasional

whizz in mention, mainly those of past glory. Hockey,

cricket and such other sports, as we see today, were

yet to establish their mark in the state, though hockey

on roller skates was played before Goa's liberation in

1961. The court at Circuit House in Panaji is still

there, even if fallen into disuse.

My account is more personal and allied to sports

activities I associated with, though I've touched on a

few others with less authenticity.

Hockey: If there is a definite whiff of the yesteryear,

particularly to my initial attention to field hockey, I

have to be excused. More memorable for me, as I

captained the first Goa hockey team at the Nationals at

Madurai and I'm proud of it.

In 1964-65, a suitable surface to play hockey was at a

premium, especially in Panaji. But there were a

dedicated lot of persons, who were not deterred by this

fact. I recollect carrying goal-posts and nets to the

mini football stadium at Caranzalem, which

unfortunately today is non-existent. This was carried

on a hand-cart, with me walking alongside, all the way

from the city to the ground there, a distance of almost

eight kilometres.

There was a lot of enthusiasm among those wanting to

play the game, with a few teams showing interest too,

especially the Navy. The late Aniceto Fernandes, one of

the foremost organisers of Goan hockey and football in

Bombay, was mainly instrumental in giving shape to

tournaments in Goa, with the help of the then Chief

Minister, Dayanand Bandodkar. He also got the Goa

Hockey Association affiliated to the All India Hockey

Federation and even succeeded in getting a

representation for Goa on the apex body.

The Dempo-Souza group in the 'sixties, decided to have

a team of their own, and we all joined in. During this

time, I also coached a number of women hockey players.

Many of my colleagues on the Dempo-Souza team are no

longer alive, but for me, they have left behind some

pleasant memories. In February 1967, Aniceto conducted

the Bandodkar Hockey Tournament and I was put in charge

of running it on behalf of the Goa Hockey Association.

Then two months later, from April 15 to 23, came the

big hockey tournament for women for the Shantilal Cup,

with me in charge of the north zone as the

selector-cum-manager. Several players who had

represented India, especially from Mysore and Bombay,

were seen in action. Bandodkar must also be credited

with creating a separate Directorate of Sports and

Youth Affairs, in 1973.

The Sports Journalists Association of Goa, founded in

1982, of which I was the founder president, did

organise a road roller-skating competition on May 8,

1983, which was a great success, as was the bullock

cart race organised at Peddem grounds in Mapusa.

Presently, hockey is in a lamentable state, with little

or no activity being held and it is more tragic because

in the past, Goans elsewhere have represented India.

Players like Leo Pinto, Walter D'Souza, Maxie Vaz,

Lawrie Fernandes, Reggie Rodrigues, John Mascarenhas

and many women internationals.

Football: Thanks to the centuries-old legacy, starting

with the presence of the British troops in Goa and the

Portuguese, both of whom had a passion for the game,

football still remained the craze in the state and it

prospered with players using the paddy fields to hone

their skills. These details I have mentioned in the

book I later published titled Soccer and Goa, on behalf

of the Government of Goa.

This enthusiasm was carried forward by leaps and

bounds, making Goa one of the most feared of states in

the country, throwing up players of repute. Both the

clubs and the Goa teams, won tournaments all over the

country, with professionalism coming in. No less credit

to the founder members of the newly constituted Goa

Football Association, which was created after

disbanding the erstwhile Association that existed

before Liberation and 1961.

Of particular note was the staging of a football match,

featuring a team of women, during the Carnival season,

on March 4, 1973, at the Police ground in Panaji,

between Eves and Adams. This was organised by us

members of the Clube Vasco da Gama, and I will stick

out my neck to say that it was the first time a match

was played with a women's team. Unless, somebody can

prove to the contrary.

Athletics: This universally acclaimed discipline as the

'mother of all games and sports', did not progress as

desired. On August 1, 1969, Prabhakar Sinari, Francisco

Braganza, Rui Carvalho, Domnic Fernandes and myself,

got together and formed the Goa Amateur Athletic

Association, which functions till today, though with

mixed results.

We did win plenty of medals at the National level, but

nothing at the international level. Among the main

drawbacks were, and still are, finance, lack of

infrastructural facilities, including grounds and a

suitable running track and of course trained officials.

The situation today is much improved, with the

government providing coaching facilities and other

incentives, especially at the school and college level.

Yet, apart from football, athletics, swimming and

taekwondo, which have brought a lot of honours to the

state in the past few years, there is little to shout

about in the other disciplines. There are a lot of

pontification made by the governments, often with

political considerations, and these have not been good

for the progress of sporting activity in Goa.

As for me, my stint in Goa has been rewarding. Being

bestowed with the prestigious and highest state award,

the Jivbadada Kerkar Award for Best Organiser for the

year 1984-85. Reporting two Olympic Games, at Montreal

and Los Angeles, the World Cup hockey at Sydney, the

World Amateur Boxing Championships in Bombay, where I

also shared the mike for the English commentary, the

Asian Games, Permit meets and Nationals in the country,

in the capacity of an official, have all been a great

experience, besides allowing me the opportunity to

globe trot.

One also produced and edited Goa's first sports weekly

titled Goal, in 1976-77, and later in 1996, I edited

the bilingual fortnightly Konkan Mail, both having to

be discontinued due to lack of support.

There were different reasons and circumstances for the

starting of these two publications. I had been working

as a correspondent for Sportsweek of Bombay, and the

idea of starting the Goal came from there.

With sports picking up, one felt there was scope for a

weekly focussing mainly on local sports affairs. I was

aware that in a venture of this type, I would be

requiring a lot of money, which I did not have. But

what weighed in my favour was the fact that in

partnership with a friend of mine, we had taken the

Diario da Noite press, owned by Luis de Menezes, on a

contract basis, to print a full-fledged paper the Goa Monitor,

owned by Erasmo Sequeira in 1977, under the name of

Polygot Publication, Campal.

The Goal, therefore, could be a by-product, as the

infrastructure for producing it, including the printing

staff, was in place. The only cost involved would be

the news-print for the tabloid. As for the writing

part, I was going to do most of it, while a few friends

of mine promised to write gratis. Unfortunately for us,

the Goa Monitor was forced to fold up, as Sequeira's

press staff went on strike. It also meant the premature

death of "Goal", on which one had pinned high hopes, as

it was steadily picking up in sales and, surprisingly,

even getting a few advertisements from big industrial houses.

In the case of Konkan Mail, the whole concept was born

out of a missionary zeal.

When I approached Mathias Vaz, owner of the Maureen

Printing Press, and P.M. Vaz, proprietor of Manvins

Courier Service and Manvins Hotel, with the idea of

bringing out a bilingual paper, which would contain

news catering to both English-language and Roman

Konkani readers, they immediately agreed.

Papers which published general news in Konkani, were in

Devnagri script, which many of the Catholics, specially

those in the 30+ age group, could simply not read. It

was for this section that the Konkan Mail would cater

to. While Mathias handled the entire printing, P.M.Vaz

would take care of the distribution and couriering

part, besides providing office space and the use of his

computers in his hotel, while I would handle the

editing.

The soft launch of the first copy of 18 pages, costing

Rs. 2, was done by the Member of Parliament Eduardo Faleiro,

in the city, where a few prominent citizens were the

invitees.

For the nearly four years the paper was regularly

published, there was great enthusiasm shown by the

readers. But this in itself is not enough for the

success of a paper, as any publisher will vouch,

without advertisements, which is the main revenue

provider. And that is exactly what we lacked. This

could be because of a variety of factors, including

perhaps, bad management. After several appeals to the

readers via the editorials for such revenue support

bore no results, we decided to suspend publication, as

we could no longer continue suffering losses. We still

hope to restart, provided the finance is available; but

for the moment we haven't a clue of where this money is

going to come from.

Though sports has been my first love, reporting on

sports has been an add on. Except for a brief stint on

the sports desk of the Free Press Journal, my main

grounding on the news and reporting desk was with the

Times of India, Bombay, and then on The Navhind Times

and back to the Goa page of the Times of India,

Bangalore edition, as a stringer, where I also did a

lot of sports reporting. I believe that sports

journalism helps a lot in the shaping of a good

all-round writer, simply because it gives one a free

reign to use descriptive language and a variety of

verbiage, ordinarily not suited for general reporting.

Be that as it may, I was fortunate enough to work as a

correspondent for many publications. Of particular

mention was the Indian Post, run by the Singhanias in

Bombay and edited by that time by S. Nihal Singh. The

paper was to run into trouble later on and later had to

close down. By this time, Vinod Mehta had taken charge

as the Editor, and subsequently quit, to start The Independent,

belonging to the Times of India group. Many of us

with the Indian Post joined the editorial team under

his leadership in 1989. Incidentally, the Executive

Editor, Dina Vakil, who left The Independent to join

the Times of India, thanked me in a letter dated May 4,

1990 for my support to the newspaper. I have my utmost

regard for all these three, Nihal Singh, Vinod Mehta

and Dina Vakil, for their personal gestures.

Among the other major papers where I served as

correspondent, were the Financial Express for nine

years, the Afternoon, the Tribuna of then Portuguese

Macau, a news agency from Lisbon Noticias de Portugal

and the NCWC News Service, Massachusetts, USA. It was

hard work, and when I look back at those times, I am

amazed how I was able to keep to my schedules and enjoy

doing it.

Such challenges apart, it has been a great party always

and I had a wow of a time.

Chapter 21:

From journalist... to publisher

Niraj NaikNiraj Naik, known for his coverage of rural and remote

Goa in the 'nineties, is today publisher and editor of

the Digital Goa. This fortnightly, the only specialist

publication of its kind in Goa -- covers the IT

industry in the state. He has worked in the Delhi

media, and was located for some time in Malaysia.

Without doubt, one owes one's career in journalism to

the emergence of Konknni (Devnagari) journalism with

the launch of Sunaparant. One was then still a

college-going lad, having very strong views on the

number of issues. The Konknni agitation was at its peak

and I was a staunch Konknni supporter. On a parallel

track, one had also started questioning not only the

obvious excesses flowing from religious fundamentalism

but also ritualism and, subsequently, the very concept

of God.

It was a time when I was also leaning towards

socialism. Contrary to the projected image, life around

you in Goa can tend to get suffocating. Given my rural

background, I wouldn't have had confidence to write in

the English-language newspapers, and the bitterness

generated in those days over the language issue

prevented me to opt for Marathi.

So, the launch of first Devnagari-Konknni daily Sunaparant

gave me the much needed platform to express myself.

There was no looking back after that, and I wrote

hundreds of articles in Sunaparant to make a vent to my

inner feelings. Gradually, I switched my interest

towards current affairs and hard news. In the meantime,

one had a short stint as an activist, working on the

number of socio-economic and environmental issues

confronting Goa. But, my temperament did not allow me

to stay there for long and I decided to come back to

active journalism.

Herald was my obvious choice, given its image as the

'activist' newspaper and, at that time, being the only

paper which had escaped from the clutches of

all-pervading mining lobby, which till recently

controlled most of the Goa press. My first pieces were

a series on the socio-environmental impact of iron ore

transportation in the village of remote Sanvordem, a

problem that is otherwise very seldom noticed in

distant Panaji, more so in the world of the

English-language press.

It was one of the first comprehensive documentation of

the explosive situation prevailing in this part of

Sanguem Taluka, due to the unbridled ore transportation

by over 500 trucks on a small stretch cutting across

barely 17 kilometres, and passing through the densely

populated village of Sanvordem.

Derek Almeida was the News Editor of Herald then. He

was the one who encouraged me to do another series on

the also-distant Canacona taluka, which was in the news

in those days for opposing number of larger tourism

projects. I actually spent a week in the different

localities of Canacona, including a over-night stay at

Cotigao wildlife sanctuary. This was followed by number

of stories on the developmental and environmental

issues in Goa.

Herald was going through a transition when I joined the

paper. Diedre Sampayo-Fernandes had just taken over as

the publisher of the Herald and was taking keen

interest in the affairs of the paper. She made an

unsuccessful attempt to streamline the functioning of

organization. On the editorial front, Rajan Narayan had

become almost defunct due to his deteriorating health.

Devika Sequeira and Pamela D'Mello had just quit and

Julio D'Silva (who, in the ever-so-political world of

newspaper politics, was perceived as being close to

Rajan Narayan) was brought into Panaji as the Chief

Reporter, on shifting Alaric Gomes to Margao. Franky Fernandes

of Vasco joined, shortly followed by Rupesh Samant. It

was an entirely a fresh team.

For some reason, the reporting desk was given the

lowest priority. I had to handle the reporting-desk

single handedly for months together. Besides, also

perceptible was the same instability at the top during

those couple of years, around the mid-nineties. We saw

as many as four to five mainly outstation deputy

editors come and go. Hardly anybody could withstand the

internal politics and rivalry. We were grappling in

darkness in the absence of the required guidance. There

wasn't any motivating force. Meanwhile, Julian also

made her foray into reporting after working in the

magazine section for couple of years.

The post of Chief Reporter was vacant for quite

sometime following the resignation of Julio Da Silva.

His perceived closeness with BJP had probably started

long before he joined BJP, to contest Cuncolim

constituency on that party's ticket in the 1998 Goa

assembly elections. But ambition cost him both a career

and a (political) seat. Meanwhile, Ashley do Rosario

rejoined the Herald after a stint with The Navhind Times

ended. After keeping him without designation for

awhile, Ashley was finally given the post of Deputy

Chief Reporter. To some of us, this trend -- of using

designations as carrots or baits, and apparently handed

out in a manner far from fair -- was demoralising,

specially since we had run the show when nobody was

around. Personally, one was never comfortable with

mainstream reporting. My biggest 'weakness' was

politics, or rather, a healthy skepticism about it. I

always hated politics, more so the superficial level at

which it gets reported in newspapers. Unfortunately,

politics has long been the mainstay for our newspapers.

This lopsided stress on politics in the media,

especially in the Goan media, has not only undermined

other genuine and more critical issues, but also given

undue encouragement to petty politics and crooks.

One always wanted to focus on the more real issues of

the people. But routine stories prevented devoting time

to such a venture. Special stories of such a nature

would usually imply going out of Panaji to the

villages. Pressure of covering routine events prevented

me to leave Panaji to chase these stories. Instead we

had to cover some insignificant press conference of

politician X or Y, or somebody else.

There were other beats like the police and courts,

which had to be covered on daily basis. There was no

appreciation for special or exclusive stories done, but

missing of a routine story was taken note of,

how-so-ever insignificant it may be. Leave aside

incentives on exclusive stories but working in the Goa

press can also mean that even travel bill were not

reimbursed. This was a general trend in most of the

newspapers. All this resulted into many a Panaji-based

reporter turning into mere stenographers, ready for the

next round of dictation. There seems to be unanimity

amongst the desk staff and reporters that whatever

words are uttered by a minister constitute the gospel

truth, and that is the hot news worthy of wide

coverage. This has resulted in ministers getting

unwarranted prominent displays on front pages for the

various announcements they make, but which more often

than not never see the light of the day. I recollect a

practice one reporter was engaged in. He would arrive

at the Secretariat late afternoon, and would visit

ministerial cabins to hunt for stories. There would be

literally a begging for stories. Some ministers used to

oblige, and needless to say, the story would get a

prominent position in the next day's edition. The

entire spectrum of Goa-based newspapers could be

categorized on the basis of their political

affiliations, stand on the language issue and the lobby

they belong to. Though most of the papers shift their

policies in favour of the ruling party of the day, the

papers were strongly divided on the lines of language.

All the Marathi newspapers, with the exception of the Rashtramat,

supported Marathi. On the other hand, Sunaparant, Rashtramat

and Herald supported Konknni, and some papers remained

neutral or avoided a clear stand on this issue.

However, the major difference was the lobby they belong

to. At that time, all the significant Goa-based papers,

with the exception of Herald and Tarun Bharat, were

owned by mining corporations. Needless to say, that

there was a total blackout of all mining-related

stories which showed the industry in poor light. This

embargo exists till now. Only one difference has crept

in; the Gomantak group, which publishes Gomantak

(Marathi) and Gomantak Times, has been taken over by

the Sakal group of Maharashtra. It is the worst kind of

self censorship by a section of Goan press which

deprives a voice to the thousands of people living in

the mining belt in miserable conditions due to

pollution of air, water and land. My discontent was

growing as a journalist in a Goan newspaper. I was

looking out for an opportunity to move out from here.

And at the first opportunity, we -- meaning, my wife

and myself -- descended in Delhi for the more enriching

experience which completely changed my outlook towards

life and helped to change the course of my career.

Taking on new roles...

I was back to Goa after a gap of two years. My stay in

Delhi and a short stint in Malaysia was an enriching

experience. It was a new life altogether. There was no

question of joining any local paper for the very reason

I had decided to quit it. The dream was to start

something of my own; something different. The meteoric

rise of IT had thrown up lots of opportunities. Goa too

had made foray in the area of IT, and it had big plans.

Goa had an edge over its counterparts due to her

peculiar socio-economic conditions.

IT was nothing new for someone in the area of

journalism, since we had been dealing with information

all along. Having realized the power of information, it

was my endeavour to harness the technology to make it

an instrument of change.

With this objective in mind, I decided to set up a

small company and named it Aparant Infomedia, (after

the historical name for Goa). The basic objective of

this venture was to bring the fruits of IT to the

masses and use it to bring about a positive change

amongst the lives of thousands of people, especially

for the underprivileged.

An IT newspaper or magazine for Goa was just one idea

amongst the many which the company aimed at. There were

some innovative ideas to capitalize on the potential

thrown up by the Internet, and particularly by e-mail,

for the benefit of the common men. The paper got

priority over other things simply because there was a

need to create awareness amongst the masses.

There were a number of efforts underway in Goa in the

area of IT by the government, industry, NGOs and the

like . But there was a lack of co-ordination and hardly

anybody knew what was going on in the other camp.

Opportunity came calling, indicating that there was an

urgent need to create a common forum for the discussion

of IT-related issues and cost effective solutions.

This was priority Number One. Thus Goa's first IT

fortnightly was born in the beginning of the year 2002.

It was appropriately named Digital Goa, to encompass

not only computer specific issues but the whole gamut

of information technology even beyond computers.

Initially, this idea evoked a cautious response from

both media stalwarts and IT professionals, some of whom

even outright dismissed the idea as non-workable. Two

individuals were exceptions to this rule, and they

jumped onto the idea and have been a constant

motivating factor all throughout i.e. GCCI President

and D-Link General Manager Nitin Kunkolienkar and our

own colleague Frederick Noronha.

One was aware of the average Goan's apathy towards

reading, leaving aside few daily newspapers. This

explains the fact that no periodical worth its name,

and with a widespread readership, could be established

in Goa, despite factors like Goa's high literacy, and

relatively higher affluence levels. In the past one

decade, a number of family-oriented and political

magazines have hit the stands, only to disappear

without making their mark. Those existing are

struggling for their survival or are backed by big

corporate houses. Then there was a new trend of

free-sheeters that gripped Goa for a while. That too is

seems to be slowly fading away.

On this backdrop, it was really a risky attempt to

start a specialized magazine, leave alone the general

magazine. Number one, there was no corporate house

backing this effort nor did one have any savings to run

it without any expected returns for the initial period.

Most importantly, I did not have any other source of

income since this was my full time activity.

One had to run the show all alone, which meant which

meant facing demands of 12 hours or so of time each

day. One must put it on record here that without the

financial and moral support of my wife, Sangeeta, it

would not have been possible for me to take this major

risk.

It could be argued that most of the magazines which

were closed down did not have a professional approach,

consistency and utility value. These are critical

factors for any publication's success. More so in a

place like Goa. You need to study the mind of the

reader, and his or her likes and dislikes. How a story

is displayed is as important as the choice of the story

itself. Readers should get something refreshing to

read, and not just a rehash of stories already appeared

in the daily newspapers.

For a product to succeed, it should also have some

utility value to the readers. People are bombarded from

all sides with knowledge and information in this

information era. The job of the media is to screen and

customize this information for the benefit of their

readers. This is the role especially of the niche

magazines, and it is the secret behind Digital Goa. The

first issue of Digital Goa rolled out in the first week

of April after a three months of running around. But

very soon the initial enthusiasm was over and I had to

face the stalk reality. Publication is the

capital-intensive business. You have to go on pumping

money for years before the product starts yielding

fruits. So you need tremendous sustaining power.

Many times, one was confronted with existentialist

dilemmas -- whether or not to continue to invest money

without any signs of returns. The returns were almost

commensurate to the investments, and one point of time

my investing power was almost exhausted. But I did not

give up and the result is before the reader to judge.

It was only after a year that things started changing.

The IT businesses who had earlier adopted a cautious

wait-and-watch policy, realized that this was not a

fly-by-night kind of venture, but a serious

publication. Though one had some kind of a hi-and-bye

relationship with a few players in the IT circuit, most

of the people were unknown to me.

Secondly, this was my maiden experience of conducting

business deals with the business class, being a

journalist for all of my earlier years. It was a

different experience altogether dealing with all types

of people, including some who could be safely

classified as crooks of the first degree.. But one

passed this agni-pariksha (test by fire).

Being behind a small time publication, one had to be an

all-rounder -- looking after all areas of publication

-- editorial, circulation, advertising, printing,

accounts, and whatever work was left to be done. One

could obviously not appoint professionals and

sufficient staff to look after all these departments,

simply because overheads had to remain in check.

To prevent this venture going into the red, I managed

the show mostly with one staff-member, and by deploying

my Merces flat as the office. The first one year was

really tough, as one could hardly recover the printing

charges leave alone my salary.

It was a great eye opener; before starting, I had set a

target of some 1000 subscribers within a couple of

months at a subscription-fee of a fairly reasonable Rs

120 per year. But it did not take me long to come in

terms with the harsh reality. Even my close friends did

not bother to pay subscription as a support to my

efforts. Those in the thick of IT sector of Goa also

did not care to subscribe it too. One got the feeling

that people were scared that with their single

subscription I may get rich or Digital Goa could

overnight grow into a big publication.

I experienced the much spoken-of Goan crab mentality

very closely during this time. One thing that can be

said with certainty is that Goans are very hostile

towards those who make a new beginning. They would

waste lots of their energies to discourage you from

aiming higher, or pull you down, instead of supporting

enterprising people. It is only when they feel that one

has survived their onslaught and have made a mark, that

they would be sympathetic to you.

This is precisely the reason why the average Goan youth

doesn't take a risk and avoids aiming higher. To

succeed in Goa, one should either have money-power or a

godfather or extraordinary perseverance. Most of my

energies still goes into Digital Goa, though today it

has grown into a professional, self-sustaining

magazine. It has not only gained acceptance but even

attained popularity within industry, IT businesses,

students and general IT users alike.

There is no dearth of advertisement and, most

importantly, our advertisers do not part with their ads

as a measure of their generosity, but rather on account

of the mileage they get in advertising in Digital Goa.

This, for us, is the biggest recognition that Digital Goa

is treated as a professional periodical. In fact, one

could argue that it is the fastest growing publication

and one could venture a bold forecast here that, touch

wood, it could have a bright future.

But, there is much to be done to make it really a good

quality magazine, both in terms of content and layout

and printing. We need to dream of publications on par

with any national-level magazine. My preoccupation with

the Digital Goa magazine has made me neglect the other

projects of Aparant Infomedia. However, we could still

complete a comprehensive directory of IT related

businesses, including a database of around a thousand

firms, with the help of Goa Chamber of Commerce and Industry

. Also, we are in the final stages of completing a

Website and e-mail directory for Goa, one of the first

of kinds in the country. Hopefully other interesting

projects on the lists will get to see the light of the

day, so that it can be proudly said that journalists

can themselves re-invent themselves into good

publishers too!

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE NEWS: VOICES FROM GOA'S

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