Ten Commandments for Tourists in Goa.

To all those coming to Goa for the Christmas week, and especially for Sunburn.

Since most of you go totally crazy the moment you set foot in Goa, I thought it would be prudent to put together an instructional manual. Let’s call it Goa for Dummies. Because honestly, if you’re coming to Goa in December, for Sunburn, when Goa is at its worst, you ARE a dummy.

Here’s what you need to know:

1)  Goa is different, it’s not Delhi. Goans are raised and taught to respect women. It’s a deeply-ingrained part of our culture. We expect you to do the same, too. While it’s true that women dress far more liberally in Goa than in any other part of India, it doesn’t give you the license to assault, molest or rape them. Don’t believe what Bollywood tells you about Goa. Remember Bipasha Basu saying “Here (in Goa), liquor is cheap, and the women are cheaper?” She was probably referring to herself when on holiday. Anyway, here’s a non-negotiable instruction: If you see Goan women, and you will—Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Them.

2)  Drugs are illegal in Goa. You shouldn’t do them, but more importantly, NEVER should you put drugs in others’ drinks to control their behaviour and later take advantage of them. If you feel the overwhelming urge to do so, please consume your drugs yourself, buy even more drugs, consume them too, and die.

3)  Most of you associate Goa with cheap alcohol, and will be drunk before you know it. Make a conscious decision not to drive or ride when drunk. If you MUST do that, please be sure to crash against a tree or wall and kill yourselves, not others. I’m talking to you, rented bike walas. If you're riding/driving while drunk, an awesome thing to do is to go down a ferry wharf into the river. 

4)   There are no-swim zones on Goa’s beaches. Don’t enter them when told not to do so. When drunk, don’t enter the water at all. Again, if you deliberately choose to act smart and ignore flags & warnings by lifeguards, I hope the sea invites you to be part of its bed. It’s comfortable there, and you won’t be able to make a nuisance of yourself anymore.

5)  Stay calm and quiet. Nobody likes a noisy tourist. Also, try not to sing loudly while riding, especially in residential areas. Else, I hope this and much more happens to you.

          http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5fFBL_uC9E

6)  Dress appropriately, as you would back home. The cities are not the beach. Churches, temples & mosques are certainly not the beach. Respect us, and we will respect you.

7)   If you’re from Delhi or Gurgaon, try not to carry guns with you. And if you’re some dickhead VIP’s kid, try not to shoot anyone you might have a minor disagreement with. That includes me.

8)  Know where you’re going. Don’t get confused when you see a turn or roundabout and suddenly stop in the middle of the road. Also, learn to pronounce names of Goan places. It’s all part and parcel of being a good tourist. Speak to locals with due respect.

9)  Two questions banned: “Ladki kidhar milegi (where do I find women?)’ and ‘Boss, where can I score’. For the first, you’ll be directed to the police station, and for the second, to the nearest football ground.

10)  Keep Goa clean. Do not litter. Do not spit paan on the roads. And don’t do ‘khwaak-thoo’.

Goans reading this, please report violations of any kind to the police. Especially drunken, rash & negligent driving. If you see any instance of it, call the police, push them to file an FIR, and personally give a statement and stand witness in Court. I will do the same. It's the responsibility of every one of us to keep Goan roads safe. Life is far too precious to be lost just because a fucking tourist decided he wants another peg.

Nigel Britto.
Connect with me on Twitter here.

Konkani's knight in shining armour

Nigel Britto

Eric Ozario is everything you’d expect a sexagenarian Konkani activist not to be. Energetic, argumentative and multilingual, he exudes an impossible exuberance even at the crack of dawn. Long considered the showman incarnate of Konkani culture, the Mangalore-based, ghetto-raised Ozario is that rare, uncompromising kind of warrior—he calls a bluff when he sees one. Disdainful towards politics and organized religion, he has only one allegiance—Konkani. In conversation with STOI, the message was loud and clear—despite the many strides he’s already taken for his mother tongue, he has no intention of slowing down.

At first glance, Ozario’s fanatical obsession with Konkani is at odds with his childhood. Growing up in Mangalore’s poverty-stricken Jeppu ghetto, he barely spoke it. “When I did try, I was mocked at by the upper classes,” he says. To stay clear of this unwanted ridicule and consequent hurt, he resorted to English, and began questioning his identity as a converted Christian. Even today, as he tries to combat caste-related prejudices through his cultural work, he’s scathing in his criticism of Mangalore’s upper strata: “They only talk about purity, but don’t actually do anything for the language,” Ozario, soft-spoken yet quietly assertive, says.

Communism is the ideology that most resonates with Ozario. Though not a card-carrying comrade, he spent almost two decades in the trade union movement. There, he spent time with workers from Diocesan institutions, and as a consequence of fighting for their causes, fell out with the church. This was Indira Gandhi's emergency years. “It was then,” he says, “that I realized the duplicity of the Church.” He did know a thing or two about Catholicism. After all, he’d earlier spent five years in the seminary.

It was also during his trade union years that he encountered the great Cha Fra D’Costa, a Konkani journalist who, like Ozario, was highly critical of the establishment. Soon, D’Costa sparked in Ozario an interest in the language he shied away from. His Union activities too quickly found support in the columns of D’Costa’s magazine, ‘Udev’. When his new-found love for Konkani finally merged with his inherent love for music, there was no looking back.

In the 1980s, he founded Rang Tarang. “Back then,” he says, “Konkani music was characterized as the ‘Ye ye Cathrina’ type.” Rang Tarang was the stepping stone for his eventual goal, Mandd Sobhann, which he started in 1986 to “search for Konkani identity in Konkani music.” He says that the aim was to create a world between “Christian music that is largely western based, and Hindu music that is largely Indian-based.” Ozario also argued that Konkani music has an innate dance, and that culture without a dance form is not complete. "You play a dulpod, and a Konkani person will start to dance naturally," he says.

In Mandd Sobhann’s early days, lyrics were sourced from Cha Fra D’Costa, and later, from Mangalorean and Goan poets. The reception was mixed. When the troupe did its first 12 concerts in Goa, he says “the Hindus loved us”. Christians didn’t. “Bhajan karta!” they said of the novel, ghazal-esque sound.  Eventually, Ozario’s troupe was accepted in Mangalore too. “When you get popular elsewhere, your own people recognize you,” he realized.

The ghost of caste soon came back to haunt him. “When we went to upper-caste houses to sell tickets for our shows, we were rebuked and told that Konkani is their servants’ language.” Swallowing these taunts, he soldiered on, slowly building finances and molding people to take the battle forward. One way he did this was organizing Sobhanns (22 of them) that focused on different aspects of Konkani culture. Naach Sobhann (dance), Bhakti Sobhann (devotional, with Fr Pratap Naik penning the lyrics), Bhurgealem Sobhann (focusing on children) and Matov Sobhann (revival of the traditional wedding form) were some  of these.

In 1992, the movement got bigger. The All Indian Konkani Cultural Festival featured 28 troupes and went on for 9 days. “It was then we realized the need for continuity; we needed to build institutions,” Ozario says. It was four years before work was started on the project—Kalaangann. On December 18, 1996, Ozario went on a 100-days yatra, visiting 10,361 houses in the district asking for donations. “In every house, I lit a symbolic lamp for Konkani culture,” he says. He managed to raise Rs 10 lakh. Sadly, his subsequent yatras were not as successful, and he rues the fact that people don’t understand cultural causes. ‘“Konkani amchi potan bhorta?’ they ask. Nevertheless, over the years, income increased through performances. "The kind of money we've spent," Ozario says, "not even the Goa government has spent so much to promote Konkani."

Today, Kalaangann is a full-fledged cultural institute. “We have done Konkani theatre every month for the last 128 months,” Ozario says. The institute also undertakes research and studies. Yet, Ozario’s formidable achievements have not made him complacent. His latest project is the Jagatik Konkani Sangatan, a mission to unite all the Konkani people of the world. “So far,” he says, “128 organizations in 13 countries, including Pakistan and Israel, are part of the group. We want to respect variety and seek unity.”

Phenomenal as the achievement may be, it’s not his greatest. In 2008, Kalaangann conducted a programme called Niranthari, in which 1,711 singers from 44 groups sang non-stop for 40 hours, thereby cementing the institute’s, and indeed Ozario’s, name in the Guiness book of world records. Lesser mortals would rest on these laurels, but for Eric Ozario, the battle has only just begun.

Eric Ozario, along with Goan singers Olavo Rodrigues and Sonia Shirsat, will perform at the Konkani Rocks concert at Campal on Sunday at 7pm.

This article was first published in The Times of India, Goa, on August 19, 2012.

Prince Charles to fete Goan soprano

Nigel Britto

Goa's most famous classical music export will soon add yet another feather to her cap. Patricia Rozario, the critically-acclaimed, London-based opera star who originally hails from Assagao, was recently confirmed to the prestigious fellowship of the Royal College of Music (RCM), thereby becoming the first Goan and only the second Indian (after Zubin Mehta in 1989) to feature on the list.

A letter Rozario received from Colin Lawson, director of the institution, states: "It gives me great pleasure to inform you that on the recommendation of the Council of the Royal College of Music, our president, Charles, The Prince of Wales, has graciously approved the nomination for you to become a fellow of the Royal College of Music."

The formal presentation of the fellowship will take place next spring, when Rozario receives the award from Prince Charles in a traditional ceremony in London. On that day, she will sign a document that puts her on par with the fellowship's past awardees, some of whom are now recognized as stalwarts in their respective fields. Apart from Mehta, one of the modern era's finest conductors, the RCM's elite list also contains its fair share of legends from around the world.

American violin virtuoso Yehudi Menuhin, who gained popularity in India in the late-20th century after his association with Ravi Shankar, is among the RCM's more prominent fellows. Others Rozario will share space with include composers Benjamin Britten and Richard Strauss, musical theatre king Andrew Lloyd Webber, cellist Edward Elgar, pianist Arthur Rubinstein, conductor Arturo Toscanini, and tenor Placido Domingo.

"It (the fellowship) is a great honour, and I will be able to put the letters FRCM after my name, after the ceremony next spring," a jubilant Rozario, who is presently in Mumbai, told TOI. Royal honours, however, are not new to the soprano. She had previously been awarded the Order of the British Empire by Queen Elizabeth-II in 2001.

Meanwhile, Rozario, whose 'Giving voice to India' project attempts to identify and train young opera talent in the country, will hold a five-day workshop in Goa later this month. One of its beneficiaries, Oscar Castellino, is another Goan who had a tryst with royalty—in June, he, along with the RCM choir and the London Philharmonic Orchestra, serenaded Queen Elizabeth-II on a barge on the Thames, as she celebrated 60 years as the Monarch of England.

This article was first published on The Times of India, Goa, on July 13, 2012.

Exit cars, enter community bonding

NoMoZo debuts in Goa, pedestrians grab right of way from cars

Nigel Britto

One of Panaji's busiest roads took a day off from its grueling schedule and donned a party hat as friends and families comprising the old and the young descended upon it for a few hours of community bonding on Sunday. Enthusiastic policemen studiously kept vehicles at bay as cyclists, skaters, pedestrians, quizzers and artists made the road their own, under the silent, peaceful gaze of Campal's famously shady trees.

Even the birds, usually happy to poop on random passers-by below, disciplined themselves for those few hours as people from in and around Panaji dragged themselves out of bed on a Sunday morning and gathered at the stretch of road between Kala Academy and 2 Signal Training Centre. While the entire section was cordoned off, most of the activity was concentrated along side the Konkan Fruit Fest in Campal, which provided added impetus to the citizens' initiative by diverting attention during those inevitable drab moments. The rest of the open road was put to good use by first-timers trying their luck with roller-skating.

The event, conceptualized by 'Aamchi Panaji' to deal with excessive vehicular movement in the capital city, was wholeheartedly backed by the Corporation of the City of Panaji. Its success was largely due to an enthusiastic citizenry who assembled there with all kinds of things-bicycles, tricycles, roller skates, badminton rackets and cricket bats. The Sunday Evening Quiz Club conducted an informal quiz that had its participants sprawled on the open road; enthusiastic young cricketers turned the road stretch outside the old GMC building into a temporary pitch; somewhere down the road, a badminton game was in progress. Cycling and skating novices were given a heads-up from more experienced folk, and those standing around the quiz group exercised their grey matter.

And it wasn't just adults; kids, too, pranced happily along the road. While their parents browsed through the Konkan fruit fest buying squashes and home-made wines, bicycles and tricycles emerged as their young riders made the most of the open space. A small stall dished out free goodies to anyone that cared to stop by; little children moved around on tricycles; a bicycle club organized a slow cycling race.

Several people TOI spoke to expressed their desire that this should be made a regular event. But getting people together was not an unintentional consequence. "Our aim is to make Panaji a better city," said Tallulah D'Silva of 'Amchi Panaji'. "And part of the plan is to get people together and to get them to know each other."

Those who missed it, fret not. 'Aamchi Panaji' is planning a similar NoMoZo on June 18 on a famous street in Panaji. Guessing which street it is isn't really that difficult.

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition on May 14, 2012.

Azabagic magic lights up Panjim

Review: Bosnian guitarist Denis Azabagic's concert at Panjim

 Nigel Britto

The guitar is a “small orchestra”, Spanish virtuoso Andres Segovia once argued—a metaphor perhaps indicative of the wide range of textures and sounds this comparatively diminutive instrument is capable of, defying its essentially small voice. On Thursday at Kala Academy, classical guitarist Denis Azabagic justified Segovias’ hypothesis.
 

Quite unlike the plethora of violin and piano recitals, the classical guitar still remains a rare breed inside Goa’s concert halls. So when the Goa Guitar Guild and the Calcutta Classical Guitar Society invited the award-winning Azabagic in Goa, it was a special moment. The Black Box was sold out two days prior. For the lucky few who got in, this was what they were in for: A programme of largely-unknown composers, an unfamiliar performer from far-away Bosnia, and a single classical guitar. How would this combination work?
 

As it turned out, exceptionally well. The almost two hour-long concert featured works both by well-known guitar composers (Heitor Villa-Lobos, Fernando Sor) as well as contemporary ones with whom Azabagic shares a personal connection (Vojislav Ivanovic, Alan Thomas). Azabagic’s decision to use a microphone would have attracted a disapproving glance or two from Segovia, whose disdain for amplification is legendary. But given the location and its acoustics, Azabagic’s seemed to be a good decision.
 

He started with Lobos’ ‘5 Preludes’, one of the most famous pieces in 20th century classical guitar repertoire (though mostly associated with students rather than performers). A unique feature of Lobos’ music is the juxtaposition of the European classical tradition with fare from his native Brazil, a mixture even more pronounced on Azabagic’s exquisite Steve Connor-crafted instrument that at times seemed to play itself—so light was the touch.

Contemporary composer Vojislav Ivanovic, whose works feature extensively on the repertoire, was Azabagic’s pre-war teacher. The six Café pieces’ ranged from the sublime to the catchy, and in parts had distinct Latin American influences. Azabagic’s superior technique was on full display throughout, but was especially pronounced through ‘Nostalgia’, where he demonstrated exceptional control of tonality, and peppered it with a perfect tremolo.
 

Azabagic’s playing, though undoubtedly virtuosic, is subtle and reserved. He never tries to impress by being flashy, even when tackling tougher fare like that of Joaquin Rodrigo, who is recognized the guitar’s first great composer (mainly due to Concierto de Aranjuez, the first orchestral work written for guitar). “We guitarists share a love-hate relationship with Rodrigo,” Azabagic quipped as he embarked on the Spaniard’s “Invocation and dance”.
 

Azabagic, who struck a contemplative pose before beginning any new piece (as if to say: “that was testing the tuning, now this is the piece on the programme you’re expecting to hear”), then ventured in completely unknown territory—A suite called ‘Out of Africa’ by his friend Alan Thomas. The four parts are supposed to describe a day, but were played uncharacteristically clinically and didn’t quite convey that message.
 

Just as he started, Azabagic closed the show with a piece bordering the mainstream of his instrument’s literature—Fernando Sor’s ‘Variations on Mozart’s theme Op. 9’. It was executed to perfection with the gentlest of touches, before he retired to the pavilion, only to be called back out by a persistent applause that refused to die down.

Patricia Rozario steals the show

Rozario performs at the Monte chapel. Photo by  Bibhav Behera

Nigel Britto

One of the most evocative impressions of the Monte music festival is that of classical dancers performing on the outdoor stage, against the backdrop of the setting Sun. On Saturday evening, the Jhelum Paranjape troupe from Mumbai had that privilege. Cameramen lined up, in front of the stage and by the windows of the chapel's gallery above, for that perfect shot of the Sun as an extension of the dancers' routine, before it disappeared once more beyond the horizon, and twilight began.

Even at the festival, famed for its patronage of the fusion between the east and the west, a mix of Indian classical dance and Christmas in an extraordinary combination. Paranjape, however, closed his troupe's performance with precisely that-Odissi set to a recording of slow carols rendered by Jim Reeves' smooth baritone. In doing so, the troupe provoked gasps from the audience viewing from the chapel's windows, as the dancers veered periliously close to the stage's rear edge, beyond which lay an open invitation to tragedy.

If fusion is one of the Monte festival's trademarks, another is the constant encouragement of young talent. Over the years, several aspiring Goan musicians have found new audiences at the Monte. On Saturday, Sonia Shirsat provided the festival its melancholy quotient, singing fados (Portuguese folk songs, usually mournful), along with a number of aspiring fadistas, who got a song each. It was meant as an exhibition of young talent, but also unwittingly revealed the ground that these young singers, some in their early teens, still have to cover before truly belonging on the same stage as Shirsat. Dueting with the seasoned fadista seemed to defy the purpose as the young voices, barring a couple, paled when pitted alongside 'India's best fadista.'

The gradual build up of intensity on Saturday culminated with the festival's most accomplished artiste ever, Patricia Rozario, the Goan-origin British soprano who finally debuted at this uniquely-Goan setting with a concert of religious music. Few, if any, music lovers would miss experiencing the state's best-known classical voice at its best setting in a chapel that boasts its most incredible acoustics. The packed Our Lady of the Mount chapel waited with bated breath, as did the pigeon peering down from the ledge above the altar (replacing the chapel's large grey owl, a regular feature at past Monte festivals).

When it finally started, it was a serenade of voice and piano; the acoustics mandated that no amplification got between source and listener. Even though the repertoire was almost-fully German, with J S Bach getting more than his fair share of the cake, nobody complained. The language barrier turned irrelevant as English translations were provided to all, even as the in-form soprano conspired with Bach and the splendid setting to unleash her best performance on Goan soil to date. She performed four Bach pieces (two each from St John's and St Matthew's Passions) in German before the language got a little more familiar to most Goans.

When Rozario started her career, she always sang in a sari. She says she'd wanted to assert her Indian identity. At the Monte on Saturday, she evidently also wanted to assert her Goan roots. Thus, two Konkani hymns found their way into the programme-Aple maie vinnem by Fr Vasco do Rego, and Monte Saibinnik Git by Fr Romeo Monteiro. Throughout, she was accompanied by the rock-solid Ryan Lewis, a Britain-born, Mumbai-based pianist.

However, it was towards the end of the programme that Rozario really hit her peak. It was in Mozart's Et Incarnatus Est from his C minor Mass. Rozario, adding to that 'sanctity' that Latin always provides, unleashed a volley of dazzling vocal histrionics that penetrated the chapel's walls and flowed down the slope leading to it. At its height, the soprano's scaling voice soared so rapturously over the phrases that even the pigeon, so far still and to its credit quieter than some cell phones in the chapel, flew across towards the rear end of the chapel to observe the proceedings from there.

Next, in the blink of an eye, Rozario was her usual, assured self, tackling Mendelssohn's Hear Ye, Israel, the last hymn and the only English one in the programme. When she was done, she obviously wasn't let off so easily. The crowd's demands for an encore were met by Schubert's timeless Ave Maria, a favourite in Goa and a warm, familiar way to end one of the most power-packed days in the history of the Monte music festival.

This article was first published in The Times of India, Goa, on its edition dated February 6, 2012.

Anthony Gonsalves gets his due

Naresh Fernandes' book, Taj Mahal Foxtrot, chronicles, among other things, Goans in the Mumbai film industry

Nigel Britto

When Amitabh Bachchan in top hat and tails emerged from a giant Easter egg in Manmohan Desai's Amar Akbar Anthony in 1977 and proclaimed to the world, 'My name is Anthony Gonsalves', few viewers understood the significance of that statement. The music for that film was created by Laxmikant-Pyarelal, and it was the latter who decided to name Bachchan's character after his real-life violin instructor.

Gonsalves, who passed away last week in Goa at the age of 83, was perhaps the greatest Goan to have entered the portals of the Hindi film industry. The composer, who was also a sought-after teacher (his students included RD Burman and Pyarelal) had a strong background in Western classical music, which few in the film world had, and when he moved to Mumbai at 16 he was already an accomplished musician. Soon, he was to find fame in Mumbai's studios, working in the shadows of the soundtracks along with his peers, many of whom, like him, were Goan.

Flashback to the 1950s. Chic Chocolate prided himself on being India's Louis Armstrong - and not just because of the astonishing physical resemblance he bore to the American jazz great. By 1951, when he appeared in the movie Albela, Chocolate, whose real name was Antonio Xavier Vaz, was either a legend or a nonentity, depending on which social strata you belonged to. On screen for the first time, he donned a frilly poncho and pants that went up to his chest, and began to play his trumpet. 

Soon, his bandmates followed suit - Francis Vaz banged his bongos and Johnny Gomes wove the notes of his clarinet around Chocolate's sharp trumpet lead. The film gave the ace trumpeter the kind of visibility he had never enjoyed before. Not that he needed it. His face may not have have widely known but his tunes certainly were. Just the year before, his trumpet solo on Gore gore from the film Samadhi was all the rage.

As the '50s progressed, there would be more drums, trumpets and reeds in Hindi film music, in both the songs as well as background and incidental scores. A genre that originated in New Orleans had taken root in the Bombay film world, and at its core were people like Chocolate, Frank Fernand, Sebastian D'Souza and Anthony Gonsalves - all immigrant Catholics from Portuguese-ruled Goa.

While millions in India had heard of C Ramachandran and SD Burman, very few knew of these Goan musical wizards who were the driving force in their orchestras. Their story, fast-fading from the pages of history, has been brought to life by journalist Naresh Fernandes in his remarkable new book, Taj Mahal Foxtrot (Roli Books). Subtitled The story of Bombay's jazz age, the author explores a littleknown and rarely discussed aspect of the city's past and presents it as a spectacular alternate history.

Taj Mahal Foxtrot discusses jazz in India between '35 and '67, and takes its name from a tune recorded in '36 by Crickett Smith and his Symphonians, who were booked by the management of Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay to perform there that summer. The two dates between which the book is set are significant, says Fernandes, because "1935 was when the first all-Negro band (Leon Abbey) came to India, and 1967 was the year the iconic Chic Chocolate died".

The book came about when Fernandes embarked on a rather juicy journalistic project to unearth the dirt on a stormy love affair between two Goan musicians, Chris Perry and Lorna. By an amazing coincidence, he discovered that the musician Frank Fernand, who proved to be an invaluable storehouse of information on both the love affair and Konkani jazz in general, lived down his street in Bandra. It was Fernand, who passed away in 2007, who first gave Fernandes a glimpse of the 'golden age' of jazz in Mumbai, and its chief proponents, the Goans.

The immigrants from the tiny Portuguese-ruled state had many advantages over their British-Indian counterparts. "Their Western music training in the parochial schools established by the Portuguese gave them a near-monopoly on the technical ability to merge the basic elements of Hindi songs: Indian melody and Western harmony, " Fernandes writes in Taj Mahal Foxtrot.

And this is how it used to work: In its early ears, Bollywood's composers proficient in Hindustani music employed groups of musicians. Their compositions were melodic - the main performer played a single line and the others reiterated it. However, as the genre evolved, composers realised the need for the music to convey the power of a chase, a romance or a murder. Thus, they formed large orchestras that included sitars, dholaks, violins and swathes of brass and reed, the main strength of the Goan community. While the 'Indian' musicians had to rehearse their parts till they could comfortably play them (Hindustani music has no notation), the Goans just read the tunes straight off the score.

And then in marched the jazz brigade, who played an even more significant role than just being part of the orchestra. Since very few Bollywood composers knew to write music, the job was left to the Goans - people like Chic Chocolate or Frank Fernand. They were called 'assistant music directors'.

When the producer called a 'sitting', the Hindu composer, Muslim lyricist and Goan assistant director would listen as the director narrated the plot. When he wanted a song, the composer would hum it, and the Goan would take down the notation, which the composer would later expand. Indeed, it was the job of the assistant music director to craft introductions and bridges, and here's where the creativity came in.

According to Frank Fernand, who worked with composers such as Hemant Kumar, Kishore Kumar and Anil Biswas, music directors couldn't write music and so "We arrangers did all the real work". With their bicultural heritage, these Goans, who lived on the edges of the Hindi film industry and had to be happy with tiny credits, had no qualms about bringing a whole new sound to the music. They gave it, in Fernandes' words, its "promiscuous charm". A few Ellingtonesque doodles crept in. Soon, influences from Portuguese fados also made their presence felt. Apart from the jazzy Dixieland stomp were themes from classical maestros like Mozart and Bach.

Despite their enormous influence, very few of these musicians respected what they did. Anthony Gonsalves was among the few who did. "Gonsalves actually loved the music he was playing, unlike other Goan musicians who believed that Hindi film music was inferior to jazz and they had to do it to supplement their incomes, " Fernandes says.

Today, jazz has all but disappeared from Hindi film music, as has its heavy Goan influence. Fernandes worries about his city and its music. He writes: "Contemporary Bombay, however, is not only doing its best to choke the spaces in which the quirky and eccentric can survive, it has also lost its ability to agree on a central melody. " Taj Mahal Foxtrot is a gentle plea for a new score. 

THE FAB FOUR 

Anthony Gonsalves (1928-2012) from Majorda, Goa.

His name could safely feature among the pioneers of world music. Merged Goan and Hindustani music during the 1950s, and founded the Indian Symphony Orchestra featuring Lata Mangeshkar and Manna Dey as soloists. The ISO performed in '58 at St Xavier's College, Mumbai. He gave his compositions names like 'Sonatina Indiana', 'Concerto in Raag Sarang' and 'Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in Todi Taat'. Some of his significant works are in the movies 'Naya Daur, 'Waqt', 'Dillagi' and 'Haqeeqat' 

Chic Chocolate (1911-1967) from Aldona, Goa.

India's most accomplished trumpeter was prolific in the world of films. He began with 'Nadaan' in 1951, and was an important part of C Ramachandran's team. In 1952, they collaborated for 'Rangeeli', a massive success, especially the song 'Koi dar hamara samjhe', sung by Lata Mangeshkar. Later, Chocolate also worked with legends like Madan Mohan, O P Nayyar and Naasir, with whom he worked on the '56 film 'Kar Bhala' 

Frank Fernand (1919-2007)  from Curchorem, Goa.

Master of the violin and trumpet, Fernand, apart from being a staple in the Hindi film industry also made the legendary Konkani movies 'Amchem Noxib' and 'Nirmonn'. In '48, he joined Shankar Jaikishan. 'Barsaat' by Raj Kapoor was his first major film. A sterling patriot, he considered August 15 the most important day of the year. Later, he worked with top-ofthe-line music directors such as Anil Biswas, Kishore Kumar, C Ramachandran, and others 

Sebastian D'Souza (1906-1996) from Verem, Goa. 

His first brush with cinema was in pre-Partition Lahore. Post World War II, his earliest arrangements were for Shyam Sunder and Mohammad Ali. After Partition, he was back in Bombay, where he used his Lahore contacts to get himself work with O P Nayyar. His first tune, 'Pritam aan milo', was sung by C H Atma in '55. Later, working with Shankar-Jaikishan between '52 and '75 (' Daag', 'Mera Naam Joker' ), he helped create some of the most memorable tunes for Raj Kapoor's films.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition dated January 21, 2012.

Obituary: Anthony Gonsalves

Anthony Gonsalves in action. Photo from Taj Mahal Foxtrot/Naresh Fernandes

Nigel Britto

In Manmohan Desai's 1977 film 'Amar Akbar Anthony', Amitabh Bachchan, dressed in a black suit,wearing a tophat and holding an umbrella, popped out of a decorated Easter egg and proclaimed to the nation "My name is Anthony Gonsalves." For most who heard it at the time, the name didn't appear too significant-perhaps it was an arbitrary guess at a quintessentially Goan name? Not to the duo who were behind the music for the film, Laxmikant and Pyarelal.

The latter, who was taught the violin by a Goan musician who answered to that name, used it as a tribute to his real-life violin instructor. The real Anthony Gonsalves died in Goa on Wednesday, losing his battle with pneumonia. He was 83. But alas, Bachchan's one line was the only recognition Gonsalves was to receive for decades. Despite his formidable role in giving Hindi film music its international flavour, the reticent yet prodigiously-talented Gonsalves was a nearstranger to accolade. His contemporaries described his genius as being 'far ahead of his time'. So far, it appears, he was beyond the vision of those wise men and women who decide award lists. To them, Gonsalves didn't fit the bill. Perhaps, to most of them, he didn't exist at all. When his first award did come-the Karmaveer Puraskaar, in 2010-he was 82 and struggling.

"I'm happy, so happy," he whispered into the microphone, teary-eyed, as his faithful disciple Pyarelal, not a young man himself, felicitated him at Panaji. There was never doubt about Gonsalves' genius. He was born into music in Majorda in 1928. His father, Jose Gonsalves, a choirmaster at the village church, provided him his initial training.

Already an accomplished musician at 16, he migrated to Bombay, like many other Goans who dominated the metropolis' vibrant jazz scene in the decades before and after the Second World War. Unlike his fellow-Goans, his background was not jazz and dance but western classical. Also unlike his fellow-Goans, he loved the Hindi film music he was playing. Most others didn't, and played it by day, believing it to be lesser music than the jazz they played by night. Haqeeqat, Chetan Anand's 1964, government-backed war movie, for which Gonsalves arranged the music (it was credited to Madan Mohan) is perhaps the most striking example of his work. Most Goans didn't bother going out to watch the films they'd contributed to. Gonsalves was different.

He took a genuine interest in Hindustani classical music. A recently-released chronicle of jazz in Mumbai, Taj Mahal Foxtrot, reveals new insights on his life, and how Gonsalves developed his passion for raga-based music and tried to learn it. "It struck me very hard in my heart and mind," Gonsalves is quoted as saying in the book. "Melodically and rhythmically, it's so rich." The book's author, jazz historian Naresh Fernandes, recounts Gonsalves' child-like enthusiasm at the studios. "When other musicians went off for a smoke between takes, he'd engage in call-and-response jam sessions with the flautist Pannalal Ghosh. He sought out Pandit Narayan, Pandit Shyam Sunder and Ustad Inam Ali Khan to deepen his knowledge of the Hindustani tradition."

Alone at home at night, the hard-working Gonsalves transcribed the tunes from his head to paper. Those familiar with Hindustani classical music would realize this was an enviable task. "A raga isn't like a ladder, on which you take one step at a time," he used to say. "It's like a path up the mountain. It winds more and there are unusual intervals between stages." And his attempts to bridge the Indian tradition with his Western background resulted in his compositions having unusual names, some of which were "Concerto in Raag Sarang", "Sonatina Indiana", "Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in Todi Taat" and "Symphony in Raga Multani".

His fascination with the two vastly different genres created a problem of sorts. His love for western classical music was at odds with his community of Goans, most of who had come from a jazz and dance background. On the other hand, his initiation into Hindustani classical was almost accidental, and had no formal training there too. He solved this little problem by fuelling his own dreams. In April 1958, he founded a 110-member Symphony Orchestra. "I paid my own money to put up this concert because I wanted to show the richness of our country's music," Gonsalves said. The orchestra, which performed in the quadrangle of St Xavier's College, Mumbai, and Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, Chowpatty, featured singer Manna Dey and Lata Mangueshkar, who is also of Goan origin. In Taj Mahal Foxtrot, Fernandes says Gonsalves insisted it wasn't fusion. "I just took ragas and scored them for an orchestra and choir," Gonsalves said.

While his orchestral performances got mixed reviews, they catapulted him to a level sufficient to earn a fellowship at Syracuse University in New York. He departed in 1965 and taught his students there a little bit of Indian music, as well as orchestrating a short film for children, Simple Silk Screen; many of his works, such as Haqeeqat Symphony No.1, Pavitra Symphony, and Din De Potekar Sextet No.2 were created while he was at Syracuse. Some of these works are stored in the repositories of the largest library in the world, Library of Congress in Washington DC.

His life from there on remains a mystery, and he chose to live it in relative obscurity; he would never wield the baton again. There are several theories as to why this was so, each as unlikely as the next. He returned to his native village Majorda in the 1970s and lived a quiet life there until his death on Wednesday. Towards the end of his life, he was confined to the wheelchair, having fractured his pelvic bone. Meanwhile, the great music he composed in his prime, the bridge he tried to build between east and west, still lies in an old trunk. Till the end, he hoped that they would be played one more time. Sadly, it was not to be.

This article was published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated January 20, 2012.

3 divas to serenade opera lovers

Nigel Britto

On July 7, 1990, on the eve of the Fifa World Cup final, Mumbai-born conductor Zubin Mehta led a massive orchestra at the Baths of Caracella in Rome. The singers, who called themselves The Three Tenors, were opera biggies Placido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti and Jose Carreras, who teamed up to create the concept that truly opened the gates of opera to the outside world.

An effort to replicate that magic will transpire in the city on Monday evening in the Tata theatre, NCPA, when British sopranos Patricia Rozario (originally from Mumbai) and Susanna Hurrell will team up with Goan wonderkid Joanne D’Mello in a joint celebration of the female operatic voice, in the style and form of the Three Tenors. The ‘3 divas’ will perform a variety of well-known arias— solo, duet and trio works — taken from popular operatic repertory.

Rozario is one of Europe’s leading opera exponents and a prominent soprano based at the Royal College of Music, where she teaches. She holds an Order of the British Empire for services to music, and has performed in many of the world’s most prestigious venues. Her unsurpassed artistry and top-of-the-range clarity have inspired some of the world’s finest contemporary composers, such as Avro Part and Sir John Tavener, to write exclusively for her. She has recently given premiere performances of many works, most notably Jonathan Dove’s settings of Vikram Seth’s ‘Minterne’.

Rozario has a running project in India that teaches young opera singers the finer nuances of the art. “It doesn’t matter if you’re British or Indian, these young sopranos are an example of what students can achieve if they work towards it,” she told TOI in Goa, where the three sopranos performed before 600-odd people in Panaji. D’Mello and Hurrell are both her former students, and though Rozario has performed in Mumbai before, this is the first time she has embarked on a tour with her students, who are justifiably excited. “It’s a real honour to perform with our teacher,” D’Mello, 24, told TOI.

Rozario is a long-running exponent of the idea that classical music shouldn’t be confined to the niche audiences that assemble inside opera houses. “Seeing live music being performed on stage is second to none,” she says. For the last two years, she has visited India several times to train young aspiring sopranos, and bringing students on tour with her (a rarity in the world of opera) is perhaps a demonstration of what dedicated training and guidance can do to prospective opera singers.

D’Mello and Hurrell have both finished conservatory and are in Belgium and Britain respectively at Opera Studio, the stage in a singer’s career between conservatory and professional singing. At the NCPA, the three will sing in Italian, French, German and English. The repertoire, too, was carefully chosen to “demonstrate the capabilities of the singers,” said Rozario. It will include works by staples like Mozart, Puccini and Handel, as well as less common names like Massenet and Gounod. Two French arias on the repertoire are set in Sri Lanka and India. Apart from the ‘serious’ repertoire, popular fare like the Flower Duet from the opera Lakme, and Adele’s Laughing song by Strauss are also part of the set.

The accompaniment scores for most of the arias are essentially for orchestra, but will be played by British musician and founder of the Chamber Music Company, Mark Troop on the piano. The Mumbai concert will be their last stop of their India tour, after already having performed in Delhi, Neemrana (Rajasthan), Goa and Pune.

This article was first published in The Times of India, Mumbai, in its edition dated January 7, 2012.

A play of art, words and music

Nigel Britto

In an outdoor amphitheatre on a cold Wednesday evening, Lou Majaw strums classic rock tunes on his electric guitar-the soothing, Dylanesque kind that have been lost in time. They present a refreshing change from the cacophonous beats that fill the air every December night in Goa.

Born and bred in the rolling hills of Meghalaya, Majaw is Shillong's original rock star. Closing the Goa Arts and Literary Festival, the Dylan nut, clad in a vest and very short shorts with a guitar and a bag slung over his shoulders, wasn't the only person who didn't conform to the norm.

One of the many joys of the small yet elegant festival was the deliberate exclusion of staples-there were no Chetan Bhagats and Suhel Seths floating around.

"I'm impressed by the choice of participants and the fact that it didn't go mainstream," Bilal Tanweer, a Lahore-based social scientist and the only delegate from Pakistan, told TOI.

Instead, the five-day event was a celebration of great works by lesser-known writers. It gave pride of place to locals, and uniquely, also featured several writers, poets and musicians from the north-east, that oft-ignored part of India that usually comes into the national consciousness only in the event of some unpleasant occurence there.

The festival conjured up a finely balanced cocktail of both the ingredients that are usually characteristics of a successful literature festival-scholarship and performance, although some argued that a third- scheduling-was in short supply.

While veterans such as Gulzar, Amitav Ghosh and Kiran Nagarkar were the star draws for panel discussions and book-signings, the walls that separate a writer from his reader were slowly chipped away as the festival progressed; by the final day, most attendees, by now familiar with their fellow-delegates, pleasantly greeted each other in a friendly manner of camaraderie consistent with the spirit of the host state.

Informality aside, another highlight of the festival was the spotlight on the younger brigade, led by three writers who stood out throughout the festival. Their works comprise long, hard looks at the cities they've lived in.

Nigerian-American novelist Teju Cole wrote 'Open City', about an African psychiatry resident who takes long walks around New York City. It has been listed as one of Time magazine's top-10 fiction books of the year. Sonia Faleiro's 'Beautiful Thing', which takes a look at Mumbai through the lens of a bar dancer, is a formidable work of narrative journalism and its title regularly features in several international best-of lists.

Naresh Fernandes's 'Taj Mahal Foxtrot-The Story of Bombay's Jazz Age', though released at the festival, is already being looked at as a significant chronicle of the city through the perspective of the defining musical genre of that era. During their sessions, Cole, Faleiro and Fernandes exhibited extraordinary mastery of their material, presenting it in a way that held captive the fickle attention of the small, scattered audience.

While the audience size was cause of bother for some, most took it in their stride-Majaw, for instance, whose concert attracted a princely 40 people. "It's not a rock concert. It's a literature festival, with its niche audience," he says. Vivek Menezes, the festival's organizer, concurred. "The attendance was predictable, considering the number of events in Goa happening simultaneously. But we're happy with the line-up. We had a few writers of the moment here."

With men of caliber such as Shehan Karunatilaka, author of the outstanding 'Chinaman', and Sudhir Kakar, who just won Germany's highest civilian honour, as participants, Menezes can hardly be faulted for saying so.

But Anjum Hasan, the Shillong-born author of 'Lunatic in my Head', expressed disappointment with the surprising absence of youth. "I intended to reach out to younger audiences. I got may be 50% of that," she said.

Small crowds, along with the rescheduling of a few panels, were the common grouse of most attendees. But Hasan was quick to add, "The festival was not small in terms of the line-up. I met several people who I've read but never met in person before." Karunatilaka, too, says he found the panels "very interesting", adding that "the Goa coast is very similar to the Sri Lanka coast, where my work is based".

However, the festival was far more than just literature. A play by Isabel de Santa Rita Vas, staged on Liberation Day, was highly-appreciated, as was an electrifying session by artist extraordinaire Atul Dodiya; New York rapper Himanshu Suri of 'Das Racist', who had a fiery session with American editorial whizkid Jonathan Shainin, also broke out into an impromptu rap in another session with Teju Cole, moderated by TOI's former art critic Ranjit Hoskote, who is now a prominent poet. "It was great spending so much time meeting with and talking to writers," Suri told TOI. "Now, I'd definitely want to write more."

But perhaps the most inspired participant was the Khasi rocker Majaw himself. Originally scheduled to perform only on the first day of the festival, the musician enthusiastically attended almost every session. He then wanted to play again on the last day, "out of love", and he did, thus closing the curtains on the festival as well as having the final word. "This was a beautiful gathering and my experience in Goa was truly enriching," he told TOI. "I will go home energized."

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition dated December 23, 2011.

A co-operation movement

Why is Hasan Elahi sending the FBI pictures of the public urinals he visits?

Nigel Britto

Life changed for Hasan Elahi on June 19, 2002 at Detroit International Airport. The university professor was flying back home after an exhibition overseas. In those distrustful months following 9/11, every Muslim was a potential threat, even a naturalised American like Elahi, whose family migrated from their native Rangpur in Bangladesh to America in the '70s, when he was just seven. 

No sooner had his flight landed than he was detained by the FBI. After a series of conventional security-related questions, they cut to the chase - where were you September 12? Luckily, Elahi is in the habit of keeping detailed records of his daily appointments and movements, so he pulled out his PDA and told the FBI that, among other things, he had paid a bill for a storage unit in Tampa, Florida on that day. The FBI wanted to know what he was paying for. Furniture and winter clothes, he replied. The agent asked, "No explosives?" The Feds had been tipped off that Elahi was hoarding explosives. 

This was the start of Elahi's long relationship with the FBI. Back home in Tampa, he found himself being trailed by the FBI, and had to live through half a year of intensive questioning. "Have you participated in any acts that may be detrimental to the US or a foreign nation? Do you belong to any groups that wish to harm the United States? To which he deadpanned: "I work at a university. " 

Six months and nine polygraphs later, the FBI said: "Everything's fine. " "I know, that's what I've been trying to tell you all along, " he replied. Yet, he was advised to inform them of any travel plans. He did, but for someone who travels so much, he realised that it would only be a matter of time before he was detained again. So Elahi, who was brought up in New York, decided to take the battle to them in a subversion of that popular Jim Carrey movie, The Truman Show, which chronicles the life of a man in a constructed reality TV show, broadcast round the clock to millions of households across the world. Initially oblivious, Truman soon gets suspicious and learns the truth. Elahi offered himself as a willing, compliant Truman. He turned his daily life into an art project that broadcasts the activities of his waking hours to anybody who cares to know. He called it - what else? - The Orwell Project. 

"So, when I travelled, I wrote to them telling them where I was going, my flight details, etc, " said the 39-year-old affable, well-built professor who sports a funky haircut. "However, the mails became longer in due course;some even had pictures and travel tips. " Sometime later, he decided that if the FBI was going to keep tabs on him, he might as well do it himself. "They needn't waste energy and resources on tracking me, I would track myself. " 

So, he proceeded to create an online record of his every move. Details of every flight he took reached the FBI. Soon, pictures of meals he ate, shops he visited, and even urinals he went to reached the FBI. "They wanted to know my business, so I had to tell them, " he says, pointing to a screenshot of the 100-odd urinals he had visited. 

What started out as a self-surveillance mechanism - he refuses to call it a 'mockery' - gradually evolved into an art project. "As of this morning, 47, 196 images have been sent to the FBI. " How does he do it? "My iPhone, I just send the images and the server does all the back-end work like categorisation, etc. " It's not just the FBI that can access his information - anyone in the world can by logging on to his website www. trackingtransience. net. 

It's performance art taken to an extreme but Elahi, who teaches of digital cultures and creativity at the University of Maryland, says he's more interested in the methodology of working rather than disciplines, mediums or techniques. "What I'm into is creative problem-solving, " he says. "Artists tend to react to situations differently from normal people. " In the last nine years, the professor has done almost a hundred exhibitions around the world and shared his story with millions. 

He vigorously counters the notion that he's exposing his whole life to the world. "Even with the stuff I upload, " he says, "I live a fairly private life. You really know very little about me. This is all factual evidence, no emotions. In any case, not just me, 800 million people are doing it (on Facebook, etc). Today, there are as many producers as consumers. " He has supporters too. "Some of my most vocal supporters are anti-government, libertarians and people who don't want the government in their lives. " The Patna-born, US-based novelist Amitava Kumar's new non-fiction book, A Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm a Tiny Bomb, which explored the US government's bumbling war on terror, also features Elahi's project. 

Elahi's website is remarkably user-unfriendly. "The stuff is all there, but you have to really sift through it to make sense, " he says. "For instance, the pictures could be anywhere, but only when cross-referenced does it begin to make sense. " He gives an example. "I send photos of supermarkets I visit to the FBI, but only when it's cross-referenced by a neutral third-party, which in this case is my bank, will you know what I bought and whether I was really there. " 

And when does Elahi plan to stop putting out his life on the web? He answers with a counterquestion : "When will you stop tweeting and sending out text-messages ? Sending out data has now become part of me, and I'm not going to stop. It's been a journey of self-discovery. Looking through my records has definitely enabled me to know myself a little better."

This article was first published on The Times of India's Crest edition dated November 19, 2011.

Is ThinkFest the new TED?

Nigel Britto

In Goa, rarely can any place which is not a church, manage to garner a full house, rapt with attention, at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning. At least one resort in North Goa proved otherwise, as the concluding day of the ThinkFest ideas jamboree saw almost 2,000 people walk in to experience and partake in the power of ideas. Aamir Khan spoke on Bollywood and Sudhir Kakkar on love; Sam Pitroda and Ashish Nandy sang cautious praises to the republic, but as if to warn against complacency, two citizens of the other India, Himanshu Kumar and Kopa Kunjam from Chhattisgarh, emerged with tales of horrific state-sponsored terror against tribals that raised questions about the nature of Indian democracy. Deservedly, despite the star statures of others, the two ground warriors got the biggest standing ovation of the day.

It wasn't just ideas on display at ThinkFest. A galaxy of entertainers, led by India's top comedian Papa CJ and singers like Sain Zahoor and Kailash Kher, also performed for a few select guests. Between lectures, too, pianist Anil Srinivasan entertained and educated with short yet laudable performances. The festival's worldview was evident in its line-up of speakers. While Thomas Friedman, America's most influential columnist, was the top draw on Saturday and a galaxy of top scientists and entrepreneurs strutted their stuff, Sunday saw the focus shift from science and the developed world to more humane issues-green revolutions and the problems of the third world. If Afghanistan MP Shukria Barakzai gave a compelling account of life in her country and Chinese economist Zhang Weiying in his, Esther Duflo and Abhijit Banerjee spoke about how India's schools are getting it all wrong.

Perhaps to balance the scale, a surprise session on art was thrust upon the audience. Earlier, Pavan Sukhdev argued for the need to shift to a green economy. But perhaps the most off-beat session was the last one, 'Of love and other demons' a discussion by a panel comprising eminent psycho-analyst Sudhir Kakar, Tarun Tejpal, Nayantara Sahgal and for some reason, Chitrangada Singh, who seemed totally out of sorts on the panel. At the fag end, Tejpal said the words everybody wanted to hear-ThinkFest will be back, same time, same place, same state, every year, an announcement that was greeted with wild applause by the by-now-fagged-out crowd, which comprised a fair number of Goans.

Of and by itself, it was a festival to rival TED. However, a string of controversies regarding it pushed under the spotlight-dubious links emerged when Union minister Jairam Ramesh refused to attend it because the hotel's promoter is a 2G scam accused. What's worse, Tehelka editor Tarun Tejpal's irreverent, off-the-cuff remark on the opening day ("eat, sleep with whomever you want") was interpreted by activists and sections of the media as an affront on Goan identity. A furious war of words between Tejpal and theatre veteran Hartman de Souza, who alleged the Tehelka editor compromised a story detailing Goa's illegal mining in exchange for support from the Goa government, only made things worse.

Also disappointing was the absence of many key speakers. Apart from Jairam Ramesh, other high-profile speakers who didn't turn up included Nobel laureate Leyman Gbowee, Anna Hazare, Nandan Nilekani, and also others like Rohini Nilekani, Amina Khairat and Adi Ignatius, all of whose names were still featured as 'speakers' on the ThinkFest web site even after the festival was over.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Goa edition on November 7, 2011.

Bridging nations through music

Merck orchestra from Germany enthralled classical music lovers in Goa

Nigel Britto

The thousand-odd that thronged Kala Academy on Monday evening entered the DMK auditorium with high expectations; after all, this concert was pitted as the high point of the state's scattered classical music calendar. The long queue they had to stand in all seemed worth it a few hours later, when they walked happily away, after giving the orchestra three standing ovations and demanding three encores, all of which were obliged. Clearly, the Deutsche Philharmonie Merck didn't disappoint.

Clad in brilliant black, the German orchestra won hearts and minds straight away, commencing with a startlingly beautiful rendition of Jana Gana Mana, closely followed by their own national hymn, Deutschlandlied, which set the mood for the evening. It also established the reason for the concert-60 years of Indo-German friendship. After a little diplomatic rhetoric and a few instructions from the compere, Fr Eufemiano Miranda (switch off mobiles, don't cough, and don't clap between movements), the orchestra got down to business.

The selected repertoire comprised Beethoven, Mozart and Brahms; the beauty of the orchestra's sound, especially that of its brass section, was notable right from the beginning. Leonore Overture No 3 Op 72, one of the four overtures Beethoven wrote for his only opera Fidelio, was first on the list. Ideally, an Overture sets the mood for the opera to follow; in this case, its near-flawless construction makes the opera itself slightly redundant, perhaps explaining its popularity with orchestras playing it in isolation of Fidelio.

The DPM's rendition of the Overture, in little over 13 minutes, captured the entire trajectory of the opera, from imprisonment to triumph, complete with an off-stage trumpet call that led the surge towards a thrilling and electrifying coda, symbolizing the lofty ideals of liberty and emancipation Fidelio is about, and which is also in sync with Beethoven's own political beliefs.

The conductor, Wolfgang Heinzel, led the pack with aplomb; he had the air of a wizard armed with a wand and engaged in a fierce duel; the orchestra was no different; they'd played the previous night in New Delhi and woken up at 4 am on Tuesday morning to commence their 16-hour journey here, after which they didn't sleep. Theoretically, they should have been tired. No sign of it. Only a few musicians sat comfortably in their seats; the rest were perched as if on air-bows galloping and heads swirling in tandem with their conductor's baton, sending an ominous warning to any tiredness that might come creeping by.

After Beethoven came Concerto No.2 in D major; it is essentially an oboe concerto reworked for the flute by Mozart, whose dislike for the instrument is legendary ("I am... always reluctant if I have to write for an instrument I can't stand," he once wrote.) Thankfully, one needn't take the great man's statement seriously. The concerto was the highlight of the evening; the affable and uber-expressive soloist Henrik Wiese didn't need sheet music; like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, he relied completely on memory for all three movements to lead the show from where Beethoven left, displaying an impish sense of humour and phenomenal breath control that kept the audience engaged throughout.

The last item was Brahms' Symphony No 3 in F major, the shortest of his four symphonies. It may not possess the explosiveness of his first or comparative serenity of the second, and is sometimes considered a tad boring. Not this performance; the apprehension at seeing a moderately-sized orchestra trying to tackle a Brahms symphony was soon shot away with great vigour. The orchestra, over 35 minutes, constructed a distinct picture of an old Brahms reminiscing about life while taking a walk in the woods, the solitude of Poco Allegretto (little, if any, Allegretto) giving way to a high voltage Allegro finale, resulting in a long standing ovation that pulled the conductor back and forced three encores out of the orchestra.

Two of them were Brahms' Hungarian dances by conductor's choice, and one short flute solo after a lady in the audience specifically asked for the return of Wiese, who quickly became a crowd favourite after his virtuosic performance earlier on. The orchestra's enthusiasm seemed to have rubbed off on the crowd, who were responsible for only a couple of mobile alarms, a few cough concertos between movements, and the odd whining baby, all of which signified considerable progress. When all was done, the musicians trooped out of Kala Academy, instruments and baggage in tow, to earn themselves a well-deserved rest.

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition dated September 29, 2011.

Game On

The stakes are high for Casino Royale's World Gaming Destival

Nigel Britto

It's Friday night at Casino Royale and the gaming deck, a large rectangular hall the size of a football field that is filled with tables, slot machines and all kinds of gambling paraphernalia, is milling with people. 

This weekend there's more activity than usual. Faces, some contorted in concentration, are eying the tables as the dealers, most of them from the Northeast, size up both the players and the games they are priming themselves up for. The stakes have been declared and there's big money to be won at the World Gaming Festival.

Anish Dedhia, who visits Goa at least once every two months, and not for its sand, sea and sun, is one of the eager bunch of about 300 gamblers who have each paid upwards of Rs 1 lakh per game to participate in the competition. They are all sweaty with excitement. After all, the total bounty of each game is the number of participants multiplied by Rs 100,000. The winner can take home 50% of this; silver gets 30% and bronze 10%. The next two after that pocket 5% each. So if 20 people register for a game, there's Rs 20 lakh in the kitty, out of which the winner gets 50% — Rs 10 lakh. 

To add to the atmosphere, the casino has provided registered players free return airfare, concierge services, five-star accommodation, lavish buffet meals, chauffer-driven luxury transfers and even entry to some of Goa's hottest parties. On the floor above the gaming deck there's live music and a restaurant, on top of that a sundeck and helipad. This is the high life, Goa-style. 

Organizers say the event will incorporate elements from some of the best gaming festivals around the world. "I travelled to 14 countries before deciding on the festival's format," says Narinder Punj, the casino's managing director and the man who conceptualized the gala that will conclude on Monday. Players compete in five games — Texas Hold'em Poker, American Roulette, Baccarat, Indian flush (a kind of teen patti) and Blackjack. Most gaming festivals in India test the players in only one game. The Asian Poker Challenge, held here since 2010, is one such event. It is this difference , according to Punj, which makes the World Gaming Festival unique. 

But is Punj looking at the WGF to be a regular event? "Yes," he says. "Perhaps we'll have it once or twice a year. It's now a registered Intellectual Property, so we can go pretty much anywhere in the world with it". 

Fuelled by the reputation of being a 'cheap' destination, millions of backpackers kept trooping into Goa 50 years after European travellers first discovered it. A few years ago, the Goa government realized this and, not wanting to host only the poor sorts, it took an apprehensive gamble. If Goa offered legal avenues for gambling , older tourists with higher spending capacity would eventually come. 

As it turns out, they did. 

Four years ago, Goa's gambling industry comprised the solitary Casino Goa and a handful of slot machines in the state's five-star hotels. In 2007, the government took the step of forking out more licenses in order to attract tourists who take a detour to Nepal, where gambling is legal, and perhaps to emulate Macau, the world's gambling capital. Now, there are six floating on the river Mandovi alongside Panaji, and 13 in hotels, or 'on-shore' as they're legally classified. 

According to the Goa Public Gambling Act, 1976, cards and players and dealers are only permitted off-shore while electronic slot machines make up the industry on land. Seasoned gamblers will tell you gambling on slot machines is about as interesting as watching a game of golf on TV. Yet, rough estimates indicate revenue generated from the industry has gone up from Rs 40 crore to Rs 300 crore in just three years. 

"There has been considerable growth in the casino industry. We've seen a 100% growth in revenue every year," says Xavier Vaz, who runs the casino at the Goa Marriott Hotel. Mumbai-based Delta Corp is one of the earliest entrants in the sector and is the only listed company in this space. It owns two off-shore casinos in Goa —Casino Royale and Caravela, and plans to add another one, Kings' Casino, next year. Delta Corp's gaming and hospitality revenue has increased from Rs 11 crore in 2008 to 101 crore in 2011. As a result, a bunch of individual investors led by billionaire Rakesh Jhunjhunwala has put in Rs 280 crore in Delta. 

But not all is hunky-dory. Policy needs to be sharpened and streamlined. The growth of the industry is severely hampered by an utterly-confused government that, in the words of one casino owner, "doesn't know its ass from its elbow". For one, the state seeks to bar local from entering casinos for gambling by bringing an amendment to the Goa Public Gambling Act, 1976. Early in 2009, it increased the entry fee for all casinos from Rs 200 to Rs 2,000, resulting in a drastic drop in visitors — in six months the number dropped from around 90,000 to little more than 15,000. 

Industry insiders are unanimous in their view that an authority on the lines of the Nevada Gaming Commission (for Las Vegas) or the Gaming Inspection and Coordination Bureau (for Macau) be established. "The industry is growing and government policies must be transparent and consistent. Sadly, that is missing at the moment," says Shailendra Singh, who runs four on-shore casinos. 

Macau, Goa's Portuguese cousin that was given to China in 1999, is oft-cited as a shining example of what a healthy and well-regulated gambling industry can do (see box). The inconsistency of Goa's policy on casinos can be blamed partly on the opposition and an active moral police whose concerns revolve round prostitution , crime and money-laundering. 

In one particularly interesting incident , former CM Manohar Parrikar quoted his gynaecologist friends to say there has been an increase in abortions in Panaji — a statement he promptly blamed on 'wrongful activities' on riverborne casinos and called for the entry of women and children to be regulated. 

"We employ both men and women. If they fall in love, how can you blame the casino?" asks Punj. Fr Maverick Fernandes of the CSJP, the social wing of Goa's powerful Catholic church, counters that and says, "Gambling is a vice and revenue can't be justified by vices; tourism should promote values rather than vices". Hoteliers, too, are reluctant to come out in support of the industry. "It is our policy not to comment on casinos," a Taj Vivanta official said when contacted by Sunday Times. 

But perception about casinos among locals has seen change that industrywallahs call healthy. As recently as five years ago, few parents wanted their kids working in a casino. "Today, around 75% of my staff is Goan," says Punj. Chances , another casino, has locals filling up almost 100% of the jobs. "There are few employment opportunities in Goa, and any industry that generates employment needs to be encouraged," says prominent Panaji career counselor Abhijeet Naik. "If regulated properly, the industry can bring in a fortune in revenue, and this is a gamble the government cannot afford to miss out on."

This article was first published on The Sunday Times of India nationwide in its edition dated September 25, 2011.

The real Monsorates

Nigel Britto

Ronnie Monsorate is a man of many talents. Pianist, singer, bandleader and arranger, in the limelight or behind the scenes, the portly, bespectacled Monsorate can step into any or all these roles and perform them like only he can. He comes from one of Goa’s, and India’s, most successful families of jazz; his father Peter Monsorate, the brightest trumpeting star that ever shone over this country, was called the Harry James of India. Thus, it is no surprise that five of his sons, Ronnie among them, now form the Monsorate Brothers. What is a surprise, of course, is that the magnificent Big Band’s concert this Saturday will be its first on Goan soil.

Apart from playing only their second gig together in nearly 30 years (the first was this May near Amsterdam), the band showcases a unique sub-genre of jazz that was popular in the 1930s and is nearly defunct now—The Big Band. Ronnie, a Duke Ellington of sorts with a Louis Armstrong-esque vocal box, leads the pack; his brothers Joe and Bosco play the trumpet, Blasco the trombone, and Rex the drums. Curiously, their two other brothers, Octavious and Clareto, were also musicians in the 80s before switching careers and moving abroad. These days, bass guitarist Steve Frances and saxophone player Shyam Lal usually accompany the Monsorate Brothers.

The brothers, who normally perform individually, rose during the vibrant hotel jazz scene in the 70s, alongside now-iconic names such as Braz Gonsalves, Dennis Rosario, Charlie Shephard and others. In 1978, the year of the first Jazz Yatra, Joseph and Bosco were part of the big band formed by US trumpeter Clark Terry. However, as was the norm then, the Monsorates diversified from jazz and teamed up for world tours with a series of film industry veterans such as R D Burman, Lata Mangeshkar, Illayaraja and Bappi Lahiri, Laxikant Parallel, Kishore Kumar, and much later, contemporary stars like A R Rahman and Adnan Sami. Through their Bollywood years, the Brothers remained faithful flag-bearers of the Big Band genre, a kind of jazz musical ensemble which was popular during the Swing Era; it usually consists of reed, wind, rhythm and vocal sections.  While smaller bands that play conventional jazz music usually improvise and spontaneously create the music, Big Band music is heavily ‘arranged’, or prepared beforehand and notated on sheet music. Typically, improvisation or solos are played only when the arranger calls for them.

The versatile Ronnie Monsorate is also widely credited for orchestrating and arranging Goan superstar Lorna Cordeiro’s return to the music world after nearly quarter of a century of self-imposed exile; he directed her highly acclaimed comeback album, Hello Lorna. Incidentally, the ‘Rain or Shine, Konkani Rocks’ banner under which Saturday’s concert is being held, had another concert in July last year, which Lorna, accompanied two of the Monsorates, Bosco and Blasco,   headlined. Remo Fernandes too had joined in the fun, singing ‘Bebdo’ with Lorna to the delight of the thousand-odd fans.

The Monsorate Brothers’ reunion this Saturday is to celebrate World Goa Day, August 20, which, since 2000, has celebrated Goan culture and music throughout the diaspora. Founder Rene Baretto, a London-based Goan, told TOI that his aim in starting it was to “unite Goans across the world, under one banner. The date was chosen because it was the day Konkani was included in the Eigth Schedule of the Indian Constitution.

Interestingly, the Monsorates won’t be the only ones paying tribute to their motherland at Gonsalves Mansion this Saturday. They will be accompanied by well-known local musicials such as Olavo Rodrigues, fadista Sonia Sirsat, Varun Carvalho, Veeam Braganza and others.

This article was first published in The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated August 19, 2011.

Hero of childhood dreams

Harry Potter, in my opinion, should be made compulsory reading in schools.

Nigel Britto

Fantasy isn't everyone's cup of tea. It was the last thing on my mind when J K Rowling released Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in 1998. I was three years late on the Potter bandwagon. When I first met Harry in 2001, he was 11 and I was 14. Back then, my lit diet consisted almost exclusively of Wodehouse, Dickens and Enid Blyton, all of whom I still adore. I loved Sorcerer's Stone and hoped that J K Rowling would manage to sustain the momentum of what I thought had the potential to be a brilliant series for a school library to stock. 

Ten years, seven novels and eight movies later, Harry Potter doesn't quite seem the same. In circles a 24-year-old frequents, confessing to liking the tales of a boy wizard is akin to saying you suck your thumb at night. Way too many people, most of whom consider themselves above such 'childish' literature, fail to recognise the beauty of a series that made a generation tear away from television and video games and run to their libraries to appreciate the beauty of the written word. 

Critics say the books are no Lord of the Rings and the movies not quite Narnia. There again, I doubt they were ever meant to be so. Harry Potter grew with me, as he did with a few million others. At first, we were greeted with easy reads that talk about a 11-year-old going to a magic school. Later, to keep up with the reader's growing maturity and depleting attention span, the books get progressively darker and more complex, dealing with a variety of subjects such as alchemy, love, philosophy, and splitting of souls. Today, at 24, I can see and appreciate that. The fun part? Almost certainly, Harry Potter inadvertently opens the gates to C S Lewis's allegoric worlds, to Tolkien's misty mountains, to Pratchett, Steinbeck and the massive world of fantasy fiction beyond Hogwarts. 

There's something about Harry Potter that's genius. J K Rowling is not the best writer you would encounter, but her storytelling and creation of magical worlds is second to none (perhaps the literary version of George Lucas?). They're not literary masterpieces;in fact, some would argue that they're not literature at all. However, right from their inception, the books struck a chord with readers everywhere. The series' epic finale, Deathly Hallows, proved that Rowling lost none of her touch and it's no accident that the Harry Potter movies are the most successful in film history. 

That success is perhaps due to the way they handled the constant danger that accompanies all book-based movies - the fear that they might fall short. The Potter movies resolved that problem by casting brilliant albeit rather unknown British actors rather than famous American ones. Alan Rickman as Prof Snape, Dame Maggie Smith as Prof McGonagall and Gary Oldman as Sirius Black ensured the books were brought to life as thoroughly as they could possibly be, effectively mentoring and complementing the young trio of Radcliffe, Watson and Grint. 

Why, then, is it that I will remain a lifelong Harry Potter fan? To me, the most ingenious bit was the confluence of the wizarding and muggle worlds, and that magic had to be studied. 

To me, Harry Potter is a hero of childhood dreams. An ordinary boy who has potential for greatness, and who through dedication and able guidance, thwarts all plans to stop him and eventually emerges victorious. The storyline is creative, the supporting characters are built up beautifully, there's a dash of subtle feminism throughout the series, and magic is described as a technology or talent rather than a sword. Rowling has created a 'book of virtues', a story that prizes loyalty unto death, sacrifice, compassion, courage and friendship. The message is timeless. And if I had ever to recommend one series of books as compulsory reading across schools, this would be it.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition on June 23, 2011.