Nothing, they say, stays constant except 'change' itself. It's a truism which has come to epitomise the evolution of Goa's carnival, from its humble beginnings back in the 1960s, when it first began, to the contemporary music-blasting, commercially sponsored and tight-fist government-controlled float parades of today. We dive and attempt to unravel this transformation of the carnival, which many lament is 'over-commercialised' and robbed of its originality and spontaneity.
Excessive influence, control and dominion of the State government, including and especially the political executive (read politicians), has jaded the 'Carnival' as it evolved over the last six decades since its humble beginning on a bullock-cart back in the mid-1960s.
Conversations with several carnival organisers -- individuals involved in the entertainment business and take centre-stage in the organising committees year after year -- give one the sense that like all else in this State, politics and its pulls and pushes have come to dominate the staging of 'official' carnival celebrations across the State, which is anchored by the tourism department and the civic bodies of the towns and cities where it is held.
One of the most commonly uttered laments from these middle-aged and senior local carnival aficionados, most of whom preferred to stay anonymous, is that the celebrations as conducted today lack spontaneity, are wide off the mark in depicting the true spirit of the festival and hardly reflect Goa's traditions and culture.
Money: Root of all evil
Astronomical budgets and the lack of transparency in spending these funds disbursed by the tourism department to the organising committees is one malaise that has often mired the conduct of the float parades and other official carnival celebrations.
"There is excessive use of money. It all looks good and colourful physically but it kills participation from local talent as most of the decorative work is outsourced to commercial entities or individuals," lamented Francisco Noronha, who has over the decades, often been part of organising the carnival in Panaji.
Noronha, a former president of Clube Nacional and currently heading Clube Vasco da Gama, two of Panjim's foremost and oldest socio-cultural clubs, complains that unlike in the past, the community is missing from the celebrations.
"Goa's carnival festivities were born from a collaborative effort of Clube Nacional and Clube Vasco da Gama... all the four days were allotted alternately to these two clubs to host events within their premises before they were eventually moved to the streets," Noronha said while giving credit for mentoring the festival in the initial years to the Alvares clan -- former Panjim municipal council (now CCP) chief officer the late Vasco Alvares and his two late sons Manecas and Roberto.
He and many others agree that in those golden carnival years of the late 1960s and also the 1970s, all activities were community driven with the involvement of families, neighbours, friends and the whole of Panaji as one united community.
"All used to pool in resources in cash, kind and creative services," Noronha said, adding that today excessive use of funds and the involvement of politicians and their supporters through the CCP has fuelled discord in the community of carnival organisers, many of who are in the trade for decades.
1967: Tango-tango
births float parade
The carnival float parade in the fashion it is held today, first took shape in 1967 with the 'Tango-Tango' floats conceptualised by the late Manecas Alvares, a teenaged Francisco Martins (Fanquito) and about a score of others. The floats themed on the lines of the ballroom dance style were a big hit in those days, which many who are now senior citizens in their seventies, reminisce. Music and dance were widely practised traditions in Goa in those years and it strongly reflected in the character of the floats then.
Gradually over the decades, the commercial quotient has crept in, which many feel, again anonymously, is because of the State government's efforts to project it solely as a festival to be showcased for tourism purposes with little effort and thought going into engaging local communities and neighbourhoods.
"Floats used to be designed and organised by one or two families getting together or by youth from a particular ward or neighbourhood with resources pooled in. Today it is some company or enterprise that is sponsoring," says Rui Ferreira, another one of Panaji's prominent carnival aficionados & former president of Clube Nacional.
Involvement of commercial entities has robbed the float parade of the spontaneity of locals' participation and also diluted the cultural richness with a lot of Bollywood and other genres of music and non-Goan themes tainting it, the old timers like Noronha and Ferreira, besides several others we spoke to, admit.
Street dances and especially the 'Red and Black' dance in Panaji by Clube Nacional, were the show-stoppers of carnivals in the past, but sadly, it's no longer the case with the invasion of tourists by the hundreds and thousands. The 'Red and Black' dance lost its zing from the time it shifted to the 'Samba Square' of the officialdom, many of the old-timers lament.
But while these old-timers lament the gradual evolution of carnival to the commercial showpiece it has now come to be, others embedded in the hospitality and entertainment 'business' are not complaining. In fact, it is the hoteliers, event managers and others in the hospitality trade that are the chief votaries driving the tourism department to promote carnival more as a tourist attraction rather than a cultural festival centred around the local populace.
Beyond float parades
Other festivities centred around the four days of carnival have also taken a beating, perhaps owing to the takeover of the 'official' celebrations by the officialdom and the simultaneous neglect of traditional Carnival activity like the 'khell tiatrs', neighbourhood mock-fights using handmade missiles 'cocotos' and the indigo-colouring/water drenching (assalto) of each other by family, friends and acquaintances.
While the practice of the 'assalto' is virtually dead, staging of 'khell tiatrs' survives, though sparingly in some villages, mostly in Salcete, as a recent short documentary film made by Curtorim-based Vince Costa indicates. Costa's film documents the effort behind the production of 'khell tiatrs' through the experience of 'Xavier de Maina' and his troupe. In it, Xavier narrates: "When carnival comes, I can't sit. I have to do something. As soon as I hear the sound of music, I have to be on the go."
Xavier's enthusiasm to stage impromptu 'khells' is shared by several others of his ilk in Salcete mostly.
No facet of Goanness, Goenkarponn or whatever other nomenclature you may give it, has survived the onslaught of change driven by commercialisation. So, why should carnival? The debate will linger on.
