Carnival in Goa was not always about floats and parades. In the 1960s times were simpler, almost tailored to the unrushed way of life that most Goans embraced. But one thing that everyone treasured were festivals and celebrations, which many would agree, were excuses to bring the entire community together.
“Although Carnival takes place before the Lenten season – that is associated with abstinence from meat and extra indulgencies – the festival is not a Christian one, it was a pagan festival,” says Arnaldo Do Carmo Lobo, a resident of Panjim, recalling the time in the 1980s when the Church disassociated itself from Carnival.
That apart, he recalls how the festival has transformed. “My memories of Carnival take me back to Divar, this is before 1968. When I was young, people used to come disguised – wearing masks and fancy dress that included men dressing up as women and vice versa,” Arnaldo reminisces.
“Carnival,” Arnaldo says, “was a time to mock. In Divar, people would say Potekar is coming.” Potekars were potti-kars, that is people with gunny bags, who at Carnival posed as if they had come to kidnap children. "So whatever used to happen in society, it was highlighted," Arnaldo mentions.
Khel tiatrs or the one-act plays, was another opportunity for participants to come in disguise and ridicule society or issues.
What was popular and did form a major part of the Carnival festivities or Intruz in those days, were the khel tiatrs or the one-act plays. It was another opportunity for participants to showcase societal issues.
Arnaldo reminisces, “Khel tiatrs were skits highlighting certain issues. For instance, one community that wanted to say something about the other community would depict it through the play, but this was all taken in a spirit of fun.”
And like Arnaldo, Milagres Fernandes, from St Inez, Panjim remembers the khels as being entertaining and presenting culture in a unique manner.
“I remember a few entertainers would travel to Panjim all the way from Saxtti and perform Zomnivele Khel (one-act play) which were held at the place of the Regidor or in the compound of any well-wisher who could pay a small amount to the performers,” Milagres recollects.
“In our ward Portais-Bhatulem, we used to come together and begin applying colours (indigo) on each other’s faces. With no ill intention, we would sometimes even chase girls and pour genuine face powder on their heads,” he smiles.
Almost painting the scenes before the eyes, he narrates how young revellers from around the city would deliberately zoom on motorcycles or cycles and throw buckets full of water, water balloons and cocottes that were made of white soft clay, all in the spirit of fun.
Going back down memory lane, Milagres recounts his youth and the jovial mood that surrounded the festivities of Carnival. “Many times we used to fight mock battles using these cocottes, and for this we would walk up the streets of Panjim city,” Milagres reminisces.
After the Tourism Department stepped onto the scene, float competitions and sponsors came in, so did regulations and restrictions.
After the Tourism Department stepped onto the scene, float competitions and sponsors came in, so did regulations and restrictions.
The parade on Fat Saturday or Sabado Gordo started in the mid-1960s, where a truck was hired and King Momo would read a decree, announcing his rule for the next three days.
Arnaldo recounts, “The parade would pass by the Old Secretariat and go up to Azad Maidan. The King Momo truck was followed by a brass band, people in fancy dress, waking on the stilts.”
The next few days people partook in something known as Assalto (Assult) — a term very fitting to the scenes.
“Back in the day, the entire village/ward used to get involved in the celebration,” Milagres says and sighs as today’s generation has missed out on witnessing and participating in this unique Goan culture.
