The tradition of poskem, Konkani for 'adopted child', is Goa's dirty, open secret. Poskim were poor children taken in by wealthy families to live with them, mostly as servants, without inheritance rights. The tradition is now little spoken off, and hopefully, will die out with the current generation. In Poskem: Goans in the Shadows (published by Om Books International), his third book after The Green Room and Moda Goa, Wendell Rodricks, son of the soil and fashion designer writes a fictionalised account of the lives of four poskim (plural for poskem). The narrative takes the reader from Bombay and Lyon to Pune and Paris. Edited excerpts from an interview with Rodricks:

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What did you, as a Goan, feel while writing about Goa's ugly truth?

I was in shock for the most part. The book runs through many emotions at a rapid pace. One page is all light and sunshine and the next is filled with despair — quite like the lives of the poskim, who did not know where they stood. All they were aware of was that they were at the bottom of Goan society, that they should not be heard and rarely seen.

I promised Rosa (a poskem Rodricks knew as a boy) that I would one day write about the plight of the poskim in Goa. Theirs was, for the most part, a tragic life. They went through many unjust hardships and cruel social stigma. Many poskim were not sent to school and intentionally prevented from marrying so they could stay on as bonded labour for the household. Some protagonists did find love and happiness.

Was the child traded for money? Was there a ceremony to formally initiate the child into the new family?

I am unaware if there were negotiations. My maternal uncle, Rommel, was given to my grandfather Nascimento, at the Mapuca market and he gave the woman a few coins. But Rommel was brought up as a brother, not as a posko. The only formal ceremony was possibly baptism, and being given the family name. Among Hindus, they went through the rituals and family rites of Hinduism. We have a man in our village, who was adopted as a posko by Hindu parents.

Were your oral sources guarded or embarrassed to sharing their stories about poskem?

My mother told me most of the stories. Others I learnt from fellow villagers and friends in villages and cities in Goa, and from the overseas Goan diaspora. For the book, I did not speak to any poskem. I don't think they would have liked to talk about their lives and the injustices meted out to them. When I spoke to writers and friends, they expressed surprise and felt that the subject of poskem is a shameful secret and must be buried. Many felt that I was opening old wounds. I wanted to tell the story because this tradition must stop. I am attempting an apology and trying to heal ugly wounds.

Why did you use Mario Miranda's illustrations?

The Mario Miranda illustrations serve as a visual backdrop. They are chapter dividers and serve as a setting for the places in the book. They add a certain beauty and saudade — what we'd translate in Goa as an aching nostalgia for beautiful days gone by — to poskim.

The book has some recipes as well. How does food come into the narrative?

Food is the connecting link or the common DNA between the four protagonists. It also comes in because I am a foodie! A few recipes are Goan. Most are not.

Was the issue of poskem addressed by the Portuguese and the British, or in the tiatr (Konkani theatre)?

The British had nothing to do with poskem. I have no idea if the Portuguese supported the tradition. As for the Church, I do not imagine they would interfere in what was a family matter. Maybe some conscientious priest or nun attempted to get the poskim educated. I have no knowledge if this topic comes up as a subject in tiatr, but Konkani writer Damodar Mauzo did tell that he desired to do a play on the subject. Mauzo will be on the dais for a discussion at the Goa release of the book.