Goa Liberation Day: Artist Chaitali Morajkar’s work shines light on memories of freedom struggle

December 19, 2018 marks the 57th anniversary of Goa Liberation day, when the Portuguese, who colonised India since 1510 AD, ended their rule, after Indian troops took Goa by force under Jawaharlal Nehru’s orders in 1961 with Operation Vijay.

At the Public Works Department (PWD) Complex, one of the venues of the ongoing Serendipity Arts Festival, a painting by Chaitali Morajkar, sums up just how much the people, especially women, lived in fear under the Portuguese rule. The artwork is a 16-part collage that has a young girl with a coiling braid, looking out at the unattainable – a book (education). Each of these 16 parts carry written testaments of 16 women, all above 70 years old, in Marathi (except for one in English) about their memories around Goa Liberation. Memories of protest marches, atrocities by the ‘pakhle’ (white-skinned Portuguese), and an unfulfilled dream of completing basic education.

“Few years ago, after I worked on an art project about influence of Portuguese on Goa, I took the freedom of thinking as an artist and human. It led to this idea of a collaborative artwork involving women voices about Liberation,” says Morajkar. She first approached her friends’ mothers for the exercise, but convincing them to come on board was a task. “Many were hesitant, said ‘we can’t write anymore, …don’t remember when we last held a pen,” recalls the 40-year-old freelance artist and art teacher. “But once they began writing, they became very interested and were determined to finish their stories.”

There's Prabha Shirodkar, who wrote about how the Portuguese would barge into people’s homes and if they spotted photographs of Indian freedom fighters on the walls, they would arrest the members. Shailaija B Nabar, whose is only testimony in English says, how she loves Goa because everything is a stone’s throw away, though “I remember Liberation day… I was quite frightened by the talks going around, and to add to that I had witnessed the bombshell dropping on Akashwani (All India Radio at Bambolim)”.

Pramila Manohar Sardesai’s story resonated with Morajkar so much so she even showed her daughter. Sardesai's brother’s wife had taken very ill just before Liberation Day, and going to Bombay to seek treatment was the only option. The wife got her ticket but the husband didn’t. Unfortunately, despite treatment, the woman passed away. The husband still wasn’t allowed to go to Bombay to bring back his wife’s body or perform the last rites there.” Post Liberation, however, freedom was generous as one woman remembers how she used to visit the temple alone at 2am to partake in the bhajans without any fear. “That was the real freedom,” muses Morajkar, though she’s quick to add how many of the women, regretted not having the privilege to complete their education, which their brothers were unquestionably given.

Eighty-four-year Sulochana Mhamai Kamat is one of them, who studied only till Class 8, while her brothers were allowed to continue their studies and ended up with top positions in the education and the government sectors. “Today, students in Goa get discounted bus tickets, which is taken for granted. The kind of freedom we had hoped for,” says Kamat.

Now 84, Kamat owns the one-story, red tiled-roof white-and-yellow Mhamai Kamat Building in Panjim that overlooks the Mandovi River with its casinos, and is also adjacent to the Adil Shah palace (Old Secretariat House), which is hosting a majority of visual arts shows of the Serendipity Arts Festival. She says it was built by her wealthy Saraswat Brahmin forefathers about 350 years ago, who were into the business of supplying food grains to the Portuguese who had taken over the Adil Shah palace.

Today, the house is without frills, but palatial space-wise, with 40 rooms, plus additional spaces of two lush tulsi-occupied verandahs, an open chula (kitchen) and a temple. Up, on the walls of the outdoor area, are dusty framed photographs of her ancestors, Raja Ravi Verma framed prints of Laxmi and Saraswati, and snapshots of the guests partaking in community eating, organised by Sulochana’s family for Anant Chaturdashi. During Sulochana’s childhood all the rooms were occupied. Now only 15 families live. Almost all their tenants – families, individuals having shops outside, plus occupants of their other properties – pay rent through the pagdi system, some as low as Rs 70, which is hampering family expenses. Kamat shared two memories about the Liberation for Morajkar’s artwork.

One was of her, young and at her maternal home, stitching the tiranga (India flags) with her siblings which were passed on to freedom fighters to brandish during their staged protests. Though she was afraid about getting caught, she did it out of love for her country. The second instance is on Liberation Day itself, December 19, 1961, when Indian soldiers gathered in front of the Adil Shah palace, to replace the Portuguese flag with the Indian tricolor and declare Independence. Sulochana remembers that after a few soldiers knocked at their door for water, their resident cook prepared a large handi (vessel) of poha (flattened rice dish) with coffee and her family invited the famished lot of uniformed and freedom fighters to eat at their verandah. “I used to get very scared of the ‘pakhle’ (white-skin or Portuguese soldiers). I’d heard stories of them raping women, and my parents always ensured I didn’t go out after dark. But today, what’s happening?... Indian women are not safe among their own.”