Book Review: Bomoicars by Reena Martins

The Goan community shares a special relationship with Bombay. As a child growing up in a village in Goa, Bombay was that elusive city of dreams, open to all but affordable only to a few. We looked forward to visits from Goan folk settled there even though some turned their noses up at us ‘village’ folk. We listened wide-eyed to their stories of all the fun they had, the film stars they met, the fancy food they ate, and so on.

Over the years, Bombay has lost its sway over Goa. We still come here to earn a living but aren’t treated with as much reverence when we return home! The Bombay of old has remained preserved in the memories of all the Bomoicars, living and long gone. 

In her latest book, Bomoicar (means Bombay Goans in Konkani), journalist Reena Martins encapsulates some of these stories. Reena’s idea was to tell the story of the common people using the oral history method. Bomoicar, whose cover features two famous Goans – Lata Mangeshkar and Anthony Gonsalves - tells the stories of Goan immigrants and their lives in Bombay. It took 8 years for Reena to talk to some old timers, pore into books at the Xavier’s Centre for Historical Research at Porvorim, Goa, and scan through old newspapers.

Being a Bomoicar in the times before and after Independence was simple. The younger students studies at St Xavier’s and lived in the hostel. Travel was done by steamers where everyone clambered to sit on the open decks, play cards, eat from packed tiffin boxes and play a game of cards or strum a guitar and sing. 

Back then the city had a lot of space for mavericks. There was Cotton Mary, an Anglo-Indian woman who roamed the streets of Bandra, Byculla and Colaba singing songs of her beloved and accepting money and food from the locals. In the 60’s, a single lady travelling in the 8.35am Thane-VT local would definitely bump into a petite woman in a well-fitted dress suit in the ladies compartment. As retired teacher Belinda Willard recalls, matchmaker Susan would go around asking young girls her favourite question, “Not hooked up yet?”

On a date between August and early September, houses in Mazagaon were scrubbed clean, grottos were decorated, and snacks were prepared or purchased from nearby Kyani or Bastani in Dhobitalao. It was time, after all, for the statue of Our Lady of Fatima to make its rounds at different homes in the Parish, an event simply referred to as ‘Our Lady is coming’.    

As with every Goan, food forms a large part of Bomoicar’s appeal. Office-goer’s and Sunday Mass regulars would gorge on Goan food at one of the many Goan joints in Dhobitalao and Colaba or for a quick bite at the Irani cafes. Anton’s Bangda (mackerel)-curry-rice at a messy and dark room at Colaba’s Jer Mahal was prized by home-sick Goans.  

Food writer Odette Mascarenhas writes about her journey discovering the culinary wizard Miguel Arcanjo Mascarenhas, her late father-in-law. Chef Masci had cooked for royalty at the Taj Mahal Hotel, King Saud in 1955 and Pope Paul VI in 1964. He was known for his innovative French cooking and for being a perfectionist, winning over the hearts of royalty and food writers with practiced ease. 

The funniest food anecdote, which has surely done the rounds at many a drinking session, involved C D’Souza’s café. It’s location opposite the altar of Our Lady of Seven Dolours church meant that people would be tucking into tea, patties and a smoke during Mass. Eventually the altar was turned to face the railroad, shutting out the café’s view and making the priests were happy. Reena discovered this story when hunger pangs sent here to Marine Lines searching for food. “I stopped at C D’Souza’s and started talking to the person there. He happened to be the son of the owner. We chatted over tea and patties and he told me the story of why their restaurant was disliked by priests at the church,” she says.  

Every story in Bomoicar will find resonance among the Goan community who may have heard similar stories from their parents and grandparents. The book does its best to evoke a nostalgia of a simpler time, of a simpler life.