TIATR - AN UNLIMITED ENGAGEMENT

By Cynthia Gomes James

[April 17 is being marked in Goa as *tiatr day*]

Take a hot social issue. Blend it into a plot with fair measures of  romance, harsh injustice, sensational plot twists, sudden illnesses, shocking deaths, bawdy comedy routines, crime and retribution, and about 15 songs. Remember to include a rousing patriotic song about Goa. Be sure to throw in a wicked mother-in-law and two daughters-in-law: one devious, and the other docile, plus a poor virtuous widow, a villainous rich man, a hilariously dimwitted domestic servant or country cousin, and a pious parish priest.

Pick a cast of dramatic actors who can carry a tune, and comedians with a flair for slapstick and credible cross-dressing. Stir in a Konkani script peppered with flowery metaphors, broad innuendoes and show stopping jokes. Mix in melodramatic acting, vibrant sets, costumes in the latest fashions, and a live orchestra. Top with a title that is bold and direct. Voila! You have a recipe for a tiatr: the medium of folk theatre that is one of the most savoury and enjoyable tidbits of popular Goan culture.

Konkani tiatr made its debut on April 17, 1892 with the staging of "Italian Bhurgo" at the New Alfred Theatre (presently the Police Commissioner's Office) in south Bombay. It was directed by Constancio Lucasinho Caridade Rebeiro from Assagao, and had an all male cast of five actors who played nine different roles.

Due to then prevalent social taboos, women did not venture onto the stage, and male actors did the honours. The first actress to perform in a tiatr was Regina Fernandes who made her maiden appearance in the year 1904. Incidentally, Regina Fernandes was the wife of Joao Agostinho Fernandes, who wrote the first original tiatr script for "Sundori Cavelchi" in 1895, and is remembered as the father of Goan tiatr. In the 112 years since "Italian Bhurgo", Konkani tiatr has established itself via amateur endeavours in the villages of Goa, as well as through professional presentations by tiatr troupes in packed auditoriums in Goa, Bombay, Mangalore, the UAE, Kuwait, and the UK.

The word tiatr is one of many Portuguese words imported into Konkani usage, and literally means theatre or loosely, a play. The art form of tiatr that was born in Bombay, evolved from the folk art forms of zagor and khell, which were less developed but popular forms of drama in Goa. A traditional tiatr consists of six to seven acts known as pordhe (curtains), each about fifteen to twenty minutes long. These acts contain songs called cantos, which are related to the story and flow in and out of the spoken dialogue.

In between the pordhe are inserted two or three songs called cantaras, performed in front of the main curtain. The cantaras do not always pertain to the story, but are a means of preventing boredom, providing comic relief and time for the changing of sets, costumes and makeup. Often these cantaras are used to deliver social messages or satirical asides on current events that may not fit into the storyline of the play.

My enjoyment of Konkani tiatr began when I was a little girl growing up in a nook of south Bombay that had a large Goan population. I remember many a Sunday evening that my parents, neighbours and I spent in the auditorium of St. Mary's High School in Mazagaon, being regaled by the sizzling hit tiatr of the season.

The excitement would begin a few Sundays earlier outside local churches, when the promoters would distribute colourful playbills to the faithful, after Mass. In Goa, the pamphlets were, and still are distributed in a more theatrical fashion.

Pickup trucks armed with loudspeakers clatter through little towns, blaring popular Konkani music and chotrai (announcements) about the forthcoming tiatr, while scattering a wake of multi-coloured flyers that tease the eager hands of the children chasing behind.

After one grabbed a playbill, the ritual of assessing the entertainment quotient of the promised fare would begin. The first clue would come from the name of the tiatr: names like "Pangddo" and "Divorce" left one in little doubt as to the theme of the drama.

Then fans would look for the names of their favourite tiatrists, some as common place as Remy Colaco and Saby Fernandes, and others as quirky as Bab (little boy) Peter, who you should know was a grown man then, and Prince Jacob, whose claims to royalty are entirely self assumed. Other stage name peculiarities of the Konkani stage included the practice of abbreviating one's middle name or last name as in Betty Naz, Betty Ferns, Minguel Rod, Alfred Rose, and Chris Perry, and also the habit of using one's first initial and a last name, as in C. Alvares and H. Britton, perhaps in the interests of privacy or marketing.

There were a few artistes who went by just their first names, like Antonette, Ophelia, and the divine Lorna. Of interest to discerning tiatr aficionados was the identity of the director, who most often is also the playwright.

A tiatr directed by Prem Kumar was sure to have high drama, while one directed by M. Boyer would definitely have zany comedy routines. Finally, for many of us who love tiatr just for the hilarious antics, the comedians in the cast often became the deciding factor. Comic actors like the unforgettable Souza Ferrao, whose ever changing on-stage persona won him the title "Man of a Thousand Faces", Jacinto Vaz and Anthony Mendes brought droves of people to concert halls in their heyday, and are legends today.

I must confess that my favourites were always the comedians.

Once the decision was made to go to the tiatr, one had to make a trip to Jack of All Stalls in Byculla to purchase the tickets, and procuring them gave the next few weeks a warm glow of anticipation.
We would find out which of our friends and neighbours were going, and plan for the big night out.

Once that Sunday evening came, it would be quite a sight at the bus stops and taxi stands in Mazagaon and the surrounding areas, where you would see gaggles of sharply dressed tiatr fans waiting to be transported to St. Mary's High School. Depending on the size of the motley group, the bus ride would become an opportunity for Goenkars to catch up with the latest news of engagements, weddings, births, deaths, parish priests, medical ailments, servant problems, the house in Goa, and children leaving their nests for far off shores.

Occasionally one would catch a snippet of the latest scandal in the neighbourhood, or even a brazen attempt at matchmaking for a nice Goan girl or boy. This incidental socializing would continue well after the bus ride ended, into the line for admission to the auditorium, and paused only when we heard the first bell.

Ah, who could then resist the call to take our seats? The crowd of people ascending the four flights of wide sweeping stairs of St. Mary's High School would be roused to make it to the top floor and enter the theatre hall.

One last attempt to buy a snack at the concession counter, and then we would make our way to our seats, in no rush, as we knew from experience that tiatrs rarely started at the scheduled time. While waiting in our plush, red upholstered seats for the curtains to open, the excitement would build up with the band playing catchy tunes, as other patrons found their seats and the hall slowly filled up. The melodies of those fabulous live orchestras still swirl fondly in my memory.

Finally, after the ringing of the third warning bell, the moment would arrive when those heavy burgundy velvet curtains would part and the opening singers would appear on stage. From then on, the tiatr would weave its spell on the audience as we were alternately cajoled and heaved into the trials, tribulations, antics, and adventures of the characters on stage.

As the story unfolded, the audience left the actors in little doubt of their reactions. These expressions ranged from appreciative whistles, applause, laughter and demands for encores, to openly derisive catcalls, directorial comments and shouts of "woosh" which could quickly fill the auditorium. Many a hapless artiste has had to cut short a song or a speech that did not go down well with a difficult audience, and many a favourite has had to sing himself or herself hoarse from responding to repeated demands for encores.

The intermission would usually be timed just as the plot reached a cliffhanger or a stunning twist, leaving the audience eager to see more. When the story finally came to a climax, the final scene would ensure that the good guys earned their long overdue happy endings and that the bad guys got the justice they deserved. As the tiatr ended with a closing song by the cast, the audience would bid a wistful farewell and then make a noisy exit as everyone voiced their opinions of the show.

As I look back now, I am grateful that I had the opportunity and the inclination to learn my mother tongue, even if it was just conversational. I learnt enough from my parents, grandparents and neighbours in Bombay and Goa to enjoy practically every nuance of a tiatr.

Sadly, very few of my Goan friends at school or college expressed an interest in attending tiatrs, mainly because they could not speak or understand Konkani. While I was a student at St. Xavier's College in Bombay, I was struck by my friends from various ethnic groups, who spoke English as well as their mother tongues fluently.

It is sad that there are so many misguided Goans who have had the exposure to Konkani, but due to a twisted inferiority complex, resist learning it, and proclaim quite proudly that they don't speak Konkani. Over the last fourteen years that I have lived in America, I have met highly educated people from other countries, but I have never met any who were ashamed to speak their mother tongue, whether it was Swedish or Swahili.

For some reason, many educated Goans have the wrong assumption that if you speak Konkani fluently, it means that you or your parents are uneducated, or don't speak English, and so they willfully reject their own mother tongue. But I digress.

Tiatr has never pretended to entice pseudo intellectuals, and you are warned that a tiatr will never try to explore the meaning of life and human existence. Instead, like folk theatre all over the world, it holds a mirror up to society and shows us reflections of real people and the real issues they encounter in their daily lives. And yes, tiatr will often provide simplistic solutions to complex social problems, but it is after all, like other forms of entertainment, a vehicle of escapism, and we are all invited to enjoy the ride.

I have not lived in India for a while now, but I try to stay updated on the current happenings in Goa's political and cultural milieu. On my visits to India, I try to catch a tiatr, whenever possible. It appears that there are many new faces on the Konkani stage and it is encouraging to know that the medium still attracts fresh talent.

It is equally heartening to hear about legendary tiatr greats like Joao Agostinho Fernandes and others receiving due recognition and accolades from the tiatr community, as well as from the state's lawmakers. The performing arts community is testing the waters further with experimental tiatrs including Hindu and Catholic actors.

The themes of the concerts have progressed over the years, mostly imitating life. Titles like "Bhangar Tuka Dilem" and "Vadoll" reflect the issues that are prevalent among the Goan community today. Audiences who were once stereotyped as backcountry housewives, domestic servants and peasants, now include educated professionals.

Tiatr troupes now travel to countries like the UAE, Kuwait and the UK to bring a touch of home to expatriate Goans there. Tiatr has also received well-earned recognition as a popular art form from Goa's distinguished Kala Academy, and has spawned various competitive events that keep the art form alive. Today, there is a trend towards "non-stop khell" tiatrs which omit the cantaras between acts, and that is hopefully a sign of audiences wanting a choice between different variations of the tiatr art form.

As times change, and tiatrs keep pace with the shifting sands of Goa's sociological landscape, there is hope that the medium will continue to be the pulse of the people. In addition to our rich history, architecture, folklore, music, dance, costumes, languages, cuisine, religious rituals, and festivals, the art form of tiatr is yet another bright patch on Goa's resplendent cultural quilt. May it never fade.