Girls in Green

Girls In Green: Memoirs from St.
Marys
Girls In Green: Memoirs from St Marys ISBN: 978-81-905682-2-7
Published under the Attribution-NonCommercialShareAlike 2.5 license. This work may be copied provided the entire text is kept intact, and credits are retained. Writers of the respective individual chapters retain their right to be identied as the authors of their work. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.5/ Originally shared via ChillieNet: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmarysgirlsmapusa Published by Goa,1556 at 784, Sonarbhat, Saligao 403511 Bardez Goa, India. http://goa1556.goa-india.org and http://goa1556books.notlong.com Email goa1556@gmail.com Phone +91-832-2409490.
Goa,1556 is an alternative publishing venture, named after the accidental arrival of Asias rst Gutenberg-inspired printing press in Goa in that year. Today, perhaps more than ever, this region needs a voice to help understand itself and articulate its own issues and priorities.
Publishing history: This book was collaboratively written through ChillieNet, a cyber network of alumni of the school. Some chapters were written prior to the BMX (Britto-Mary-Xavers) reunion in Goa in Dec 2006. First published as an e-book, in 2007. Printed by http://www.dogearsetc.com/cinnamonteal/ as a limited print-run print on demand book and rst released on December 25, 2007. Additional print-on-demand printrun undertaken in February 2008. Printed in an edition of 1000 copies in 2009. This book was created using Lyx, a Free Software product. http://www.lyx.org Distributor: Broadway Book Centre, Panjim
Price Rs 120 (in India) Overseas US$10
Contents
Contents Wood oors, leaking roofs... Maths via Archie comics Memories from Scandinavia School, boys, college, love ... Citius, Altius, Fortius Strict, handsome, understanding Love, kisses and letters After dropping the chalk Moira to Mapusa, on 40 paise Friendships re-found Laughter, punishments That which last a lifetime 4 6 9 17 21 27 31 37 44 52 55 60 68
Contents
Those wonder years... Whod miss boarding school? Cant nd my keys Boarding fondness Those days Writing on the convent wall The spice of my life How we got networked Pupil, teacher ... grand-mom Days worth dreaming about Boarding pass: circa 1967-1970 Oh, that chicken biryani Over the years, in verse So long, farewell Nostalgia, and more Linking up once more... Encore in Toronto
74 81 88 93 96 100 103 107 114 117 121 123 126 133 138 145 148
Wood oors, leaking roofs...

B Y A RLETTE A ZAVEDO1
the good old days, St Marys Convent at Mapusa was a home away from home for most of us who spent our entire mornings there. Three decades ago, the school was housed in a rented building. It was not very impressive; yet, it was much respected and loved by all who spent time in its classrooms.
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The oors consisted of wooden planks, whose creaking, as we ran along, made music to our ears. In the monsoons, raindrops came in through the roof; yet we seldom complained. We would simply shift our benches and desks, as though caught up in a game of musical chairs. Such was the sporting spirit.
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Arlette Azavedo has played a key role in sustaining ChillieNet since its launch in Sept 2004. E: valette82@gmail.com M: +91 9422061766 P: +91 832 2263091
Lessons would go on despite the discomfort. There was no special staff-room for the teachers; the hall was a staff room and meeting place for guests. Usually, the guests would comment on the happy atmosphere in the staff room. Our headmistresss ofce was just six-by-nine feet in size, in which sat a desk and a chair for the headmistress, of course. There was also a mike used for morning prayers and other sundry announcements. News was also read out daily and elocution competitions were held via that same mike. There was only a small stage on the little playground, yet the concerts and competitions held there were of a high standard. In the primary classes, we then still had boys with us at St. Marys, like Noel (Nini) De Souza, Francis, Ivo and others. They often made the girls weep with their silly pranks. Of course, the girls enjoyed their company too, and missed them on their shifting-over to a boys school, mostly to the nearby St. Brittos, in the fth standard. For sure, the innocence of those days will never return. Our schools atmosphere was friendly in the extreme. Relations were good between the headmistress, the staff and the students. We behaved as though we all belonged to one big family. Teachers knew every student in the classes they taught; there were only 25 to 30 students in each class in those times. Our batch, the Class of 1974, was one of the naughtiest. Sr. Angelique would often tell us that the majority of the class would plunge. But when the
results arrived, all were pleasantly shocked as our class obtained cent per cent passing. St Marys pupils were well mannered and accomplished; it is no secret that they were much sought after in the marriage market. This school, run by the Carmelite nuns, had many good, devout nuns running it. Outstanding among them was Sr. Angelique, our long-serving principal, who served with dedication. Many a time, one thinks of Sr. Angelique. She was a disciplinarian and garnered a lot of respect from her students, teachers and staff. Ones favourite teacher, as also the favourite teacher of many other students, was the stylish and elegant Mrs. Lydia De Souza. With her softspoken mannerisms, she not only taught us, but also groomed us into better human beings. It is hard to forget how she would get us all involved in concerts, and also generously help those in need. Memories of those days are so vivid, they seem to have happened just yesterday. Todays school is housed in a big concrete building, with more children in each class. Children of the post-1980s era grow up in different circumstances from those of the 1960s and 1970s. Such were the good old days at St Marys. They bring back fond memories.
Maths via Archie comics

B Y Y MA P INTO2 account comes from a GreenChillies alumna who held her teachers in such high esteem that she wanted to be one herself. Names of classmates have, intentionally, not been highlighted, lest it cause any kind of resentment or embarassment here.
HIS
And FN, thanks for sending me on an emotional roller coaster I smiled, laughed, cried and went through a myriad of feelings, all in the matter of an hour. Putting together these words was an uplifting experience indeed! I am no longer skillful at writing so sorry, Ms. Raynor. It has been so many years since I have done any kind of essay writing, that I have lost the skills you so painstakingly imparted to us. I guess I enjoyed mathematics so much more that I
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Yma Pinto, a topper at both St Marys and Xaviers, is an associate professor in Computer Science at the Goa University. E: yp@unigoa.ac.in
sometimes take concepts like precise and concise to the extreme! Well, how did I come to enjoy mathematics? More so, it being a subject many people shy away from, and it being an afnity which probably puts me in the category of nutty? Many a time, the recess found me buried in a problem that I simply had to crack. I guess the innate desire to solve puzzles stemmed from an extracurricular club that I joined in school. It was called something like The Mental Maths Club. I may have forgotten the real name, but its purpose was surely achieved. The credit for this should go to Mrs. Duarte. Yes, her famous statement followed by the act itself, Ill screw your ears thrown at fth-standard kids, made us sit bolt upright with our books open for questions that seemed to enter the class even before she did! That not only made us all ears in her class, but forced us to push away any stray thoughts that inadvertently crept in. Her methods, seemingly harsh then, succeeded in catching our attention and improved our powers of concentration. Believe me, getting a class to concentrate is no mean feat, especially a roomful of sprightly young ones. Kudos to you, Mrs. Duarte. But the real satisfaction came when I went to the eighth standard and had algebra and geometry to contend with. There was that thrill when I solved my rst geometry theorem and algebra equation, along with which came the smile on Mrs. DMellos face. Only now can I understand the satisfaction she obtained as a teacher.
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There is a difference between amassing knowledge and assimilating it. There are some things that can be taught, like formulae and how to use them; but there are problems that require intuition and the understanding of certain principles. When such problems are cracked, its eureka-time, folks. And thats when you really start enjoying the subject. I remember Mrs. Lelia too. Although she was with us for a very short while, it was she and Mr. Ramdas who got us liking the sciences. They taught us to be systematic and organized and observant during all the experiments that we were subjected to. However, it must be admitted, that sometimes we observed too much and sometimes way too little, not necessarily at the right time or in the needed proportions. A science exhibition was being held in school after a long time, and we had to do a project about an astronaut on the moon. Those were times when man had only recently landed there. Ill never forget the hours our teachers spent with us seeing our project through to completion. That was a lesson in dedication, too. Sir Ramdas was a very encouraging physics teacher. He always appreciated questions and solutions thrown at him (a habit I still havent given up). Thats probably why I enjoyed his classes. He never gave us any answers, but only asked the questions. Some of our analytical abilities were honed in those classes. (Take note kids, no notes here, but only solutions and answers that we had to arrive at by ourselves.) A lot of kids were pretty scared of him back then, as he could pack a hard stare or was it a glare?
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But he had a very humane side to him too, as some of us later found out. I also remember the lab where we spent a lot of our time. It was just a partition in the huge classroom, with a very conveniently located connecting door. We used that door as an emergency exit. (Many self-made emergencies cropped in at regular intervals... but Im not sneaking.) We also bumped into chemistry experiments in progress. Heh, heh, some of my classmates will know which ones Im referring to (ask no questions and you wont get no lies). My school days also taught me parallel processing and speed solving. Remember all those Archies and P.G. Wodehouses? Dynamite stuff that you could easily get caught reading, because you would suddenly go into peals of laughter. As it happened, these books were also on our priority of must reads and simply had to be read in class. Thats where the fun lies, right? So we gured out how to read our comics while paying attention and solving our problems and not getting caught, all at the same time. Did our teachers know we had more interesting books in our desks rather than on them? Back then, I didnt know; but well, now they do. Sorry! I guess they did not mind it as long as you completed your work and did not disturb anyone else. Looks like the old adage All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy applies to the fairer sex too. Do you think that justies the times I got myself thrown out of class on purpose so that I could play table-tennis? The sound of the ball was more alluring than the drone of a Hindi class in progress.
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(No offence meant to anyone, but my Hindi with Sir Parmar went down in history.) Around this time I gured out something that has since always worked well for me. It was this: if I had a session of intense mental activity, I had to do something diametrically opposite like playing a strenuous game or reading something humorous or listening to music. Only then could I get back in the mental game. And when I do something, whatever it may be, at that point in time my entire focus needs to be only on that one activity. This not only gets me to put in my best efforts, but gives me maximum enjoyment. There were others who shaped us well too. Our Guiding teacher, Ms. Adelaide, was the rock we could lean on and the one we poured our woes to. Under her tutelage, we learnt what hard work and cooperation meant. We learnt that independence has responsibilities associated with it. That trust is essential, and to be earned, if you want to have a strong team. She accompanied us for the students national integration camp at Delhi. I was one of the lucky ones to get selected. There, she taught us to loosen up and have a little fun amidst the air of competition. That too, with people we were meeting for the rst time. The camp itself was quite an experience. It was the rst time we kids saw the world, so to speak. Besides, there was the grueling routine of getting up at 5 a.m. and having cold baths on icy-cold December mornings, where our words let alone anything else came out almost frozen. We ate breakfast that looked like soup, and ...
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Yet, we learnt a lot at that camp. Cross-cultural interactions, communicating with people who didnt know your language, and yes, even the handling of our rst advances from the opposite sex. We also learnt what tolerance and empathy meant. I remember the time when the Assamese delegation lost some of their friends in a student revolt. Their pain ltered through the entire camp. We all learnt how to carry on, irrespective of what we felt inside. Tough lessons learnt early can only make you stronger. I should know that, because I lost my dad when barely eight, standing next to him as he breathed his last. That camp also made me realize that teachers were human too. I had never seen a teacher cry in public before; but I did there, when one of them did a gig of Imagine on his guitar and couldnt proceed past the middle. It was the time when John Lennon was shot down. The audience took over! But that camp gave us some gilt-edged memories, too. We were formally invited to lunch and snacks with the President of India, the Prime Minister, and the Governor. Interestingly, it was always the Goa Delegation that they wanted to meet. Boy, did we feel proud of ourselves to be singled out and to meet them! The photographs may have faded, but the memories are fresh. Our class was full of beans. We gave St. Marys the maximum number of distinctions (a record I am informed not broken till date, correct me if Im wrong!) So, was there any rivalry? Fortunately, that word did not exist for us. Except on the sports eld
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where we obviously needed to compete. After all, we wanted to collect the maximum merits for our squad and get the winning trophy. The merits and demerits system with the Angels and the Devils parading during the interval warrants a story in itself. It was a fantastic system that could get you into the team spirit and turn you into a friend or a end! Surprising? Not at all. Our class never wanted to compete with each other. Even the thought never even struck us back then. Luckily, it did not strike our parents either. Thank God for that! In fact, what I remember more is sharing of notebooks and helping each other out. Congrats to the Class of 1981. We not only did well academically, but realized that friends were more important to us than the marks we got. I do hope all of you students of today continue to be the outstanding individuals that we were taught to be. I can see what competition is doing to kids these days. Why is the curriculum designed so that students have to compete with or, is it against? each other, rather than just bringing out an individuals potential? Is winning the race important? Or, is just the means we use? Isnt what we learn while running the race important as well? If you compete with yourself, you can only get better. Did I enjoy my school days? Oh yes! I joined the athletics team, the debating and elocution and spelling-bee squads, the quiz team, and played table-tennis (besides playing the fool) whenever I got the chance to. Played pranks on teachers and classmates too, and got teased in return. Gave a hand at running the school bank, and played somebodys son (beats me why never
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a daughter but luckily at least not the prodigal one) at the school plays and the competitions at the Diocesan Centre. In between, we also attended residential leadership camps in the school campus. Such camps taught us public speaking and personality development. Every one of these activities helped me to learn and grow and contribute to what I am today the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Hey kids, what do you do for fun these days? Please dont spend too much of your free time on all those electronic gizmos and the idiot-box that are best meant for whiling away the hours. Its time which you can never get back. Remember, these are the best years of your life; when you can learn and also have fun. So make the best use of these years, the benets of which will surely be accrued later.
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Memories from Scandinavia

B Y C AROLINE A NDRADE 3 965 to 1969 were my years at St. Marys; that sounds so way back in time, doesnt it? One started as a day-scholar, and then was a boarder.
Memories from those times are still alive. In particular, I remember my time as a boarder. It was more intense, living 24 hours a day with your classmates, teachers, and the nuns. Our boarding mistress was Sr. Michael, and later Sr. Blaze, who was in charge of our sweets rationing. She actually kept all our goodies under lock-and-key. One can still hear the sound of her rosary and keys, jangling as she walked over to the refectory.
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Caroline Victor (Andrade) settled in Scandinavia in 1973. She has worked with children with special needs. E: andradegoa@hotmail.dk P: 20114205 or +45 36496675.
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Memories from cold Scandinavia
Upto this day, I really dont know how she could remember who owned which box of candy. There was never a mix-up for her. I remember Sr. Michael ringing the bell every morning to wake us up for Mass. That bell was really loud. I still recall the sound of it and the wish to just go on sleeping. Our dearly-loved and ladylike Sr. Silvania was my French teacher. I remember once asking her why we had to learn all those French verbs. Well, dear Caroline, she said, you never know when you might need it. Little did I then realise that her words of wisdom would come true. Years later, when in Paris, I remembered what she had said and wished I had paid a little more attention to those French verbs. Sr. Angelique, our headmistress, really earned my respect and admiration. She showed how care and compassion for others makes a human being whole. Our rm maths teacher was Sr. Rosario. We used to wait in anticipation for her, as she would sometimes suddenly bring forth an oral quiz. Today, if I suddenly have to solve a quick maths problem and can do it in my mind, it is thanks to her for teaching me the easy way to do so. She was also great at playing round-ball, would lift up her habit and run like the wind. I know she died many years ago, but her picture still pops up in the mind. Sr. Claribell was another nun who was kind and helpful. Wonder where she is now. My science teacher, Miss Maria whose surname I cannot remember for the like of me wore glasses with a black rim. I have seen her on some
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of the class photos on our online ChillieNet network.4 I remember working on a chemistry task together with my close friend and classmate Yvette. Its hard to know what went wrong, but we caused some kind of an explosion, and really could not stop laughing. Some years ago, I visited Goa along with my husband and spent some time with Yvette. We recalled the incident. Believe it or not, we still just could not stop laughing! It was like being two teenagers once again; my husband told me later on that he could see how much those memories meant to us. Sitting here up in the cold North, I feel a warmth in my heart as I pen these memories. Nearly four decades ago it all ended those wonderful days of innocence and friendship as we all went our different ways. Of course, there were also times where one was unhappy; it would have been unreal if everything was smooth sailing. But I am thankful to the people who guided me through my days of learning, and owe them a lot for making me the person I am today. Moving to a new continent, a new country and learning a whole new language and lifestyle... that is what one experienced in my life. But with the background I had, it was easy for me to adjust. I arrived at St. Marys one summer day in 1965. Little did I know then, that four decades later, those years I spent with friends and classmates would mean so much to me.
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See http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmarysgirlsmapusa/
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I have a family home in Tivim, but lived mostly in Panjim and Porvorim. After my SSC in 1969, I lost contact with my classmates, as I went to college in Panjim, and then did a short stint of teaching at Peoples High School, in the same town. As fate sometimes plays a vital part in our lives, I met my husband while he was on holiday in India. This is how I ended up in Scandinavia. Love knows no boundaries. That was some three-andhalf decades ago. We have a son and a daughter and have just become a grandparents! In between, I studied at the Folke Universitet in Copenhagen, and had to learn the language too. My work still involves children. One also does a bit of voluntary work at a cultural center. I still have contact with some of my old friends like Patsy, Yvette and Susan. For that I am really grateful. Living so far away from home makes one appreciate the bonds one had as a youngster all the more. Here, at this end, there is hardly a chance of me bumping into anyone from home. So dear alma mater, three cheers to you and thanks for all that you have given me. I hope you can be as proud of me as I am of being your former student.
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School, boys, college, love ...

B Y I NGRID VALLES P O5
ROWING - UP
is never easy for children. Relocating can be even worse.
We moved permanently from Bahrain to Goa when I was in Std. VIII. My parents were advised that the best school in Mapusa was St. Marys; so from the co-ed Indian School in Bahrain I found myself completing my crucial schooling years in the North Goa all-girls school. To start off, I had directional problems. Goa was new to me, and each day after I got dropped off from school at the same spot, ve minutes away from home. I reached home an hour later as all the lanes looked the same to me. Finally, after a week, Mum had to get the car-lift to direct me how to reach home. The positive aspect
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Ingrid Valles Po is Assignment Editor at Motivate Publishing, which publishes a number of magazines out of Dubai, UAE. E: ingrid@motivate.ae
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of this was I learnt all the roads much better than Mum and my sisters including the short cuts through peoples gardens! As if that was not enough, being shy and a bad judge of character (everyone is a nice person to me till they hurt me), I had a difcult time as I was not sure whom to befriend and whom not to. All the girls seemed nice and caring ... but I could never be sure. In Bahrain, the situation was different. I had grown with my friends there right from Grade I, and so had the opportunity to know who was a true friend. At Mapusa, the safest was to befriend the new girls, as they would be going through a similar phase. So I had Carmelita (now a lecturer at Xaviers) and Rosy (heard she is in Dubai) and Gracy (no trace of her) and Roselle (surely a famous doctor now, as she was Miss Brilliant). Slowly, as I got to know the rest of the class, I got fond of Aloma (always fun and a good friend), Sandra (my best friend till date) and a whole lot of others. Senior girls from Std. IX and X who were in the council, were preferable as friends. You could be sure they were the right ones to be associated with. I was always the kind of person who would move with different circles and therefore was a friend to almost all the girls. The same quality remains with me till date and it helps in working relations as no one is offended when, at times, you socialise with the others. An observation from my days at St. Marys: a lot of the older girls in my class had this boy-xation. In Bahrain, earlier, we had boys sitting with us in class. But we never thought of them as anything more than classmates.
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We played football with them, went for class picnics with them, and even called and exchanged homework over the phone after class. Every weekend we had parties or picnics as my parents were part of a very social group. So we mixed with boys almost all of the time. However, one must admit at this point that the word party sent me scuttling under the bed or hiding in the loo. I was extremely shy and hated dancing (being born with two left feet). After the parents danced, one of the items at all the parties would be the kids dance session. We had all these fat, well-fed boys as partners and a big audience looking. So, yes, coming back to the point, the girls obsession with boys was something I found difcult to adjust to, but instead learnt to ignore it as time passed on. St. Xaviers was the next stop. I can say that my life changed a lot from the day of entering the portals of this college. From the shy girl who would freeze in front of an audience when alone on stage, I was bagging elocution prizes and debate medals. The NCC (National Cadet Corps) literally changed my life. I was totally devoted to it and the country, and was ready, if there was an invasion, to pick the rie and be where the action was. So I had very little time for all the other normal activities my classmates were up to. One point worth observing, and which continues now too, was the boys and girls going berserk in college. Within weeks, most were paired up. I was the outcast. Luckily there was this one group which never felt we had to be paired up. This included Arnold Pinto
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(now in Dubai), Sigmund DeSouza (of the Goa Messenger), Menino Po (now my hubby), Mildred Baracho (married to Irwin and running a guest house in Calangute), Yvonne Fernandes (manager of Trade Wings), Lynette (lecturer at Xaviers HSS), Sallie Anne (in Canada) and me. And even though my now hubby was part of the group, we never fell in love until after we left college. But, college taught me other things, like dancing. For my rst college social, I simply sat through, watching all the dancers, checking out how to do the waltz and jive and tango. My second social was a little easier as I knew how to move but was mechanical; I would have made a good break dancer! By year three, I was almost as good as any girl who had been dancing at all the three socials; just a little heavy on the feet. College also taught me to be more accommodating to the opposite sex. I did have my share of boys coming up and saying they wanted to be friends; but one could never carry out a successful relationship as I felt all of them had hidden agendas. I probably have my over-protective parents to blame for this. So there was I, graduating from college and no boyfriend in sight. Anyway, I was glad as I could instead concentrate on my studies and activities and do well. After college, ve to six of us were selected for the earn-while-you-learn scheme organized by Goa Urban Co-operative Bank. That was when I fell in love... without even knowing it. I would travel daily with Menino to Panjim. As we were in the same location, and we would chat away the whole way to and fro. We would meet for lunch too and had a lot to talk about, our work, colleagues, friends, family.... and nally us!
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I am glad it happened then, as I felt I was more mature to deal with the situation. And I have always advised my students after that, and friends kids till date, that relationships should be taken lightly while in college and should be given a more serious thought when you are mature enough to deal with it. Have a lot of friends and have a lot of fun. Keep the serious stuff like love for later. It helps the relationship to last longer. To conclude, heres something I have learnt from life and wish to pass on: Care for your parents. They are the ones who sacriced their lives and happiness for you. In the circle of life, what we do for them is what comes back to us eventually. Treat your brothers and sisters with love and respect. Be there for them especially in times of adversity. You never know when you will be in need of their shoulder. Never forget your teachers; give them the respect due. Make time to visit them, especially after their retirement. Have a lot of friends. Respect them and, in return, be a person they can respect. Be faithful and truthful to your spouse. A good relationship is one in which we can give and not expect anything in return, Trust with all your heart and do not blame. Understand and do not quarrel. And most importantly, communicate. Silence can cause a lot of problems.
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Be supportive to your children and teach them the values you would like to see in them. It is easy to admire another childs talent even when we ourselves did not show the same interest in our childrens development. Be true to yourself. It is easy to deceive oneself in imagining we are what we would like to be, but are not. Never forget God, he is the reason of your existence. Live life and enjoy every moment; do not have regrets later.
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Citius, Altius, Fortius

B Y L UMEN
DE
S OUZA 6
from excelling in studies, St. Marys also encouraged us to top in sports taking us faster, higher and swifter. The playground was the most alluring place to be at. For both worship as well as warship. It encompassed prayers, physical training, games, sports, frolic and served as a venue for various tournaments, too.
PART
Wed start the day on the playground with assembly, morning prayer, and reading of the days news headlines. Then, wed march off to our respective classrooms. On important days, the school band would be in attendance. This gave me an opportunity to beat the big, fat drum. How I loved my Preethi House and wore with pride my red box-pleated skirt, matching bloomers and tie. Our ensemble was offset
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Lumen de Souza, from Saligao, works for an engineering company in Thane. E: lumen.desouza@hed.ltindia.com
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with snow-white blouses, and completed by tennis shoes and socks. We could easily surpass the pyramids of Egypt in splendour, or so it seemed to us. National days were occasions for performing drills and march-past. This happened either in school or, best of all, at the Mapusa praa (bus-stand), sometimes to the accompaniment of laziums or dumbbells. We certainly didnt look like any dumb belles, as our green uniforms stood out amongst the general sea of blue tunics. We were always encouraged to be on the eld and looked forward to drill and games periods. Our sports girls topped almost all the events be it throwball, basketball or tennicoit and joyously held aloft the trophy. Some of the girls were forerunners in shot put, javelin or discus, as well as the heats, and made sure they occupied a step on the podium. Our relay team was eet-footed and tight-sted, clinging on to the baton till they touched nishing line. Although I was short and stubby, and could hardly manage a good serve or a great smash, what I lacked in height and strength I made up with dollops of enthusiasm. Thus, I even managed it to make it to the victorious throw-ball team. We were invincible in basketball too. The team was disciplined, and shrewd, making sure the ball did not get into other hands, but that it reached again and again right into our basket net. And when some upcoming school sent shivers down our spines with their new tennicoit warbling, our green ones soon mastered the art. They simply could not bear to let the cup pass. Our girls were well-trained, closely-bonded and inspired to win, while the cheerleaders goaded us on lustily.
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The school parlour had glass cabinets around its walls, which proudly displayed all the cups and trophies won by the girls. During the rainy season, we had competitions of Chinese checkers, draughts, chess, and tabletennis. On lazy afternoons, wed while away our time playing laddis, seven-hands, rummy and mendicoat. Cheating was always on the cards. Ludo or snakes-and-ladders was another favourite pastime. Then there was that endless time-pass with a tennis ball game called hopsy, clapsy, round the world. It would give us an amazing high. A good evening bout of kabadi left us breathless, whilst at times some chased and palmed their opponents in kho kho. The courts would be converted to accommodate various other games of the girls choices as well. A few girls made a racket with badminton. Though cricket was not-so-hot those days, nevertheless, we played it occasionally. This provided us an opportunity to run on the road to pick up the ball, whilst checking out the gully. Never imagined that a simple tile could provide so much excitement as in seven tiles and hopscotch. Some would run to the sports cupboard and pick up skipping ropes. We skipped away to glory, either singly or with more participants, jumping and twirling whilst singing jump-rope rhymes. I even played with marbles and ve fathors (stones). These wed hold in the palms and dexterously throw in the air to collect on our knuckles, then back again in our hands. This mindless game seemed such fun for a simple village girl whod ride home in a caminho (old-style bus), greet the dogs with a bish bish (the traditional Konkani call for a dog) and call the fowls with a baa baa.
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Believe it or not, even today I am game to play ring-a-ringa-roses and oranges and lemons. The sportsmanship spirit inculcated in us still keeps this barik barik vokol, medium medium, mentally as well as guratively. Late evenings, wed use the playground for reciting the rosary. We invariably stopped whatever we were doing for the Angelus. Post dinner, the boarders gathered for nightly recreation. We would sing and mime, join hands and move in a circle, come together in the middle than go back. My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean and When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again were all-time favourites then. But the song that still strikes a chord as well as a chime is There Lived A Lovely Princess, Long Time Ago ... So much then for the sports and the playground of our times. Indeed, those were venues for many a happy memory.
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Strict, handsome, understanding

Xaviers! Yes, the very name spells many tender memories of the past. Almost all who have passed out from here would fondly cherish their college days. These were our golden moments, wrapped in lots of fun.
T
Some teachers come and go. But ever so often, theres one who youll always remember. One who makes learning an adventure; one who can still remember what its like to be young and growing up. The kind who can make you want to be the very best you can be. Someone you can really talk to, who really cares what happens to you. Heres a tribute to some of those teachers who left a lasting impression on my mind. Lecturers in colleges are not as close to students as teachers in school. Most of them didnt even know our names. Maybe this has to do with them
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Arlette Azavedo is from the Class of 1974
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teaching so many students. So it might be unfair to expect them to remember all our names. Professors also often nd it difcult to connect with teenage students and are on a completely different wavelength. In school, we have to follow many rules, but not so in college. In school we obey certain teachers, and they become our guides. But college is a free-wheeling institution for teenagers; where they taste unlimited freedom for the rst time in their student life. Perhaps, that is what professors need to remember, tread a bit more cautiously and be more lenient. As I look back on my years at St. Xaviers College, I think of the key people who inuenced me, with the motivation to value intellectual thought. People who assisted me on a personal level. People who liked me and valued me as a person. The person I think of rst is our most beloved VicePop, who was instrumental in forcing me to take Portuguese as a subject. At that time, I was reluctant to do so. But, now, I thank Vice-Pop as students referred to the vice principal, Fr Ivo Mascarenhas for encouraging me to opt for Portuguese. We were only about six students in the Portuguese class. Given his stern teaching methods, there was no way we could play any tricks in the class. Though he was friendly and cooperative in the class, I used to fear him; many a times he caught me bunking class, but never did he say anything to me. Instead, he would be very kind in the class and go out of his way to prepare us for the exams. One remembers the classroom where Portuguese classes were held. It was on the ground oor, and
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meant a lot of distraction from outside the window. Boys and girls chatting was one of the hazards. But there was no way we could even glance out for a second. Once he happened to catch me looking out. Vice-Pop came to me with such a sweet smile, that I thought for a moment that he had something nice to say. But, he came and simply drew the curtain so that I wouldnt get to look out any further. Probably the best thing in Vice-Pop was that, whatever he did, he did astutely. Sometimes he did hurt our feelings: but in hindsight, he had reason to do it, as he did it only to enhance our character. He was a disciplinarian, no doubt. Sometimes we felt he would go overboard. One day, we thought of mass bunking as a new movie was showing. A group of us seven girls were on our way downstairs. Suddenly we heard the footsteps of Vice-Pop, coming up the staircase. We were all so nervous that we ran into the toilet, the only place where we thought we could escape to. He smelt our intentions right. He stayed outside the toilet door for the better part of 20 minutes, while we were struggling inside and wondering just how to escape from him. Would you believe it, he waited till we all came out and gave us such a piece of his mind for bunking. To top it all, he came to me and said that he never excepted his student meaning a student of Portuguese to bunk classes when exams were near! That was the end. I never ever bunked classes again. For the simple reason that if I was caught, I would not be able to bear the same humiliation. I give full credit to Vice-Pop as, nally, I achieved the highest marks in Portuguese, to the dismay of my family!
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Of our other memorable lecturers, there was Prof. Arthur Gomes. He was a very stylish professor who had a very good diction, and a command over the subject. Gomes made his subject easy to understand and was approachable. He taught me Economics, and has since gone on to become principal of a number of colleges across Goa. To many, Prof Gomes was a friend and a guide. I would rate him as the best teacher we had. Of course, he was also young and handsome were talking about 1976-78. All this meant he was liked by all. He was also my fav teacher. He had a typical way of getting things across to us. One day, he said in class, India is pregnant with population. This got us giggly adolescents so hysterical that he had to actually dismiss the class! In fact, he was only trying to make the point that Indias rapid population growth was an issue of concern. But we were a bunch of giddy-headed girls (and a few boys) and this sentence sparked all that silly laughter! We also had Prof. Vasco Pinho, as our Economics lecturer. Today, he incidentally is the author of a number of books on local history and one on learning Portuguese. He too was excellent, despite of his Portuguese accent. I just loved hearing him talk as some words he uttered seemed totally Portuguese. He had the ability to make the dullest subject interesting. I admired someone who could do just that. It helps if the teacher has a good sense of humour and is polite with students. These, one feels, are exactly the traits of a good teacher. Then, of course, we had Prof. Ruth, our psychology teacher. She was understanding and sympathetic.
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Though we were probably burdened by her notes, she made the subject interesting in her own way. Ms. Anne Menezes was our English lecturer, and she was simply too good. She appeared strict no doubt; however she had the knack of making lessons fun and would throw in tidbits of trivia for added measure. That made her classes fun. She was easy to talk to. She let us speak our mind and share anything new that we had learnt. This encouraged us to learn more than just what was in the curriculum. That is also what a teacher should do. Bunking classes to watch the rst-day rst-show of a movie was so adventurous, and once in a while we used to do it (of course, prior to that encounter with Vice-Pop, in my case). Yet, college is a place which grants a youngster both freedom with responsibility. You are ready to take on the challenges of life. Its a time to remember, a moment to cherish. So all you collegegoing folks, enjoy each passing second and gear up to face the hot sun and the cold wind, with the same spirit, in the years to come. We had our share of fun. I would advise those now in college to have a sense of decent camaraderie. Campus is a place where you are in touch with the latest fads, whats in, whats hot and a place which keeps you updated. But, bunking classes at times, enjoying a tea with friends alongwith the fear of being caught unawares by the teacher, would be the among most unforgettable memories for us in the years to come. At Xaviers we would say that besides other activities, imparting high quality education was the motto of our college and we were fortunate to have some of the best staff guiding us.
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Annual Day on December 3 was one of the most remarkable days for us; on this day we made new friends. Some of us learnt the rst steps of dancing, while others showed off their dancing talents. The College Fete was also great fun and this allowed us to mingle with one another. These were some of the joyous days as we were away from the stern look of Vice-Pop, though he was anywhere somewhere around most of the time. Finally, how can I forget our age-old college bus that took me uphill mostly without any hassle? The college bus plied from near the Mapusa bus stand in town to the college campus for the benet of the students and staff. It charged a nominal ticket, using a card-punching method to keep track of trips made. Even today, when I see the bus sometimes parked in town, I recall how we got our seat reserved by passing a bag in through the window. In our times, the boys were probably more chivalrous and would give us preference in entering the bus. I still meet Mohan, the conductor, who was there in our times; he is the same, ever-smiling person. This bus used to take us for the games to Vasco, Farmagudi, and elsewhere. Each journey was then a picnic for us. Though we were all crammed into the bus, a relic of the 1960s, there were no complaints. It made our trips by the college bus a treat to remember. Memories that go back over three decades....
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Love, kisses and letters

B Y A NNA DS OUZA 8
human existence, creativity, such as that reected in the world of music or literature, has been inspired by many things. These things include fear, anticipation, hate, and, most importantly, love!
HROUGHOUT
Love is a continuing human obsession, one that is full of mystery and magic. Its power is legendary. The idea of love is neither recent nor culturally bound. For centuries there have been many stories, legends, and myths that illustrate its capabilities. Love is an emotion that nearly everyone has experienced at sometime or the other in their life. Its delights, pains, and complexities are explored in books, plays, television, songs, movies, and just about every other facet of entertainment.
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Anna DSouza is based in Kuwait.
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How many guys have gone through high school with a huge crush on a girl, that kept you awake at night, fantasizing about her? Im sure everyone would like to believe that there is some truth behind the romantic chick icks weve all watched. But thats only in the movies! Every movie is made up, exaggerated and produced to be put on the market. So, lets be real, and realistic. Love at rst sight is really just a physical attraction. Love... and (more than) a few crushes: Id like to relate some memories and recollections of events that took place during my years at St. Marys. Ive no doubt that many girls, including myself, had boyfriends, and kept harbouring a few crushes on those Britto boys from the school almost next-door. I recall spending my last two years at St. Marys chasing a good-looking boy from Brittos and having tremendous fun doing it. I didnt think much of it, and didnt think he even noticed me. Well, I had been crushing on him for what seemed forever. I will not say that he wasnt the object of my rst baby love, for that would be a lie. It was 1968, and it was the year I met him. Im not sure when exactly it happened. But when I think about it now, I chuckle! You could say it started like any other version of young puppy love. Britto boy meets Green Chillie girl. I was very, very young. We got along great; but I deny giving those feelings the title of love. Calling babyish crushes love is like calling a dandelion a rose; there is simply no comparison. On a related note, I now recall that hell on earth does not even begin to describe what both sides, Britto boys and Green Chillie girls, were up to. But, since I cannot speak for everyone else, Im only going to speak for myself.
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I had another crush too, on a much senior boy of Brittos, who was probably doing his last year of school. Come to think of it now, in fact this was the guy I actually fell in love with. Because, I fell in love with him from the rst moment I saw him. Being so young, I didnt know it then. What I knew and grew up to realise slowly but surely was that he was my rst love. Lets maintain the momentum before I start daydreaming. I actually approached him and asked him to teach me how to kiss! Can you imagine this: me, a baby myself, daring to ask a senior Britto boy to educate me on the art of kissing? Well, believe it or not, its true! Its not that I wasnt acquainted with him. I was, but just on a casual basis. He agreed! Kisses that re your imagination: On a personal note, everyone remembers his or her rst kiss. That overwhelming experience that takes you into a new realm of emotion. That res your imagination. Blocks out the real world and all its cares and worries. Lets add some humour to my story. Let me tell you how it all came about. I remember, it was at the beach. I was feeling pretty awkward. I knew what I wanted him to do; but I didnt know how to get him to do it! All of a sudden, I go up to him and say, Can you teach me to kiss? He goes, Come here, Ill show you. I was so nervous though when the moment approached. He said, Okay, close your eyes and open your mouth. I did just that... I closed my eyes and opened my mouth! But, how do you think I did it? Okay, imagine a monkey yawn.
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I recall him yell at me and say, No! Not that way! Open your eyes and look at me... and do what I do. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was so cute. That dark hair. Those deep brown eyes. Perfection. He closed his eyes.... his lips were a little distance away from each other. He opened his eyes and repeated, Okay, now you close your eyes and open your mouth. This time, I got it right... and it happened! It was so sweet that I honestly felt sparks the second our lips touched. A baby Green Chillie was kissed by a senior Brittos boy! And that too, not just any boy, but a handsome boy. I can still remember how he held me and put his lips against mine. That feeling will always be with me. And, that was forty years ago. His touch still thrills. His lips still send rushes through this 50-year-old schoolgirl! I remember that night. We had so much fun together. We laughed and kidded around. But for me, I was going through feelings I cant quite describe. Yet, we decided to keep our little secret to ourselves. To me, I know why I did and still do love him, although, were both happy in our present lives now... and were the best of friends. Its because he turned a baby into a girl. Something harder earned and more permanent than just mere puppy love. I am not a fool to have asked him to do that. For, I lost nothing but gained a friend. And today, because I dared to do what no one else would, I see a beautiful, intelligent woman, who lives a life of love, fun and laughter.
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Letters, and getting caught: Now, let me tell you about those love letters. When I contemplate how I had been caught exchanging love letters with one of the Britto boys.... Oh God, it was like walking down a hallway in the middle of the day and suddenly crunching something really spicy in between your teeth. While the sudden blast of spiciness is itself annoying, its far more bothersome if you cant gure out what the hell you ate that would have put that spicy feeling in your mouth. And such was the way I had felt the day I was caught handing over those letters to one of those Britto boys. More on that later.... Later on, I felt awful. Because, wherever I went, someone or the other would say, Yeah, we heard about that. But, I couldnt roll the clock back and say I would change what I did; it was done! And I was always the rst one to say, Yes, this is what I did! Without denying or pointing a nger at anyone, I took the blame. Thats what we did in those days. And thats not all that I took. I took the cane. Ouch! That hurt real bad! That year I couldnt go home to visit my grandmother, something I really looked forward to. But, instead, I had to spend Christmas in school. And taking into consideration that I was still small, my elder sister was punished along with me too. Quite frankly, all I cared about was getting an extra share of those girls desserts. Yes, I only agreed to hand over those chillies love letters to those Britto boys because they agreed to give me something in return. Something I loved most of all, chocolates and desserts. And was I angry because
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I felt as though they had caught me off guard? Yes I was! But, not because I was caught. But because the fun had been sucked out of the game and that was a shame. This also meant No more chocolates for me. At this point, you may be wondering why it was such a big deal. If a Brittos boy and a Green Chillie girl fell in love and made secret attempts to meet, so what? Isnt it the stuff of romance, a la Romeo and Juliet? Oh God, what a stupid rule that was back then: Green Chillies not allowed to talk to Britto boys. I could talk endlessly about its impractical effects; but Ill save that for a rainy day. In any case, running after those Britto boys was a strict no-no where the St. Marys nuns were concerned. I did mention earlier that I would talk more on those love letters right? Well, Im really sorry if this upsets a few, but Im telling it like it was. On one such occasion when I was handed some love letters, I recall trying to hand them over when the Britto boys walked down that road. This was a routine they undertook every evening. But then, unable to have had the chance to pass those love letters over our compound wall at the right moment, they remained with me. So, I dared to do the devils job, and opened one of them. Heres a general picture of what I recall reading, not exactly word-for-word, but, it roughly sums up what that letter said. I love you... to me each day starts by thinking of you and ends by dreaming of you... sleep tight and dont let those bed bugs bite because you are too sweet for them.... Please write to me....I miss you like sugar misses tea. On and on those loving words were poured out on paper!
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But, as I recall, I did give those Britto boys their love letters the next evening. I still have regrets about not opening the rest of them, and often wonder about the contents. What was that passion about? I was still too young to understand all that. Have you ever felt like you knew someone a long, long time ago, from another place, another time, a friendship of the souls? Two people who share a bond for reasons neither know. A feeling as if they were friends a long long time ago? Did they stumble onto each other by pure circumstance? Or was it fate and destiny that played a certain hand? Two souls intertwined. They are worlds apart. But the soul, it knows no difference in matters of the heart. Somehow, they are drawn together. Fate has brought them back. Each living worlds apart, they journey separate paths. Yet they will always be friends! You will never forget your rst love, your rst kiss, your rst letter. Thats what makes it so special. You love so hard, so deeply, and so intensely. Because you dont know any different! Its the best until it is over. Then you hurt like youve never been hurt before. Eventually you will do it all over again; but you will do it differently. You will be more carefully, and more cautious. Just know that there is so much more waiting for you, but there will always only be one rst. We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous, nor perfect it in our lives to come. I guess that is about as much as I can say on this topic.
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After dropping the chalk

B Y LYDIA D E S OUZA 9
teaching in Bombay during my teenage days, life then took me to East Africa. There, I taught in Dar es Salaam for a number of years, before I returned to India in 1968, to make Goa my home. Actually, I had thought of retiring from teaching and being a good housewife. But God, I guess, had other plans for me.
ROM
It was in February 1969 that I rst went to St. Marys actually, to seek admission for my two children in the primary school. On entering the school building I was surprised to be greeted by happy voices of children calling out to me Madam, madam. Their smiling faces and and lovely shining eyes gave my heart a tug. I soon realised that they
9
Lydia De Souza, now retired and based at Porvorim, features on the favourite teachers list of many past pupils of St Marys Convent. E: rudy2735@dataone.in
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were former students of mine who use to be in East Africa but were now boarders in St. Marys Convent School. They were overjoyed to see a familiar face. No sooner had the recess bell rung than they came rushing out of their classrooms to meet me. Sr. Angelique was the Headmistress at that time and she must have been watching this tamasha. When I went into her ofce with my two children, she asked if I would like to teach in St Marys. From June 1969, I started teaching at St. Marys Convent, Mapusa. It was 26 years later that I nished! It was on the July 31, 1995 that I put down my chalk, rubbed the black board clean for the last time and walked out of the gates of St. Marys. Not because I was tired of teaching; but because I turned 60 years and the government regulations simply said, Mrs. Lydia De Souza, enough is enough. Please leave and make room for the younger ones who need a job. After the farewell party given to me by the school, I just locked myself in the teachers toilet and had a good cry. It was the saddest day of my life. I just could not think of my tomorrow without the happy voices and the smiling faces of the students, the love and concern of all at St Marys. I felt that it was the end of the happiest days of my life. At St Marys, I used to teach English, history, civics, and needle work from Standard VI to the SSC classes. These classes threw up some interesting stories and episodes, perhaps worth narrating. One day, I returned the history books to the Standard VI girls and was writing out corrections of
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the exercise on the blackboard. Suddenly, I heard sobbing coming from one of the girls in the class. I went up to her she was sweet and chubby and asked if she was not feeling well. She sobbed and said, Miss, you too are calling me a redo. I was taken by surprise, because I never called her any names. Then she opened her exercise book and showed me the remark that I had written in her book which was Re do. It was then that I understood that she thought I had called her a buffalo. I hugged her and told her the meaning of the word Re do. She then told me that all her friends use to tease her and call her redo (Konkani for buffalo), and she could not bear it when she thought I too called her by that name! As years passed, the quality of girls became a handful to manage. They kept you on your toes. But I love naughty children. One day, while teaching history in the SSC class, we were being disturbed by ashes of light coming from the reection of some mirror. This went on for sometime and the girls too knew I was aware of what was happening. So when I nished explaining to the class, I simply smiled and told the girls, Tell your Britto boyfriends that their focusing was bad. They were quite shocked that I knew what the game was. I could tell you many more stories of my teaching days at St. Marys Convent High School. I have very good memories from those times. Life for me at St. Marys was never humdrum, Every day had something new to offer. Life was very eventful for me there. Events that took place during the school year kept you on your toes. Be it
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the childrens day, teachers day, sports day, concert and so on. If this didnt keep you busy, then the girls pranks did. Teachers day was a great day for the girls. This was one chance they got to make fun of their teachers or mock their mannerisms. I use to look forward to these days. On one particular teachers day, one of the naughty girls wanted to imitate the teachers, and I agreed to it. I was to guess who the teacher they were imitating. I laughed and laughed at the little things they noticed about us. Then came the biggest laugh. One of the girls began writing on the blackboard and, every time, kept pulling her blouse down. I caught on immediately and had a good laugh. She was imitating me pulling down my saree blouse every time I wrote on the board. Then she went a step further. She kept pushing her hair back from her forehead and running her ngers through her hair. I realised that was me again. Believe me, after that day, I became very conscious every time I wrote on the blackboard. Another incident I remember vividly was about our famous school bus in which Britto boys from Porvorim were also allowed to travel. Boys will be boys. They sometimes indulged in throwing paperballs on girls and notes were exchanged. I took responsibility for the behaviour of the Britto boys, as I knew all their parents. One ne day, I was sitting in the school library doing my corrections peacefully when a parent came in quite agitated. She asked me what I was doing in the bus, while not controlling the boys. The parent then showed an innocent love letter sent to
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her daughter by one of the boys. I saw the name and did not believe it to be written by the boy in question. Now this was 20 years ago when children were still innocent in their fun. She told me she would complain to the headmistress and also to this boys parents. I suggested that she was making a mountain out of a molehill, that it would be best for her to leave the matter to me for a week, and if the boys still worried her then she could go ahead with her plan. To my good luck, that very evening, when I was going down the main road, I saw the group of school bus travellers standing in a circle and discussing something. I went near the group and made my attack with the words. Hey guys, who is going to write the letter tomorrow? They were dumbfounded. I asked the particular boy whose name was on the letter if he had really written it and he spilled out the beans. No, Mrs De Souza. I swear I did not write it. XYZ wrote it! I do not care who wrote it. But you guys are in big trouble because the mother is going to come to your house and tell your parents about it. They were just Standard VIII boys. Please Mrs De Souza, help us or parents will skin us if they know about the letters. I promised to help them on that occasion if they, in turn, promised not to write any more letters to any of my girls. I phoned the concerned parent and sorted out the matter that night. On another day too, I was caught in an embarrassing situation. In one of my lighter moments I told
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the girls of the fun we use to have in our school days and the pranks we use to play on the teachers. Believe it or not, they tried the same naughty thing on one of the teachers, who took it very badly. She walked into the staff room where the rest of us were relaxing over a cup of tea, and told me what she thought of the most disgusting class in the whole school. I was told they interrupted her teaching with hissing sounds as they were probably fed-up of the drab topic that she was reading from the text without any explanation. I had to handle this situation very tactfully, more so as I was at the bottom of this idea which I never expected them to try out themselves. I had to teach history in Std. XA after recess, so I walked in slowly with calculated steps. They were expecting reworks. I just stood in front of them and told them that I was supposed to teach them about the First World War. But, I continued, unless someone owned up over who started the trouble in class, I would not start teaching the topic. If the bell rang before they owned up, then they would have to study the topic on their own, I added. A few minutes before the bell rang, a hand came up from the back benches. A girl had tears streaming down her eyes and said, Mrs DeSouza, I started it. I went up to her and told her that I was proud of her. She had had the guts to stand up and admit her fault. But, I added, I would appreciate it if she went up to the teacher sometime the following day and apologised to her.
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Picnic days are remembered by me fondly. I found the girls in St. Marys very homely, especially after teaching in Africa and in Bombay. In the early 1970s we use to have common food at our picnics and the girls never stopped amazing me with the mouth-watering chutney sandwiches, the biryani and the mutton shakuti they use to produce. Tea was made on the spot, as were sandwiches too. They use to light the re effortlessly. I tried to help once, but only ended up getting red in the face, with tears streaming down my eyes. There was no re lit at the end of all my trying. When it was time to go home, the girls would clean up the place. Those were great days indeed. The girls have always been good to me. During my span of 40 years of teaching, I have taught girls who have become mothers. I have taught their children too. When one of the girls was leaving after passing the SSC exams during my last years at St. Marys, she said to me, Mrs. DeSouza, hold on here till my daughter comes along. Id like her too to be taught by you. In return, I said to her, My girl, your mother was an angel when I taught her in Bombay. You are a handful. I dont think I will be to handle your product in the twilight of my teaching days. Spare me, please! We both laughed a hearty laugh together. My girls still keep in touch with me on my birthday and for Christmas. It lls my heart with joy to think that I am fondly remembered, though, as a teacher, I was considered strict. I could go on and on. But enough is enough.
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With so much of love and life at St Marys from everyone around, I shed many bitter tears on the day I had to walk out of the gates of my beloved school for the very last time on the July 31, 1995.
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Moira to Mapusa, on 40 paise

S R M ARGARET C ORREA 10 was at St. Marys for three years from 1968, and have many beautiful memories from there. I wanted to school in Mapusa town, but my mother was unable to help me get admission into the new school.
Then, I approached the Principal on my own, showed her my certicates and got myself admitted. Sr. Angelique was impressed by my sense of independence. I travelled by bus from Moira, a village some ve kilometres from Mapusa. For bus-fare, I was given 40 paise per day. Often, I thumbed a lift or walked. Or cheated the bus conductor. This meant I could buy snacks with the money saved. I remember being always hungry.
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A Catholic nun, Sr Correa is based in Bamako. Once part of three West African empires that controlled trans-Saharan trade, Mali is now one of the worlds poorest countries. Contact: mmargaretc@hotmail.com
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This was a reality that many children in Goa faced in those times. I lived alone with my mother, getting all her love and attention. My favourite pastime was reading. How I loved to curl up in bed with a nice novel and munch away at some nuts. I put on weight and was too plump for my age. Lily, who is 10 years older than me, sometimes travelled with me in the bus and people mistook me for her. This upset me. Did I look 24 when I was just 14? My family placed much importance on academic success; I tried my best to bring home good results. I was popular in school, amusing teachers and companions with my funny remarks and behaviour. I was nick-named Uncle Podger, after the character from an English lesson. My favourite teacher was Miss Veloso. A little word of appreciation from her was like heaven to me. One day she punished me for being distracted in class by keeping me standing in the corner. After ten minutes, I hit on a plan to free myself of this boring chastisement as well get myself some attention. I pretended to faint and got everyone around me. Of course, Miss Veloso was all in a utter. I was very good in acting. But my talent was not discovered until much later. One day, when a character in the central play to be put up on parents day fell ill, very hesitantly I volunteered to replace her. Till date, I can vividly recall how I was dressed. I had to act the role of a frightened robber in Ali Baba and The Forty Thieves. I did my part so well that my mother, who was in the audience, and who did not quite follow the play, thought I was really frightened and was so embarrassed sitting there
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helplessly not knowing what to do. After that, I was given part in many plays. In March 1970, I appeared for my rst public exams. My nephew Cedric, Ritas son, was studying in a boys school at Guirim, but our exam centre was the same St Brittos in Mapusa. He came to our village home in Moira and his mum Rita was with him, coaching him. We were pampered a lot during the exams. I am sure my mother would not have made all this fuss if I had been alone. I fared rather badly in my maths paper. On the day of my results, I was indeed nervous. In those times, public exam results use to be declared via the local daily newspaper. My mother went to the market and brought the newspaper, which, naturally, was wet with traces of sh and vegetables. I rushed to look out for my results but could not nd my number which meant I had failed. I hid under the bed in shame and cried with grief. But, a few minutes later, the village postman brought a telegram from Lily from Bombay congratulating me on securing a second class. What relief!
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Friendships re-found
B Y C AROLINE A NDRADE 11 has a strange way of playing a part in our lives. This is a story of how, due to the hands of fate, I could meet and keep in touch with my old schoolmates from my beloved St Marys.
ATE
I had earlier written an article, in time for an alumni book that was printed during the reunion of the three prominent Mapusa-based schools (Brittos, St Marys and St Xaviers) for the event called BMX 2006. In it, I narrated my story of being inspired by all the teachers who led me through the years of learning and growing up. About the vital role they all played in making me the person I am today, and how grateful I am for that. Now, nearly a year and lots of wonderful friendships later, I get this invite to write for a book de11
Andrade, Class of 1969, lives in Denmark. She wrote this after meeting up other old friends and as a sequel to her essay that comprises Chapter 3 of this book.
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voted to the St Marys alumnae. At rst I thought, well, youve told your story the last time round, so what more is there to talk of? Then, I realized. Of course, I should write about all those wonderful friends who affected my life through all those years at school. Being a boarder was virtually like living in an extended family. We had our differences and yet we stood by each other in times of need. Over the years, I had somehow lost track of my time at school; moving to a new continent probably required all my focus and attention. The other day, while talking to Lavie we were classmates, and have met up after 38 years I mentioned that its almost like opening a Pandoras Box of memories. All of which were stacked away, forgotten for nearly four decades. Then suddenly the memories emerge and this picture comes alive. One has to be thankful, of course. Until I read Lavies email, I had virtually no recollection of those times. But, as I waded through her lines eagerly, I could almost see myself as a child once again. A tiny reminder can lift the lid and cause all these memories to ow back in a gush. Some time back, Lavies email came through, telling me how she remembered the way I reacted after hearing of my fathers death, which occurred while I was in school. She related in detail how she was seated beside me, where we sat, and how I replied to the condolence letters and cards I received, sitting there. Viviette and myself were also close friends as I was a day scholar for a while; but after high school we completely lost track of each other. But by some twist of fate, her son and my nephew are close
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friends. Some years back, she suspected a connection due to the surname. She asked my brother, who in turn got us in touch with each other. Since then our friendship is as solid as ever. It seemed as if we just picked up where we left off. Despite the years that have own between school and the time when our paths crossing again, we still connect so well. We have the same morals and values, and this I think we owe to our alma mater. We both recall so many incidents when we get together. Visiting her in Goa simply makes me feel young and carefree again. Patsy and myself were close friends in boarding school. I remember we even once spent a Christmas together in school, as we could not y home for the holidays that year. That special feeling of being together at times like those somehow makes one feel close. I lost touch with Patsy too after school. But some years back she was handling some book sales and came in touch with my mother. Mum proudly told her the story of her daughter Caroline, who was a student of St Marys. Patsy then quickly realized whom she was talking about, asked for my address, and after a surprising letter from her we have kept our friendship alive. She is always there for me when I visit Goa. Seeing her surrounded by her loving family makes me so happy as I can see we have so much in common till today. Coming down for the last BMX in 2006, I did meet up with a lot of old friends. I remember being so happy the day Myra, Mary Joan, Fatima and Diana suddenly phoned. A while later, they came visiting. We were like kids again, laughing, and joking and reminiscing. Then, I met
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Lumen, who reminded me of our school play. Romanoff The Gipsy King, that was the part I played. She remembered, told me about it and brought back sweet memories. Agnes, who suddenly wrote to me out of the blue from Canada, made my day too. Now we write to each other when time permits and it is always wonderful to hear about each others lives. I was suddenly sent my old autograph books from my days at St. Marys . They were lying around in Goa and never have I been more happy then to read all these wonderful wordings written by friends from the past. Such humble records tell tales of whom we loved and whom we lost. This topic of innocent teenage love was one of great importance to us at that time. We had all these walls of friendship and hearts drawn in our autograph books where one had to write who were our best actors, friends, animals and, last but not least, boys! It was a trying time growing up then. Thought of becoming a nun lled your mind while on the other hand we had all these boys in blue trying to impress us. And believe me, it did not take much to convince us. Now, nearly 40 years later, we can sit back and laugh at the way life was then. I recall our rst social occasion with the opposite sex, the boys in blue. It was held at St Brittos, and we were sent off by the nuns, with all the possible advice. Wonder how many alliances or friendships were formed that evening despite the warnings given to us. Recently, Arlette Azavedo put out a photograph of the occasion via our ChillieNet, and that simply brought back a lot of memories.
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I could go on about all the friends I have caught up with. But the purpose of touching on this topic is because I want our younger readers to see the importance of friendships forged during our youth. We may not realize it, but someday somewhere it turns important to us. So cherish what you have. Keeping in touch with each other is so much easier today where were the cell phones and email in our time? But thank goodness for the bond we had still retained between us, and the memories of times gone by, we have some how managed to rekindle the ame of those friendships. So let me dedicate this chapter to the fond memories we had and which ended in 1969, the year of our completion of high school. Its indeed fortunate to have these memories somehow came alive again four decades later, bringing much joy to us all.
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Laughter, punishments
clutched on for dear life to my dads shirt sleeve. Holding on to the warmth, the security, the bond, the cord. But my struggle was in vain. I felt myself being slowly pulled away.
This was my rst day at St. Marys. Then, someone larger than life, someone I could not see, someone whom I felt to be a dividing force, pulled me back, My dads silent, strangely painful gaze was no longer visible. I was swept away by a gure clad in thick, folded cloth. I drifted along the blended gures movements, which were rm brisk and balanced. Someone who was a nun and who also was my class teacher. Of course, this all I came to know many days later. She was Sister Adelaide, the ever-smiling, loving almost-dancing and full-of-life music teacher.
12
Arlette Azevedo studied Law, worked at the Ofce of the Commissioner, Labour and Employment and at the Labour Court until 1988.
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In those times, I used to be perpetually late to school. The teacher used to actually blare at me. But believe me, I was very cool then. She muttered in her shrill voice; it didnt bother me at all. At the most, she would tell me not to come to school from the next day... and that seemed like holidays for me forever! Another folded and draped gure in white, covered from head to foot, appeared in the distance. Honestly, I used to fear them, for they were so strict and serious with long faces. I used to wonder if these nuns had to be so strict with us, what would they be like to their own children. It hadnt struck me then that nuns dont get married. I held onto the folds of the rst one. My tears were dry. My soul had to accept that place which was to become my classroom. Everything seemed large and fearful, though I was crying no more. The next thing I recall was sitting near a boy. (We still had boys in our class in those days, werent we lucky then!) The boy who was my bench mate was shy and cute. I was feeling miserable as I could not talk now, as my place was shifted. Some of the boys were big bullies; not that we were any better. We girls would all gather and pounce on them if they irritated us excessively, as they were only a handful of them. We always won over them. I still remember, my favourite classmate Noel (Nini) De Souza, now of the Music Company fame, would cry and I had to pacify him by arguing that boys dont cry. Luckily for him, he had his cousin Yvonne Pinto around him; but that did not make him feel any better. Probably he just hated the idea being surrounded by mischievous Green Chillies.
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Of course, the crying session was over within a few weeks of joining school. Then, we were like the best kiddos of that age, though sometimes we would ght for apparently no reason. In our class there was one particular boy who will go unnamed for now who had the habit of spitting on girls. One ne day, all of us got together and reported this to the principal. Our joy was great on seeing him getting a good spanking on his bottom. That was our victory. But do you think he stopped his habits? No way. He just shifted to pulling at our plaits or ponytails. Ouch. Was that painful! So, again, we had to show him the principals door for another round of spanking. But I think the spanking didnt do him any good, as he probably just had a peculiar sadistic streak for torturing others. I remember clearly the times when we were taken in front of a large black piano, placed at one end of the hall. Its black and white keys were laid out in rows that seemed attractive to our tiny eyes. Then, there would be music in the air. Keys moved rhythmically as the ngers of another gure in white gracefully touched them. Singing period was good; we could even play any mischief and it went unseen by the Sister. She would be so engrossed playing the piano while we were occupied doing our own thing! My second vivid memory is of a large letter A being written on the broad blackboard. It was so well formed, the stroke so well dened, seemingly perfect. I dont remember for how long I sat on the bench quietly and still, listening to the teacher. I
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realised I had surrendered, though I did not know then, to the Will of the Almighty. Music, love, kindness, purity and serenity all around had given me security, comfort, and calm peacefulness. As days went by, the school felt like home and each gure in white was like a mother to me. What I used to hate was wearing the uniform daily to school, so sometimes I would skip it. Sister would blast me and my brother, who would come to drop me at school. It didnt bother me and I used to tell her boldly that I hated the school pinafore. Some guts to say that. But I was very frank in my opinion and thoughts. At primary school, we were a bunch of girls who loved to play tennicoit, kabbadi, throw ball, and were full of innocence. No stupid pranks or hatred towards one another; just being plain unadulterated girls. We also had some good times of fun and tomfoolery. These were few of the favourite sentences we would often hear: Finger on your lips, Standup on the bench and hands up straight, Come here and kneel down, Teacher, please may I go to toilet?, Miss, Miss, she is teasing me. Then came the secondary school, a shift from the boat classrooms to a better, spacious classroom. It also meant teachers who were strict, and had no time for any sort of monkey business. Now it was time for studies, studies, and yet more studies. Nevertheless, we had fun in our way, without disrupting the rules of the school. Here we learnt the toughest lessons of life: to maintain discipline.
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There was I, knowing that this school was always standing by to hold me, comfort me and love me whenever needed. Once I entered the class, I knew that those studying with me would be my friends for the years to come. This journey of 11 years I cant afford to ever forget. These years have been full of love, laughter, life. Maybe also disappointments, excitement, frustration and, of course, punishments. Its this school where I rst had a best friend, it was this school where I rst broke my hand. It was here also where I rst realised what betrayal and disappointment is. It was this school which made me live and not just exist. It was here that I realised that I may be one for the world, but I am the world for my parents. I vividly remember the tension when teacher calls your roll number and that long walk from your bench to teachers desk. That is when, all of a sudden, you start remembering God. You also remember all the wrong deeds you did against the teacher during her lectures. Then, that merciless teacher screams at top of her voice about your low scores, in a way more than audible to everyone in your class. This is followed by her giving you that wicked smile while handling you that answer paper. Here, one could see many writing down the marks of competitors! Eleven years of unforgettable experiences are hard to pen down; but they made my childhood. I now sit back and think about the years I spent in this school. I have been loved and cherished, and I have also suffered. Because of that, I stand with my head held high.
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Lessons learnt there have made me ght my darkest hours. I have learnt what life is all about; its an endless journey of a boat looking for a shore called satisfaction. It is a sea of emotions where the sun of my hopes rises and even sets. It is like a seed which has to ght with the earth below to come up to the world above, and has to withstand the four seasons in order to bloom. Our SSC (Secondary School Certicate) class was the most hyped year for us; the day we reached the SSC, we were the self-proclaimed dons of school. And why not, for this status we have struggled for 11 long years, wasnt it? We would get to be the teacher on Teachers Day, which came on September 5. Girls took this day very seriously, specially those girls who had teaching as their dream job though still only at school. Teachers too would get emotionally charged for the students of Std. XI, which was the SSC class in our times. I still remember a teacher had asked us all to pray for ten minutes before lling forms for the Std. XI board examination! My teachers from every class hold a special memory in my heart. Ive locked them in and thrown the keys away. I hope to impart to others all the things that I have learnt from them. Whenever I needed some suggestion or books, I just had to go and ask. The memories of my school make my heart feel like a sea, where each wave of emotion is being overlapped by another. My dreams are like the blue sky above and the love for my school is like the unimaginable and unreachable thin line where the sky and the sea meets.
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Well, I should mention a few school teachers who left an everlasting impression on my mind and heart. Ive been fortunate to have many exceptional teachers, but the one who had the greatest inuence on my life was Mrs. Lydia de Souza. She was a lovely, kind and welcoming lady who would have considered herself to be failing in her duty if we if didnt fare well for our exams. She was always in a good mood and kept us laughing. She was really cheerful, so she acted like we teenagers did, which made learning fun. If we needed to talk to an adult about a problem, we always knew we could just go to her for help. She always added a fun twist to learning, which made the topic easy to understand. Next was Sr. Sylvania, my French teacher. She was incredible nice to me, and, because of her, I topped for my SSC board exams. Discipline problems didnt exist in her class, because there was never an idle moment, or a boring one. Then comes Miss Adelaide, who was simply too good at numbers. I had hated maths up until that point; but she taught me to love it! She was always so clear in her explanations and I could always understand what she was trying to get at. She brought to class a positive attitude that set us all going. There was Miss Raynor, her lovely personality also contributed to the success of her teaching and lessons. She made every student feel like one of her own. Having her as a teacher was a blessing. I wish her too all the best. The most amazing teachers gave me the gift of selfcondence, by teaching me the importance of hard work, personal responsibility and fairness.
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Well, Id like to jog other ex-students memories a bit and share some of the awesome experiences I have and I think this holds true for most of my classmates as well of the send-off day! After your prelims, you have the much-awaited school send-off. This is the day that all of us waited for, as it was truly a heartbreaking day. We were accorded an ofcial send-off amidst sharing of bitter-sweet memories and guidance for the future. It was also such a depressing day as we were on the verge of parting ways. Finally came the anti-climax: the rst day of your board exam. Every family member accompanies you to the examination center, as if you are going to the war-front, never to return! This is just a small tribute to the best years of my life. Lets just make sure that we always remember these days, even when our memory starts weakening with age. This love for my school prompted me to start the St. Marys alumnae net group. Memories of my school brings in such nostalgia, always to be cherished.
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That which last a lifetime

B Y A NNA DS OUZA 13 I was in the boarding there was no such thing as, Wheres she from? or Shes not from our class! It was just like having another home. I remember sometimes it used to be really hard on me. But because you have so many friends around you, you feel happy. Yes, I used to miss home; but I also knew that when I went home, I would miss the boarding just as much!
HEN
In my time, thats way back in the sixties, boarding school was rather strict compared to todays standards. Our sleeping arrangements also provided a contrast with todays boarding establishments. Girls didnt have their own cubicles and instead had to sleep in a long draughty dormitory lined with brass beds. There was the usual fooling around after lights out , but if you were unfortunate enough to be caught, the punishment was a couple of painful whacks.
13
Anna DSouza is based in Kuwait. She worked for the Gulf Bank till recently. E: annd14@yahoo.com
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At the age of six, Mummy decided that it was time for her to send her tiny daughter off to start a new chapter in her book, a chapter called boarding school. I had watched my older sister go off to boarding school when I was just a baby, not understanding any of it back then and not even imagining that someday my time would come. It was hard leaving my family and my comfort zone at such a young age, but looking back on it, boarding school was the best thing that happened to me. For the next ve years, St. Marys was my home. I didnt even realize how attached I had become to this place until my elder sisters graduation day. It was then that Mummy lled the taxi with my belongings and we rolled off the school grounds. Agnes graduated in 1969 and I could have still been there. But, Mummy didnt want to keep me back. Unfortunately, at that small age, one doesnt have a say in matters. So, off I returned to Kuwait. At that moment, I glanced out the window at St. Marys . Five years of memories of my boarding school life welled up in me as I looked at the school grounds, tears in my eyes. I had gained yet another new perspective on St. Marys . This time I saw my school as an alumna. It hurt to look back on my school and realize that my days as a student there had come to an end, because they were good days more often than not. In fact, often they were great days for me. Boarding means lots of happy memories, now fading somewhat. It meant wonderful times for a little girl from Kuwait to escape to the village for wonderful summer holidays with her granny. Going away to boarding helped mold me into the person that I am
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today and has given me a deep appreciation for the benets of a private school education. St. Marys provided me with everything and more that I was looking for; a challenging learning environment, new friends, rst-rate teachers, excellent sports and lots of opportunities for me to try out new things. I was allowed to excel in every area. So here am I penning this chapter. While saying this, I honestly wish our boarding school would have never changed. I wish I could go back even years from now, because in my time at St. Marys as a student, I had found a home there. It felt good to return home the way it was. But this wish is stiing, especially in an academic institution. It is also not realistic. We all have changes to make and new perspectives to see. So, St. Marys did change. Unfortunately the boarding where I spent my ve years is no more. The premises was moved to another building and its so different now. It was fun getting to know different girls from other homes and being able to share my things with them. Some of the memories of my days in boarding are clearer in my mind than some of the memories of what happened last week. I can remember the point at which Mummy left, and how I screamed after her. The smell of the bread and butter in the refectory. All of us going to bed at half-past-seven. Days when Mummy sent me a parcel lled with goodies from Kuwait, which one loved to share with friends. The smell of Felix the Cat bubblegum is as fresh in my nostrils as if it all happened yesterday. I recall watching Granny walk up that slope, in her hand was that bag, and in it were bolinias, doe,
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bibinca, dodol, glucose biscuits, toffees and also fresh bananas that she plucked from our trees back in the village. It was one of those colourful nylon bags, which, if Im not mistaken, you still get in Goa. Ones that come in assorted colours of white, red, green, yellow, blue, purple. I miss that granny of mine. She was such a sweetheart of a woman. To climb that slope upto Altinho, where our school was, wasnt a joke. More so at her age. Yet, shed come once every month to visit Agnes and me. I remember that whenever it crossed a month, I would look out the window from our study room, not knowing which Sunday she would suddenly show up! And when she did, what a joy it was to see her and be able to share the goodies with our friends. Boarding to me was all about sharing. Fun. Good times and bad times. Having lots of friends all of the time. Keeping secrets and promises all together. Living in one big family. Playing all sorts of games with my friends everyday on our school play ground was the coolest thing one could ever do as a boarder. And best of all, I learned to look after my things, myself and to keep tidy and clean. Boarding taught me to grow up and not be a baby, because I had to do my own things at a raw age of six. Although I was far away from Mummy and Daddy, there was always someone around, be it a teacher or friend, to talk to and help me get through. Looking back, we all might have had our differences and changed over the years. Yet, its amazing how much of what we shared lives on in our collective memory. What started out as personal
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anecdotes transferred easily into shared experiences. Exchanging emails and posts with so many Green Chillies somehow brought back some memories that I must have kept locked in the closet of my mind. For instance, its hard not to complain about boarding school food, it actually wasnt that good. But thats when you learn to appreciate the little things your parents do for you. Today, I lead a simple life, lled with fond memories of my alma mater, ones I hope to hold onto before my brain gets rusty and gets the better of me. For me, till this day, memories of boarding are nostalgic and sentimental. If I could re-live any time of my life, boarding life would it be, over and over again. The experiences learned in St. Marys are the ones you will carry with you for life. When it was time to leave, I was more condent and selfassured. I felt if I could have survived St. Marys , I could survive anything. I grew up so much at St. Marys. Looking at myself as a small brat back then, to where I am now, it is amazing how much Ive changed and St. Marys facilitated so much of that for me. I know that I will always consider St. Marys as a second home; not necessarily the physical place, but a home comprising those Ive met there. Classmates, friends and faculty were family. I learned so much about myself during that time and I know it wouldnt have been possible without this place. Somehow, when you are old, you are lled with pleasant memories that make your life happy as you quietly put the pieces of your boarding school memories back together again.
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I want to impact the lives of others the way that my life has been impacted here at St. Marys in a positive way, rather than a negative one. How do you thank a school who has given you the most beautiful gift imaginable, a gift so valuable it cannot be measured in dinars and ls. A gift given completely and unselshly with love. Could that ever be compensated? The words thank you seems so lame and inadequate in light of what St. Marys and its entire staff have done for me. What St. Marys accomplished over the years, while we were there, is nothing short of a miracle. Especially where I was concerned, as I was a rather difcult one. St. Marys took one very mischievous girl, moving at crazy speed in a downward spiral, and returned her as young woman who today moves on course with a life full of meaning and thankfulness. With all my heart, I appreciate and am eternally grateful for all you have done. For taking me into the fold of your family, for the scholarship and for the love we felt from each of you. Thank you for giving me your time, your patience and your knowledge. But most importantly, you have instilled in me a servants heart and the opportunity to live a life of heightened awareness of all that is precious and dear. The bonding between us and the faculty, lasting friendships between classmates and friends, extracurricular activities and the lessons of life learned in our boarding, are still an important part of our lives. A great way of life... a great way to learn... a memorable boarding experience... and friendships that lasts a lifetime!
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Those wonder years...

B Y H AZEL P EREIRA ( NEE M ASCARENHAS )14 Early July 1979. A young girl, barely eight, waves goodbye to her parents at the airport. Her parents and her elder brother (nishing Std X) cry with sadness at the thought of the young one traveling alone. Shes going as an unaccompanied passenger, with an overnight hotel stay and a connecting ight en route.
LASHBACK :
Their fears get compounded by the fact that shes a month late for the new academic year. Yet, her own heart is pounding with excitement at the prospect of joining a new school the famed St. Marys Convent, Mapusa and taking on the life as a boarder. Yes, she does experience the eeting niggling thoughts of stepping away from known grounds.
14
Gulf-born Hazel Pereira (nee Mascarenhas), Class of 1986, lives in Mumbai. E: hazelmascarenhaspereira@yahoo.com
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But these were nothing compared to what she was looking forward to. Day 1: She enters the gates of the boarding house at Mapusa and is warmly welcomed by boarding mistress Sister Regina Rose. She is soon introduced to the other boarders, and notices some are even younger than she is. She quickly feels she is among friends, as each one goes out of their way to help the new boarder to settle in. Day 2: She wakes up to the sound of the morning bell and is told to get ready for the daily Mass. How lovely to be in that chapel on the rst oor, early morning, thanking God for what He bestowed. Quick fast-forward. All the boarders are now on their way to the school for classes. Seniors keep a silent but watchful eye on the juniors as they laugh and chat their way to school. She now enters the primary school and is taken to her class. Soon she nds herself surrounded by a swarm of girls from the class, again all of them eager to be friends with the new girl. To help her to catch up with all that she has missed in that one month. Fast forward to March 1986: Last day in school. For once, the morning assembly begins with a heavy heart for her. This will be the last time she joins what has become an important part of her life for the last seven years. As the assembly ends, tears roll down her cheeks. She nds herself swarmed by a group of younger girls most as old as she was on her rst day pleading with her to stay on and to not leave. But
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go she must, leaving behind all those wonderful sisters, teachers, classmates, friends. Where did those seven years go, she wonders. Days of joy, intertwined with a mix of sadness, madness. In fact, all the ingredients needed to blend them into some of the most eventful years that there would ever be for her. There were times when she had under-estimated herself; only to nd herself being gently nudged by the wonderful nuns, teachers and others around her into trying out what had seemed impossible for her. This gentle nudging helped her discover strengths she never would have fathomed she had within her, just waiting to be brought out. There were also times when she had been over-condent, and needing a reminder that the time was not yet right. Her thoughts y back to primary school, and teachers who gently weaned the students away from their lives as tiny tots towards a fullling school life. Although she was in primary for just a year, she remembers with sweet fondness Sister Dulcine (her rst class teacher), the gentle and beautiful Ms. Anne who taught history, the young and impish Ms. Clara (who can forget in one Childrens Day concert how well she acted as a Green Chillie student white blouse, green pinafore, small ponytails et al), and Ms. Philomena, who taught Marathi. She and mes (she ponders on all the thoughtful things said done by the teachers who were the epitoof excellence like Ms. Adelaide de Souza made biology, algebra as well as all the Girl
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Guides camps so much fun), Ms Raynor (during her classes, history became Our Story and the quiz session that fo made it all the more interesting), Mrs Lydia DeSouza (with her impeccable English and singing, is it any wonder that so many students went on to excel in the English language?), Mrs Lira Rocha (her knowledge of geography crossed all boundaries, as did her knowledge on any general topic and yes, the Guides camps close to her residence were so much fun), Sir Ramdas (his physics classes had our physical and mental attention), Mrs Maria DMello (chemistry and formulas were never boring only we had to ensure that we didnt give her any of those Binaca smiles), Sir Parmar, Ms. Daya, Ms. Sulbha and Ms. Alzira all of whom made Hindi and Marathi so much more understandable and manageable. Ms. Raida Duarte, though we were a bit afraid of her, went out of her way to help us understand the intricacies of maths. Mrs Lourdes Noronha (one can never forget her rendition of the song Pearly Shells). And Sir Peter with all his arty ways. Also, how could she ever forget the mass PT drills and the sports day and also the march past practices for the Republic and the Independence Days, all handled so well by Miss Shashi? She also wonders if were it not for the active participation and cooperation of the ever-smiling non-teaching staff like Miss Ruby, Miss Arlette, Miss Violet, Francis, Shekappa would the school activities have run ever so smoothly? She reminisces on the times spent in both the school and the boarding with the nuns like Sister Sylvania, Sister Regina Rose, Sister Clarinda, Sister Maria Julia, Sister Theodomira, Sister Angelique (who after an earlier stint as Principal in
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St. Marys came back later as boarding mistress), Sister Dulcelina, Sister Olga, Sister Flavia, Sister Theresa, Sister Thelma, Sister Marialina, Sister Angela, Sister Dulcine, Sister Maria Rosa all who have left a deep imprint on her life. She also remembers the non-teaching nuns like Sister Georgina, Sister Leena, Sister Leonita, Sister Amartha (oh, how she played the violin during the feast days), Sister Celia and Sister Mercy (although she was blind, her faith in the Lord was astounding). Life in the boarding was so much fun. The nuns were strict when they had to be; but there were also fun times like the Sunday walks to the Mapusa Garden or St. Xaviers College, and occasions like boarders feast, boarders picnics, and much more. No doubt there were some boarders who missed their homes terribly; but, to her, it meant that she got a chance to experience what it meant to have sisters (both older and younger); at home she was an only girl child with two brothers. Being teased, as well as teasing the others, all in good jest, had helped her to evolve as a fun-loving and caring person. Each vacation was welcome as she got a chance to be with her parents; but she would be eager to get back to the boarding and school by the end of the holidays. Memories of the rehearsals for the annual day and other concerts, including the radio programme that she took part in on behalf of the school, all come rushing to her mind. How she loved the chance to act as the princess in the school play called Cinderash, a role-reversal of Cinderella.
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Yes, it was only on account of the encouragement that she had received from the nuns and teachers that she had taken an active part in school debates and elocution. She realises that without the boarding years, she may have never realised that she loved activities linked to preparation for Mass and prayers. At rst, she had been very reluctant to be on the school council in Std. X. But Principal Sr. Olga was reassuring, and the teachers showed condence in her abilities. And boy, was she glad that they had persuaded her to be a part of it. It only proved that she could handle much more than she thought was capable of. Indeed, the icing on the cake was that she got a chance to guide and help all the younger ones in the school too. She had been successful as a prefect in the boarding, but that was a smaller and close knit group. Being in the school council helped hone her skills on a larger scale. Just like the Life Cycle of the Buttery, she had metamorphosed from an egg, guratively speaking. Then, she had gone through the larva stage, where she learnt to distinguish between good and bad values, and the pupa stage, where she learnt to handle things albeit with a little helping hand and guidance from the supportive system around her. Just like so many before her, nally, she had become this beautiful buttery ready to take on the world. To let the world know what a beautiful place it is, and how wonderful it felt to be a part of it. ***
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I joined St. Marys and the boarding in July 1979, a month after the new academic year started. I completed my schooling in 1986 lets avoid the term passed out. After all, I did enjoy my stint in St. Marys and had no reason to pass out (pun denitely intended). That is why the seven years that I spent in St. Marys school and boarding will always be remembered by me as the seven wonder years. Recently, on the GreenChillie Net, my ploy did work while trying to get a few more Chillies to post, or at least try and nd out which year a boarders photograph was taken. The snap dated back to 1983, when Sr. Olga Sequeira was Principal, Sr. Theresa was Superior and Sr. Theodomira was the boarding mistress. Our seniors might not know most of them, as many of these nuns joined after I did in 1979. But some would surely remember Sr. Amartha, who played the violin, Sr. Celia, and Sr. Leonita, who was in charge of all the chapel-related activities. One needs to deeply thank all the sisters, teachers and my wonderful friends, who were with me all through my years at St. Marys. With condence I can say that what I am today be it as a daughter, sister, wife, mother and a friend to all around is all because of the values that I picked up during those seven wonder years. The words deo borem korum, dhanyavaad, aabhari ahe, merci beaucoup, shukriya, gracias, shukran, and thank you would never sufce to let you know how much indebted I am to you for all that youve done.
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Whod miss boarding school?

B Y A GNES B. DS OUZA 15 we graduated from high school, I thought to myself: what a relief, no more cramming for exams and no more nuns! We just could not even fathom why anyone would continue to think about, or dare I say it, miss boarding life.
HEN
The rst time I returned to Goa, I did go back to the boarding, but only because I wanted to visit the nuns, my favourite being Sr. Roselle. She always picked me up for sports and acting because of my loud voice. And two of my favorite teachers, Ms. Veloso and Ms. Joyce Ferreira. How people can really miss anything about boarding other than a few friends or teachers was still beyond me at that time. That continued to be the case at least until we grew up, had kids of our own and boarding became just another memory. But
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Agnes B. DSouza is from the Class of 1969. Email address: Agnes.Jackson@ontario.ca
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now, with the GreenChilli Net and the girls talking about the good old days, my boarding nostalgia hit me with a vengeance. I have vivid memories of the rst time I visited St. Marys Convent. I accompanied my parents to the school, and remember looking my best, all neat and tidy, socks turned the right way and black shoes well polished. We entered the parlour and sat down waiting for the Headmistress to come and meet my parents. The handshake between both, my parents and Headmistress, was warm and welcoming. At that time, I was moving from Sacred Heart Girls High School in Yercaud (a hill station near Salem in Tamil Nadu), to Std. IV in St. Marys Convent. My little heart was beating very fast, wondering what life would be like in a different school and a different state. Before I knew it, it was all over and we had all grown up. It was time to leave for better and bigger things in life. The GreenChillie Net has brought back memories about my childhood days, and, for some reason, it makes me nostalgic. It reminded me of holidays. Whenever we went to spend time with our grannys, my brothers, my sister and I used to play with each other, get each other into trouble and, above all, have fun without realising that we were having fun! As I pen this, Im glad to be in contact with some of my friends: Lavie, Blanche, Caroline, Clara, Lumen, Myra, Mary-Joan, Vimala and Alzira. I wonder where some of my other childhood and boarding school friends are. Where in the world are Lillian, Fatima Gomes, Patsy, and a host of others? Where are my friends and classmates, I wonder.
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Below is a list of things I love and totally miss about boarding school. Excuse notes that let you slip through: Oh how I long for the days when everything I did could be excused with a parents note. For me, since my parents were abroad, it had to be one of the grandmothers, either from Siolim or Candolim. Notes were the magic key to legitimate freedom from school for anywhere from an entire day to just one class. So, armed with a note, I could go for a movie with friends or take a ramble down in the Mapusa shopping area or just catch a bite to eat at Caf Xavier or C. DSouza. There also was Ashoks for mouth-watering masala dosa, Pascoals for those lovely patties and potato chops and sandwiches, Woodlands for yummy biryani, and nally Casa Bela for Goan grub. So if any of the teachers would say, What are you doing out of class? the simply answer would be, I got a note, and then everything would be okay. Playground time... letting the ball out: This was when wed play throw-ball, badminton, seven tiles, and more. Often, throwing the ball onto the road, so that we were given the chance to check out the gully as well! And if it happened to be raining, wed play indoor games like table-tennis, snakes-and-ladders, or ludo. There was also the piano in the main parlour that had glass cabinets where all the cups and the trophies were kept. I can never forget my piano classes. I can actually picture the nun who taught me piano classes: she was tall, fair, and had a pretty face, but sorry, I dont remember her name now.
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Stealing, and collective punishments: At times the punishment was a collective act for wrong doings committed by others. But who cared? The joy, the satisfaction and the glory were also collectively shared! Like one day, we Lavie, Lumen, my sister Anna and I decided to raid the store room of our boarding school. In those days, there used to be loads and loads of goodies stored in our store room, goodies like cheese, our, bread, and the like, all shipped in from the U.S.A. The store room was always loaded with stuff. If Im not mistaken, I actually led the four of us. Of course, we surely must have had a discussion prior to that daring move we made. We stole some Fanta bottles, one each, and some eatables too. We were caught alright, by Sr. Sylvania, who told us off in front of all the rest of the boarders that very same evening before bed time! From then on, we were called the Four Robbers. Getting in trouble was the end of the world back then. When I got caught stealing from the boarding store, I thought I was going to die, that my life would be cut short at a small age! Whenever I sensed I was in trouble, my hands would get all sweaty and Id start shaking and sweating. Now, the only time I feel like that is when I have had one drink too many! There are some things you just never get over even though no one even remembers the incident. The St Marys Convent boarding school never encouraged individualism. It never encouraged disunity. And it certainly never encouraged any of the pains and sorrow that characterize modern boarding schools.
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Britto Boys and staying in touch: Like all the other girls, I too enjoyed writing and sending love-notes to those boys in blue. Whether it was love, infatuation or puppy-love, I will never know; all I remember now is that I spent many hours getting my heart into penning those notes. Ha, what innocence breeds! Living on my own: Boarding school life offered me the opportunity to experience living on my own. Although we were supervised by nuns, yet we lived in a close community of friends, where each had to do our own things, be it making our beds, tidying up our class rooms or having to look after our younger siblings. Picnics and songs: Can never forget our picnic trips. How we all would sing in the bus the song of our time. These included Like Strangers, Black is Black, O Bladi O Blada, Pearly Shells, and some Cliff Richard and Elvis numbers! The memory is so fresh, it seems like yesterday. To this day I remember that we got up before 6 a.m. to the sound of a hand clap, and then had to rush down with our toiletries to wash up and get ready for Mass. Breakfast was between 7 and 7:30 a.m. It consisted mainly of bread, butter and jam. Im sorry to say this, but all I remember of lunch is, it was terrible! The dahl was watery and the meat was rubber-like. I would always trade my food with any of the girls in the refectory who were willing to exchange. I hope this does not apply to the boarders of today. The food we loved the most was the food we were given during the feasts, they were the best. We would eat and talk about the nuns, teachers, those
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Britto boys and share some stupid jokes or plan our next great adventure, which was either escaping during recess to catch a movie at Alankar or El Capitan or just go rambling down to Mapusa carrying in our hands some chiki and some hot fresh peanuts. Its strange how we remember things. Deep down inside I know how happy that boarding school stay made me. Just as I know how happy my rst job made me. Somewhere deep down inside, it also makes me feel a little guilty that I tend to forget how happy boarding school made me. So for the record: I liked my boarding school. I liked my classmates and friends Lavie, Blanche, Clara, Caroline and Myra, to name a few. We used to follow a strict schedule for studying, playing and, well, of course, eating. I liked most of what I did, and what I didnt like was not so bad after all. I feel lucky to have been given the chance to study there; its still one of the best experiences of my life! I briey recall that for mementos, we all exchanged photographs, key chains, sea shells, rings, beads, etc. Almost more than three decades after leaving, my boarding school experiences still rest warmly in my heart. Everyone I know who attended boarding school at the same or about the time I attended, tells me their experiences ranks amongst the best and most satisfying theyve ever had. I should know. And I do know! I know because few experiences in the rst three decades of my life came close to the good times I had at St. Marys boarding school. In recent years, students in some boarding schools have complained about food, impious seniors, and unkempt dorms. It is also alleged that some stu-
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dents are being abused mentally and physically in these schools. The aforesaid are alien to me. Not in my St. Marys, and not in my time! The advice that I give to all those considering going to boarding is, life is likely to amount to much more if one attended boarding school. It is tempting for me to reel out the invaluable lessons I learnt as a student of our great St. Marys. I could go on and on and on. But why; sufce to say I learnt lifes lessons. I learnt how to live in accord with my fellow sisters. I learnt to do things big and small, things that make life and living worthwhile. I relied on their friendship and benevolence. I totally disagree with all those who say Boarding sucks because, it doesnt! I had the luxury of having the best of times and the worst of times. I went in a child, but came out feeling like a woman!
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Cant nd my keys
B Y J OYCE H EREDIA F ERNANDES 16 of you might nod your heads in agreement when I say it seems to be getting more and more difcult to remember the smallest of things. Where have I put my car keys? or I forgot so-and sos birthday! are common.
ANY
Oops! These are among the others that I encounter practically on a daily basis well, almost every few hours. No, no. Nothing wrong on the top oor. I suppose its... well... just old age creeping in. And this green chillie is getting a bit red round the edges. Moving swiftly away from my geriatric woes and, before I forget the purpose of my seemingly senseless banter, let me tell you why I stress on my forgetfulness so.
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Joyce Heredia Fernandes was at St. Marys from 1971-1981. She did her law, and is settled in Guernsey, Channel Islands. E: cjoysss@yahoo.co.uk
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Cant nd my keys
It happened on one ne sunny day. (Cant remember if it was sunny or it seemed that way after I read this special email.) I opened a link that my friend sent me about the GreenChillie Net.17 Happy? Excited? Those are mild terms for the way I felt that day. I was immediately transported to way back 1972 and the memories of those times. It was like it had all happened just that very moment. I remembered Mrs. Olive and my KG class and doing numbers and poetry. It was a tiny, tiny classroom with just a few students. It was in my friend Yvette Menezes house and we then moved just across the road to another sort of out building of the main building. Moving on and graduating to the long it seemed then like a long neverendingrowuponrowofclassrooms. I remember Miss Filomena, Sr. Ninfa, Miss Conception and Miss Theresa (she died while we were in Std. V, I think). In those days, I did not speak much English as it was a rule in our house that we had to learn Konkani as we would eventually speak English anyway. So there were quite a few literal translations which brought smiles to many a face, but I did not care because I did not know better. This particular one I remember quite well. When I had a sore throat, it got literally translated to: My branch had fallen. (Tao podla). Needless to say, I learnt English quickly after that. I also talked all the time and I wrote impositions saying I will not talk in class all the time. I wept and massaged my sore little ngers and promised
17
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmarysgirlsmapusa/
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Cant nd my keys
never to talk again. Each time only to be tempted by those talkative classmates of mine! Hey, we had boys too in our class Ceasar Cabral and Melwyn Pinto. Yma, Doris and I teamed up with them for all sorts of mischief, and then they were gone to the yonder and become boys in blue at St Brittos. I remember the gutters overowing with rain water and us letting go of our slippers in the hope of recovering them a few paces away. Sometimes the gushing waters transported them all the way to Tarikode (the ancient canoe point, a couple of kilometres away) and beyond. I remember taking part in the school concert and singing, Soldier, soldier... will you marry me? And then we progressed to the big school across the road. We had grown up. We were in Standard V and there were three menacing men-teachers. But we were not afraid of the big bad wolves. (Lambs really, sorry Sirs!) The teachers were stricter and we had so many more subjects to learn. Talking of teachers: Mrs. Duarte. She was so petite, but she would get so mad at us if we did not understand the sums she taught, and was always saying through clenched teeth, I will screw your ears. Miss Sashi taught us Hindi and PT, and I loved doing mass drill. It meant we were on the playground for longer. I remember playing kabbadi on the cemented ground and getting horrendous bruises which were always drenched with Mercurochrome. Yet, the concern you got from that blob of red was the best sympathy ever. I wont dwell on the borams or the raw mangoes stuffed with chilly powder and tamarind which
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Cant nd my keys
were pierced and well stuffed with a stick, before being cracked in door hinges and shared out. Or the rush to the school canteen to buy samosas and bondas. Only to then have them then snatched out of your hands by the crows. I remember Sr. Silvania (bless her soul) and calling her Kiki and crouching and shufing past her ofce even if we had done nothing wrong. I remember Mrs. Fernanda Cordeiro. I loved her and I remember her telling the story of Through the eyes of Laura Mars and watching the movie years later thinking, That story was far better. I loved the way Mrs. DSouza, Miss Raynor and Miss Lira could make everything seem so simple and how Sir Peter could draw anything and outshadow even greats like da Vinci and Piccaso. Sir Parmar got me so interested in Hindi that I eventually even read Hindi novels and magazines. Sir Ramdas was the Einstein of our school and could do wonders with maths problems and physics. I remember Mrs. De Mello and her saying, Dont give me those Binaca smiles or Dont give me those jelabi smiles. I remember rst learning Marathi from Mrs. Daya and giggling with Rosy Trinidade, Sandra Jaques and Maria Bachchan at how she would curl her Les. And I still wrote, I will not talk in class. I remember Miss Shulba saying all the time Dont understand....yes...tale...me...Whaaa? Miss Alzira was strict but I liked her and remember going to see movies with her. I remember Alpana Raje. She was magic. She could write with both hands. Ambidextrous? No, it wasnt that, it was just magic and her handwriting and her plaits were perfect.
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Cant nd my keys
Carmen Varela was a whiz at drawing. She was the school pupil leader and I was the class leader, so I had power over her. Cheryl Zuzarte was so delicate and mild and I was surprised she went and became a doctor and Yma Pinto she was the most impish of the lot ...I was miles ahead of course (sorry Yma, it has to be said) and she is at the Goa University! Armenia Fernandes later a journalist with H ER ALD, N AVHIND T IMES, D ECCAN H ERALD and now in the Gulf was a very close friend, with whom I studied at St Xaviers, and kept in touch while she was with NT. But we lost connections along the way, only to have just heard from her ... thanks to the Net! I remember singing with Stella on the AIR. I had to sing Profundo Basso and I remember I just could not hit that last lowest pitch. Managed it somehow on the day. I remember doing a school play at the Kala Academy directed by Miss Lelia acting with Sarita and Loretta. I remember being friends with Madooda and Darshan and doing college together with them at St Xaviers. I remember Mildred and Brigitte. I remember our tearful send-off. I also remember Soda lemon, soda lemon gingerbeer pop. St. Marys, St. Marys always on the top. But, hey, I still cant nd my keys!
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Boarding fondness
B Y A NNA DS OUZA 18 VE never had the opportunity to show St. Marys how grateful I am and how much I appreciate boarding life. I left long, long ago. But those days, among the best in my life, are still remembered.
Yes, the nostalgia of the boarding school days always haunts me. Most of those sweet memories are because of the nuns and the teachers who helped me climb the ladder of success in life. I cant bring back those days; but, I can express my gratitude and appreciation to all the nuns and teachers, for what they made of a young impressionable mind to guide it to success. When I think of my seven years at St. Marys, boarding life comes back as a mix of our innocence, our unbridled enthusiasm, our undiscovered potential, and the fear of the unknown.
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From 1963-69, Anna DSouza studied at St Marys, then moved to Kuwait and shifted to Yercaud (a hill station in Tamil Nadu) for high school.
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Boarding fondness
Ones mind conjures a collection of memories from forty years ago, rather than just one in particular. I want to share them with you. First, a few letters from boarders to their parents: Dear Mom, today I got yelled at by my teacher... one of the senior boarders... my classmate... and even the head nun gave me a shocking look! Dear Mom, Its been hard coping here in boarding... but, its getting better by the day... a new girl joined us today... she was crying... I had a sleepless night last night... this morning. I feel exhausted... but, I know that I have made a difference... because this new boarder and I... both saw the sunrise.... today, I feel proud that Im a senior at St. Marys! St. Marys was home to us boarders and taught us many things. I wish to impart some advice that I personally practiced ever since I left. Boarding will no doubt be the most challenging and stressful time of your life. It will test your personal relationships, your health, your values and your priorities! In kindergarten: I learnt to share everything. We come from a noble tradition of teachers and a knowledge-base that continues to expand far beyond our capacity. When we acquire that knowledge, weve got to learn to share it with our colleagues, always remembering how you wished someone would teach you something. Being a boarder at St. Marys taught me to clean up my own mess. Of course, we are only human, and to be human is to err. So, if you make mistakes, accept responsibility when it is yours, and use your mistakes as an opportunity to grow. In school, lessons are learned very quickly, because, mistakes come with serious consequences.
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Boarding fondness
In our personal lives, mistakes are too easily overlooked, thanks to the forgiving hearts of our loved ones. Learn to never take your family and friends for granted, because those mistakes sometimes leave deeper scars. The nuns at St. Marys taught me to say sorry when I hurt somebody. Sometimes, we do things without thinking out the consequences. We dont do it maliciously or with bad intent. But, when it happens, make sure you do not hide behind a veil of a lengthy explanation full of complex jargon. Just admit your mistake. Apologize. To be sincerely apologetic denotes humility and it asks in return for forgiveness. The memories I have had as a boarder at St. Marys are far too many to count. Tears and laughs that we have shared bond us forever. Because of this, I will always look back on my years with fondness and laughter. I thank all those who have been an instrument in my life. The nuns. My teachers. All the boarders. All my classmates. Thanks sincerely for your friendship. I am truly a better person for having known all of you.
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Those days
F ERNANDES 19
B Y B LANCHE DS OUZA
are so many things to say and so little precious space and time to say them in. Im not quite sure where to begin. Whatever your memories of school, you may nd that emotions from long ago insist on attaching themselves to the present situation. When my children fuss about their food or clothing today, it takes me back to the time when my parents packed my trunk and I left Aden heading for St. Marys boarding.
HERE
I had no choice but to wear whatever was put in there. Just the bare necessities six dresses, a dozen under clothing, a dozen pair of socks, a few petticoats and some eatables. Yet, today, my children seem to complain if they have to eat the previous days food.
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Blanche came from Aden in 1966 to join St Marys boarding for three wonderful years. After her boarding pranks, she became a teacher herself. E: blanavel@hotmail.com
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Those days
Thats when I tell them that I had to eat whatever was dished out in my plate like dhal and white rice with a little pickle, with no seconds. On feast days and other occasions we would get some special beef. Oh, how I longed for feasts and holidays, just so that I could go home to eat a good home cooked meal. And that would only be possible if my parents wrote to the nuns and requested they give me permission to go. Today, our kids go with simply a Mum, see you later. Back in our time, we were so innocent. We were actually told not to so much as glance at a boy. This made us feel that looking at them would actually get us pregnant. I was so scared to even use the same washroom if I saw a boy come out of it. I thought, if I sat on that same seat, Id go the family way. Even if I felt a tinge of pain in my tummy, I would think Im pregnant. As I recall my days at St. Marys, somehow they were more than special, because we kind of had a bond with one another. If one got in trouble, we would all try to cover up for that person. In our time, we didnt know the meaning of hatred. Reminiscing my long lost days at St. Marys somehow make me go aaaaaww, especially when I remember our trunk room and the cafeteria where we would sit and chat, crack jokes and have plenty of fun. Special friends are the ones who are more than just friends. Be it your sister, brother, wife, husband or a very close buddy, this bond really makes life worth living and thats what I had while at St. Marys and cherish up to this day.
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Those days
My friends have been Agnes, Shirley, Sandra, Mary Joan, Vimala, Lavie, Vilma, Lilian, Monica, Martha, Violet, Diana Loretta, Irene ... too many to mention. My classmates were Jemima, Glory, Gloria, Sandra, Lourdes, Irene, Arlette, Brial, Anisia. Lumen (active on the ChillieNet) was one of my close friends in the boarding. Mind you, Im going back four decades in time. Boy, I cant remember what I did yesterday. My favourite teachers were Veronica, Sir Parmar, Gurudas, Sashi and Miss Lily. My favourite nuns were Sr. Elsa and Sr. Blaise and Mother Julia. This is for all of you. We made it! When the odds were stacked against us, when we felt discouraged and uncomforted. Through tears of joy and pain, loss and sadness, laughs and cheer, St. Marys will forever bind us together. As the Class of 1969 of St. Marys Girls Convent, we were not bound by terms others used to dene us. We were not placed in tiers or grouped in standings. We were not limited by what other people though we were capable of achieving. But, we given amazing opportunities based on our potential. We were recognized and rewarded for our talents. We are successful, in part, because of the education we received from this institution. Yes, attaining success took a lot of work, but nothing worth has ever come easy to anyone. I did not realize that when we exited the doors of St. Marys that wed take our memories with us. But we did, and, in some sort of way, they have encouraged us, motivated us and comforted us whenever necessary. No matter what happened, no matter where we each landed, the light that St. Marys instilled in us shined bright through us for the world to see.
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Those days
Strangers who grew to be friends, friends who became family here on our very own GreenChilli Net, that turned into a group that shared and cared for one another, in the hope that some day, the future Green Chillies would look back and be proud of us. So, to each and everyone of you, I thank you for those lovely years. It has been an honour, and a privilege, to have known each of you. And even though we all left St. Marys four decades ago, St. Marys never let us go. She forever carries us in her heart!
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Writing on the convent wall

B Y L AVIE F ERNANDES 20
Give to the world the best you have and the best will come back to you.
while running up and down the stairs at St. Marys. Sr. Roseanne had done a beautiful job with her artistic rendition on a wall that led up to our dormitory and some of the classrooms. These words not only inspired but stayed with me throughout my life. The rst time I read them was when I walked up the stairs to be measured for my green pinafore, I was thoroughly impressed and awe-stricken. The memories stayed with me throughout my life.
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HESE were words that I read a thousand times
Lavie Fernandes (Class of 1969) came from Dar-esSalaam to join St. Marys in 1965. Shes now in Maryland Email: Fernandeslavinia@aol.com
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Sr. Angelique was the rst nun who welcomed me and I will always remember her as one who encouraged and guided me throughout my boarding life. The nuns who virtually raised us throughout our childhood played such an important role in our lives. We loved them and hated them at different stages of our development and upbringing. But deep down, they cared for us as only they knew how. As I pen these lines, I wonder: What made me the person I am today? What is it that I got out of St. Marys? Who are the people who made a difference in my life? My friends, teachers, the nuns? Many names stand out and I feel compelled to give credit where credit is due. I feel so grateful to the teachers who painstakingly helped me through all aspects of my growing years Ms. Joyce, Ms. Veloso, Sr. Claribelle, Sr. Roseanne, Mother Xaviera, Sr. Sylvania .... to name but a few. There were others who didnt play any role in my academic studies but who cared for us as boarders, and I would like to mention the few names that come to mind. Sr. Michael ... she was someone very special and mothered us as no other nun I remember. I remember the nights after dinner, she had this little black book from which she would read a chapter about the etiquette of life. It is from these stories that she read to us each and every night after rosary that I learnt to differentiate between the good, the bad and the ugly. Sr. Blaise ... conjures up memories of a nun who was not only gentle but caring as well. Sr. Blaise was the nun who took care of the inrmary and
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the sweetery. She had this special cabinet in the refectory where she would lock up our goodies and ration it back to us. I remember the time my little arm was infected after a TB inoculation. The wound I had was so deep and painful that she would wait patiently until I was sound asleep to change the dressing on my arm so I wouldnt feel the pain. Next morning, I would look at my arm and wonder how in the world the dressing was so fresh and clean. When I questioned her about it, I was told how she couldnt bear to see me go through all that pain so she had to wait until I was asleep. Now, many years later, I can only put down my thanks in words to her and the rest of the Carmelites. These few words that I decided to write is mainly to give thanks to those who not only inspired but were a very important part of the early years of my life. To those who created and nurtured the GreenChilli Net so all of us could meet and greet, a very special and big t hank you too.
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The spice of my life

B Y M IGUEL A RCANJO DE B RAGANZA 21 a continental epicurean delight, I was born totally chillie-free in colonial Goa! Life was like that till the Indian armed forces rolled in to Goa in December 1961, and for a short while longer in liberated Goa.
IKE
Then the eldest two of my siblings, Fatima and Annette, joined St. Marys Convent High School, Mapusa, across the road and a couple of houses beyond our home. Life has never been the same again. The rst signs of the chill out were the ubiquitous bottle green pinafores and white blouses tucked under them. The trusted Simeao Mest (Simon DSouza, the family tailor from Parra) came over in the month of May, took the measurements of my
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Miguel Braganza has been a Presidents Scout, agri ofcer and consulting editor. E: miguelbraganza@yahoo.co.in M: 9822982676
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sisters and stitched the pinafores as was his wont: oversized. His term for all clothes for children was vaddtea angar (suited for a childs fast-growing body). My third sister, Amalia, followed the other two to St. Marys . The clothes we wore were either new or well tting; never both! Simon ensured that rather meticulously. My eldest brother was already too big for the St. Marys Primary school and so he went to Amoncars New Goa High School, not too far away from home. Then, amidst the rst India-Pakistan war of 1965, sirens, blackouts and food shortages, it was my turn to learn the 3 Rs: Reading, wRiting and Rhythmic singing in the St. Marys kindergarten! The text book began with the lesson Sing, Mother Sing but my interest didnt lie there. My classmate Siddharth and I played hell into the girls. It must have inspired the lyricist of the Abba hit song entitled Dance, Little Lady, Dance. We gave each of them just one chance. It was a hit song, was it not? Hey! Not so quick. While still in the green shorts and white shirts, we acted in the school concert. It was a ten-act play. We boys had to do all the acting while the teachers and the girls did the singing, as simple as that. Ten of us were lined up on a row of KG benches placed on the stage like some guys from a Clint Eastwood thriller Hang em High. The song went thus: Ten green bottles standing on the wall (twice). And if one green bottle should accidentally fall. Crash! The extreme guy had to fall off the bench and play dead while the chorus picked up,
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Nine green bottles... and went on, in this manner, till there were No green bottles standing on the wall. At that young age I realized that the girls tend to use the boys as fall guys! The primary section of the school was then, in the sixties, housed in old army barracks, now demolished to make way for the Saldanha Trade Centre. The telecom department had not yet arrived on what used to be the playground shared by St. Marys and Amoncar school students. There was a narrow passage behind the classrooms by which the Boys in Blue used to come to the bus stop, making many a heart to skip a beat en route. The primary students often became the unwitting postmen of the secondary school boarders. A delivery of a love note to the right girl often got one a sweet in return. A delivery to the wrong girl sometimes earned one a chocolate. I was not interested in girls then as I am now. I was always interested in chocolates. The girls could keep sweets to themselves. I was sent to school to study, not to deliver letters! Chocolate was a different issue. I was innocent-looking, fair, chubby and did not have a beard then or I might not have survived to tell this tale! Fond memories of some of the Chillies in my life then include the A to Z, and some in between. was for Angela DSouza (Jemimas sister) and for Zelma Pereira. In our class, there also was Natalina from Pascoal Bakery. My Std. I class teacher translated my name from the original Portuguese Miguel to its English version Michael. So it remained till I went to Bangalore for higher studies.
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We were quite a few of us boys at St. Marys then, including Tahir Isani and Mario Pereira, who got their leaving certicates delivered along with their Std. I result cards, just as it happened to me too. The remark in the conduct column was a standard remark: Admission in a boys school recommended. Or words to that effect. So it was to St. Britto High School that I was sent from the second standard. It was an unlearning and re-learning process. The standard greeting of Good morning, Miss when the teacher entered the class, was greeted with cat-calls and a chorus Miss, Miss. Give me a kiss! from Britto classmates, specially the boarders. I soon lost all interest in St. Marys girls, though I knew quite a few of them at home and at Feira Alta, where I went to play in the afternoons. This went on till Standard VIII, when the hormones suddenly brought the girls back to centre-stage in my life. I have been warned by my Guru that libel and defamation laws apply to the written word and to avoid being unnecessarily raunchy. The girls I knew in this phase of my life are now well positioned, one way or the other. If you are lucky, I could share a juicy detail or two in private. I would also promptly deny it if I am ever quoted as saying so. One girl named Marilyn, who would play hockey with us along with her brother and few friends of either gender, had a tough time from competitors. These cheeky girls would break into a popular chorus, Michael row the boat ashore, Alleluia! and end it with a modied version that went, Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn! Life is but a dream!
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How we got networked

By Arlette Azavedo22
walks during recess. Class-time mastis. Birthday bumps. Horrible teachers. Long gupshups. Punches and slaps. Cheering for squads. Crushes on boys in blue. The struggle for marks. Writing on the desks. Fight with teachers. Tears for love. Fake vacation homework. Naughty pranks on our teachers. Those are days that I will never forget.
ONG
In it is everything that all of us call school life. Today, it seems to heaven like me. Our GreenChillie Net, a Yahoogroups-based cyber network on the internet, was started with the aim of fostering friendships and re-enkindling all that nostalgia of our happy days at St. Marys. For all who studied in this alma mater. It was also meant
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http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmarysgirlsmapusa/ is where you can nd ChillieNet. Azavedo is from the Class of 1974. M: +91-9422061766
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to catch up on lost contacts, to make new friends, and to share their experiences. Im a rm believer that friends make the world a much better place. They make you laugh. They comfort when you are sad or hurt. They listen to rants and sometimes join in. Once we know that they are there for us, the world seems to be a better place. As for me I just want to have, and to be around, my friends. Since the ChillieNet was started in September 2004, I have got so attached to my sweet chillies that it hurts really bad inside of me if anything goes wrong on our ChillieNet. The reason is that we all belong to one big family. The main reason for starting this mailing-list and maintaining it, is for you to stay in touch....and hopefully hear about who is up to what, and where. Informative updates, contributions by way of your creative writing, photographs, suggestions and updates are always welcome. Do keep them coming. An idea sparked off in me as I was chatting with Rico on September 14, 2004, to be precise. Rico mentioned to me that there were networks and Yahoogroups working to link the alumni of St. Britto, villagers of Aldona, Saligaokars and Mapshemkars too. In response, I asked Rico if the boys in blue could have their own Yahoogroup, then why not the Marys Girls? Why should the GreenChillies lag behind? Forming ChillieNet was an easy step away. So, in the next two days, on September 16, ChillieNet got created. I was thrilled but then had my doubts as to who would bother to even join our group. It was Rico
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who motivated me saying there was no cause to worry even if it took its own time to start working. We decided to just try our best, and everyone joined in to make this cyber-network what it is today. Many thanks to all. Also, I would not have been able to handle the group alone. Miguel helped us to carry on our Yahoogroup further; many thanks to him! He was quick to add new members to the list, and also introduce it to others. While we had the occasional differences, we all worked jointly to build our ChillieNet group. Time marches on without asking for permission or responding to pleas and we must inevitably accept what changes it brings our way. Gradually we build up our members and today we are 168 members on our list and nearly about 400 posts a month quite a number! Just years back we were the best of pals, it sometimes makes me sad that now we could manage to share only a couple of hours and a cup of coffee, lunch or dinner as time is so insufcient. We have grown and so have our desires and problems along with it. While at school, we hardly would want to talk about syllabus and books (preferring to stay away from those), now we talk about our dwindling careers in times of recession. While at school we whispered about handsome guys and crushes, now we talk about relationships and marriage. While at school we talked about junk jewellery and accessories, now we wonder where we can get good ethnic wear. While at school we used to sip coke, now its strong coffee or a glass of wine. While at school we used to pass a smile when a guy passed by, now we shrug off if one stares at us... how times change.
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*** If only I could go back in time to rearrange the puzzles dening my life. Reminiscing about golden times makes me go nostalgic. Give me one chance and I would do anything to go back to my schooldays the oh so tempting days of innocence. The times when life wasnt complex and, at most, only career dening goals were envisioned. Those giggles and that cheeky laughter, that sheer enthusiasm to excel in studies and win laurels for the house in extra-curricular activities. Days when teachers may have criticized us, but still our tempers remained ice cool. Times when every insult was taken in the right spirit. Those squeals attached to every dening moment of school life. Those were times when words like boy-friend or BF (to use our schoolgirl-speak) gained new connotations. Excitement to discover what life is like after school, without the bondage of having to do homework, the desire to experience that newfound freedom, the attitude to throw a false air of sophistication, and most importantly to be attached with a tag of having grown up. Today, I feel a strange nostalgia from the past taking over. It was classmates and my teachers who played a great role in getting us where we are today, in our lives. Like a heavy rock sinking in the ocean of my memories, I looked up and, oh, how sweet it felt to go back in time. Even if only in memories. As I drifted slowly, I was invaded by a warm feeling, of melancholy and felt that I should do something to bond all our chillies that are scattered all over the globe. Its really nice that ChillieNet al-
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lows us to interact, after a gap of upto 30 years or a little more. Now I see friendly faces so warm, appreciating that they have joined the ChillieNet and bonding. This is my job. Remember the school picnic and then summer holidays, remember them? Remember your rst innocent crush? Was it a boy in blue or just a neighbour? Remember the rst look? Remember the song that reminds you of those days? Can you hear it now? How many times and for how long did you stand in the street waiting for that special person to come? We were sad, we were happy. But those days I will never forget. And how can we forget about the rst time we skipped school. Now, that was an adventure. Remember your rst letter, and how if caught one had to face the wrath of the Principal? Those were the days and I will never forget. Many will remember our rst excursion with our school. Oh boy, it was fun all the way. I remember Gloria, Assunta and the others, who made it so enjoyable. Remember when you felt that everyone did not understand you and the only one that cared was your best friend? I will never forget my fathers blessing before I went for my school test, my mothers prayer when I left the house to go to school every morning, and my parents hug when I was sick. I will never forget one of my not-so-friendly school teachers, the way some girls made her life hell during class, the smell of the classroom, the breaks we got between classes and the subjects we used to discuss and argue about.
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I will never forget the time when I reached home for lunch, everything was laid out at the table. My dear parents would wait for me to come home, and only then begin to have lunch. I shall never forget the summer, the sun, the surf; we were the stars and the producers. What a feeling. I shall never forget our Principal Sr. Angelique. Her very name induced fear and awe in all of us. We would walk by the hallway, passing her ofce which was like a watch tower. Everyone of skipped a heartbeat when we saw her imposing gure, sitting in the Principals chair. Oh, and how can I forget the school bell? It always sounded loud and clear. In a jiffy, we all sprang out of our place and the noise level went up. In a few minutes, another bell rang and the whole cacophony abated just as quickly. Departing from each other meant getting autograph books lled and making endless promises to keep in touch forever. So many promises kept and unkept and lifetime friendships forged. Nothing like the feeling of discovering long lost friends, schoolmates or classmates after years. My scariest school memory was dreading oral reports just because I was shy. The thought of standing in front of the class and being handed out the report was terrifying. My favourite classroom was the one facing the main road, with its many windows. My friends and me spent hours staring out those windows when bored, looking at passers-by. I would also love watching the rain falling with its pitter-patter on the zinc sheet below our classroom. Suddenly, the warm, well-lit room with its clusters of desks would seem cozy. Id look around
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at my classmates, and realize how well we knew each other. The rst rains always made us seem like a family, as many a time we had to share an umbrella. I recall wanting to be a teacher or writer, and having a lots of kids, when lling in autograph books. Those were the days of simplicity, and the age of innocence. Well, I didnt realize it when I walked through the hallways for the last time and I didnt realize it when I said farewell to my teachers and friends. Only much later, as I was chatting with a friend, did I realize how completely my life changed after the end of my carefree days at St Marys. Life seemed just perfect. And now with our ChillieNet, I am reminiscing and reviving those were the days that I will never forget. So stay in touch. Get going. Lets relieve old times at St Marys via the ChillieNet group. And a big thank you to everyone who contributed in so many different ways to make it happen, and make the network come alive.
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Pupil, teacher ... grand-mom

B Y R AIDA D UARTE 23 is the history of the school now known as St Marys? How did it evolve? To answer these questions, one needs to begin with some background of schooling in Goa, as it existed around the 1940s.
HAT
The Anglo-Konkani School was founded in 1942 by Don Caetano Menezes. He had left the Sacred Heart School, then a branch of the Parra school that still carries the same name. The Anglo-Konkani school got its recognition in 1943. In the rest of India in those days, Std VIII was matriculation; but in Goa, matriculation was Std VII. This was because many children here used to join school after passing Segundo Grau (the qualifying exam) in Portuguese. Anglo-Konkani was a mixed school, for both boys and girls. My sister and I joined it in 1944. In
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Ms. Duarte taught at St Marys. As told to Arlette Azavedo.
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Pupil, teacher... grand-mom
1946, our family moved to Poona, where we joined Mount Carmels. I joined Std. IV and Sister Fridolene was the Superior of the school. In 1949, we came back from Poona to Goa; but when we went to the Anglo-Konkani school we were in for a big surprise. The Carmelites had taken over and Sr Fridolene herself had come to Goa, in charge of the school. Anglo-Konkani changed its name to Escola Da Santa Maria. I joined the school in Std. VI. The school had lost its recognition when we were in Poona, but regained this in 1950. Our batch was the rst to pass the matriculation exam in 1951. In the same year, the matriculation had been changed to being known as the Secondary School Certicate Exam. We could answer either matriculation or S.S.C.E., or both. We answered both. Out of the 14 students, 13 students passed in this rst batch. In those days, the matriculation and SSC exams were not held in Goa. We had to go either to Belgaum or Bombay to answer the exams. In 1962, the school name got changed from Escola Da Santa Maria to St Marys School. I did my teachers training after my marriage and after the birth of my three children. I was the rst married teacher in St Marys. I taught from 19661972 June in the Primary section and, when there was a vacancy in July 1972, I got promoted to the middle school. In those days, government grants were given only to the middle and high school. Sr Angelique, the headmistress, had to work very hard to promote me to the middle school. I am very grateful to Sr
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Pupil, teacher... grand-mom
Angelique for all that she has done for me. I was teaching mathematics from the fourth to the seventh standard, and enjoyed teaching the children. When I was teaching in the school I lent my help to build the present school building, where the high school currently stands. We did small things like cooking the samarem (beans curry) during some days of the week and selling it during the recess. I also remember having embroidered bed-spreads, table-cloths, pillow cases, crocheted tablecentres and selling them during the fetes. Twice I embroidered and crocheted prizes and brought out lotteries. I myself sold lottery tickets in school as well as by going house to house. All the money was to help to build the school. Every rupee counted. I retired on July 1, 1993. In appreciation for my services as a teacher, the Lions Club of Mapusa felicitated me, as did the Mapusa Municipal Council. My children passed out from St Marys and now my grand children are studying there. Long live St Marys.
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Days worth dreaming about

B Y D OROTHY D E S OUZA A LMEIDA 24
memory is getting a bit faint; but I know that if I do meet any of my classmates in person, I would surely recognize them at once. No matter what havoc age has done to them.
NE S
Somehow, I cant remember a single thing about my primary years, but from the fth standard onwards, I do have memories. Teachers like John Palmar, Arsenia, Mrs. DSouza, and Ms. Lira inuenced me a lot. They share a special spot in my heart. I havent met them ever since schooldays, but would like to meet them very soon. Sir John Palmar, my class teacher in the seventh standard, used to call me Dorothea, using the way it was spelt on the register. It used to take him like forever to complete saying it, and I would patiently
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Dorothy DeSouza Almeida is an administration manager with an international engineering rm in Kuwait. Email: dalmeida2001@hotmail.com M: +965 7438668
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wait for him to nish. This left me often also wondering why his forehead skin was completely rare grey or green in colour; but never had the courage to ask him. Miss Arsenia, unmarried at that time, was so frail and delicate looking, nothing but skin and bones. How she managed to not get blown by the wind was a wonder. She was an amazingly strong teacher even if not physically, for sure. She knew just the right way to handle students. Sir Peter used to like my handwriting and compare it to that of Ms. Arsenia. Her notes were always neatly written in her book, not an alphabet out of place. She later quit school after marriage and traveled to the Gulf to join her hubby bones and baggage, as it were. Wonder if she has put on weight ever since. Mrs. Lydia De Souza, the expert English teacher, was the one person responsible for my highest score in the school in English for the SSC exam. The award then comprised Rs 50, which however was very valuable to me, being my rst monetary award. I do have a good collection of merit certicates to my credit, one with a cute red little bow attached in one corner, something worth proudly showing to my kids. Today, looking at my size, they cant believe that I could actually run and win in races. People still go wow at my height though. I used to enjoy sports activities thoroughly and tried to take part in every possible track event for the annual Sports Day. Had to give it up once in college; studies took over then. Dramatics was another of my passion while at school, and one used to write and organize small
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playlets in school or outside at theatres on behalf of our school. My classmates still remember me for my plays. All I do now is watch Konkani dramas sitting out here in Kuwait. Comedy is my favourite, being quite a clown myself once I am in the mood. Male family friends do try to get me drunk to loosen my tongue, but to no avail, I just dont need it. My classmates included naughty ones (like Sheryl Fernandes, she used to rob the raw mangoes from my desk drawer and then deny it), wellbehaved ones (Anapaula Rebello, Lucrezia Fern, Joan DSouza ... not forgetting myself), good verbal ghters (Susan Fern, Lourdes, and Sheryl again), those studious and well mannered (Marilia Monteiro, Lucrezia, Sunita, me, etc). We had a good combination of all the species. I could be very studious and naughty simultaneously. Keeping quiet for long was an impossible task for me. The class leader would be in charge if a teacher was absent and would say No talking, study quietly to all of us; but as for me, it seemed that I just couldnt do it. I would sit straight, pretending to study from my books and relate jokes to all who could hear without actually looking at anyone in particular. The ones who couldnt control their laughter were caught and punished. I had a straight face throughout, so who would believe I distracted them. But at St. Xaviers College, it was the opposite situation. The boys kept commenting behind us and we kept getting caught and thrown out of class for laughing! So such was life, enjoyable and fun coupled with hard work.
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A few days from the past, worth dreaming about for life...
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Boarding pass: circa 1967-1970

B Y L UMEN D E S OUZA ( NEE P EREIRA )25 Nobertina joined the year I left. Reed-slim Rosy with equally slim plaits. Curly locks Loretta. Dazzling Diana and Vanilla Vilma. Tuticura queen Martha. Sports-feat-cumdancing-feet Mary-Joan.
EO - NATAL
Humorous Blanche praying for a fatwa, and taking us from crimson to blanch. Querobine, wonder where you are now. Que sera sera! Sisters-in-arms Gloria, Fatima, Assunta, Jennifer. Delicious desserts Agnes and Anna. Lucky Lavie from seaside Sinquerim. Holy Moses! How could I forget Emerciana. Vimala from Valpoi and Theodolina from Aldona. Nachinola natives Maria and Cecilia.
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Lumena Remediana Francisca Desouza was at St Marys from the Summer of 1967 to 1970. A boarder from Saligao, shes based in Thane. E: Lumen.Desouza@hed.ltindia.com
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Boarding pass: circa 1967-1970
Elsa, Sabina, Leticia, scholar Justina and her cousin Eleuteria plus her sister Crecy. Beautiful green-eyed Brenda. Duler damsels Patsy and Linda, Jasmine ower, Natalia, Efe. Natty, Prudence, Felcy, Celeste, Zelma. Petite Jemima, her siblings Angela and Celina and their cousins Myra and Myrtle. Tall and stately Violet Miranda. Perfectly coiffured Audrey and fair and lovely Marjorie. Dainty Yvette, delicate darlings Beulah and Karen. Anjuna angels Shirley and Sandra. Alzira Rodrigues como esta? Silky hair, milky skin, tom boys and waifs, the bold, the beautiful, the desperate! Out of Africa, from the Garden of Aden, or emerging through the Camels Tent from Q8. Sisterly love and innocuous mischief. Sharing of joys, sorrows, emotions, and phobias. Studying, playing, praying, laughing and crying together. Fervent hopes for long tresses crushed along with lousy creatures. Ditto for crushes on wowsy creations. Periodic disinfectants of hair, head and heart. Sick bay overlooking crossroads. A Room With A View! No quarrels over quarantine. Simultaneous growth of limbs and kinks. Shorter skirts, peppier jokes, larger condence. And as the lights dimmed, bolder ghosts collided with wilder gimmicks. Preethi, Asha, Shanti, and Satya prevailed. Wet daal, dry mince, and perpetually seasonal brinjals, leaving us purple faced! Magic shows of egg caldin and channa masala. From the depths of comics to the heights of literature via Denise and Barbara. And looking after this hot chillie garden with tender, loving care were the cool A.C. sisters.
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Oh, that chicken biryani

B Y S ELINA E LAINE D E S OUZA
E
F ERNANDES 26
begin, a thank you to all my teachers at St. Marys. Certainly, I cannot ever repay you for everything you have done; there is no doubt that I am a better person because of you.
O
I studied at St. Marys from Std. I to SSC. I remember all those good times and sad times. When I was in the third standard, my class teacher Miss Theresa died. She was so young. Our entire class went to her funeral at Tivim; at that age I just could not understand why she had to die. One still remembers her, so beautiful with straight long hair. God bless her soul. My best friend in school was Joyce De Souza, we still are good friends. We had such good, clean fun and laughed all the time. Then, I liked to imitate
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Selina (Class of 1983) was born in Nairobi and lived at Bastora, while in school. She is now a registered nurse in Orlando, Florida.
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people, though I cannot give you a lot of names here! Looking back at those school days, I appreciate the discipline we had. It pushed me to do better and set my goals higher. Today, as a mother of two boys, I know that discipline is a form of love and what you, the teachers, gave me at school, is still in me. It helps me in my time of crisis. (About discipline, I believe in grounding a child, by taking away priviledges, thats what I do with my kids.) Our male teachers were great role models too Sirs Peter, Ramdas and late Parmar. Sir Ramdas was indeed an intelligent physics teacher. Mrs Duarte and Mrs De Mello, great at math. I must admit thought that I myself wasnt so good at the subject though one admired their problem-solving skills. I remember this one special class we had. I think it was in the seventh or eighth standard, and the class was about the changes that occur when one transitions from girl to woman. It also focussed on the reproductive system. We were so innocent, and laughed and giggled; but looking back, it was so informative. My mum had never talked about this to us, ever. In those days, nobody talked about this kind of stuff. Till that point of time, I always thought that God put a baby in the mothers belly and later she went to the hospital, the doctors cut open her belly and handed over the baby to her! I am indeed thankful to all our teachers Sr Sylvania, Mrs. de Souza, Raynor, Lira, Adelaide (she rode a scooter), Alzira, Shashi, Daya.... My favorite was Mrs. Lira Rocha, so sweet and gentle. She was strict, but very loving. One incident I remember happened when we were in the SSC. We had extra classes, and I forgot my
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lunch and had no money. To complicate things, my best friend Joyce was out sick. I was sitting by myself near the stage, next to the toilets, while the rest of my class was having lunch inside. Mrs. Lira saw me, she had her handbag with her, and was leaving. I told her I was okay. She somehow realised that I didnt have my lunch and insisted I go with her. We went to Woodlands, a nice restaurant near the school now demolished for a high-rise. Once there, she handed me the menu, telling me to order whatever I wanted. We both had chicken biryani that day! It was very generous of her to take me out to lunch, but more than that, it was kind and thoughtful of her to notice me sitting alone. Thank you, Mrs.Lira, dont know if you remember this incident, but I certainly do. What I got from my teachers was abundant knowledge, but much more than just that manners and sharing. In simple words, just being a better human being. I remember our farewell party as if it happened only yesterday. I know I didnt want to leave my friends. Thank you all once again, for all your hard work, and all the love you gave to me.
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Over the years, in verse

B Y Y OLANDA DL IMA
E
L OBO
It is 2000 something. I have been requested to write, It may seem like a simple chore, The memories are fragmented, and yes, they were oh so long ago It was 1960 something, the year I was born, Destiny brought me to the shores of SMC in Standard One. It was 1970 something, the year I rst discovered the fright of Math, When asked to stand up and recite the two-times-two by-heart. I never saw Standard Three but made it straight to Four, Where I was asked to read the Ugly Duckling and more.
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Sr. D had very little tolerance for the slow, My, oh my, I wish I could stand up to her 6ft frame, now more than before. Her aim, right in the centre of our heads, she got us good duster, chalk, book and yet we still stood! I was braver in Standard Five, learnt that at home we all could sing, But in SMC, all eyes and ears were with me in full swing. Teacher Lourdes encouraged me to compete in a tune or two And boy, did I belt out Ribbons of Blue. Everyone cheered, Thank you SMC for thinking I was a star in the making. After that, life at SMC was never the same, The nuns put us together with other singers for fame was ours to claim. Amber, Stella, Milan and more, On the bus that Stella missed, away our trip to Panjim we made A song to record that would one day be played.
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One very rainy day, through the crackling radio waves, Hurdled around a neighbours radio, my family, neighbours and friends heard me sing. I told you sang it too high ah ah, oh ah ah. We didnt, we didnt, we didnt, we didnt. Standard Six, turned fright into shivers during Math Mrs. D was a fear that didnt go away, no matter how hard you prayed Hold the protractor right, or that compass in the centre the way it should stay Ouch, the pain to withstand you thought you could The twist of the ears, that slowly brought you to your feet Eye to eye with Mrs.D you were dead meat. Math time didnt stop the fun of concerts, plays and sports days I could run as fast as the deers, And always worked hard to beat my peers
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Those practices with Mrs. Sashi for the asnas, yogas and dumbbells And, oh, that game of the dog-and-bone in between. Lets learn to march together she said, Hold the ag stiffer and bring your short legs higher, shed yell. Her sari tucked in her belly was fashion those days, Nowadays my kids would say, cover up mum that is oh so bad! My life at SMC was lled with Ds, Some good, some fun, some bad but only one D was a different kind. Kind, compassionate and giving, she knew of our time at home left behind Always taking me to the side to ensure we were ne Shed share her lunch and goodies, Knowing full well that I had not any. Always keeping a watchful eye for us, She never judged, nor did she scold for all the wrongful things she was told. The only D, that I will spell out loud, Mrs. DMello, thank you! Standard Seven was where change began It was the year of the convent and the nuns.
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Away from home, dad, siblings, neighbours and friends, No more fun times in the jungle behind our abode, No more picking cashews, mangoes and guavas by the load. No more climbing trees, no more playing guli danda, No more playing marbles with my brothers. No more playing seven tiles with the millions kids in our village, No more sitting on compound walls until it was shouted it was bedtime and we pouted! No more bus rides to school with my curly hair all out of place And Mr. P yelling heres a brush just in case. SM Convent life was a turning point, It taught me a lot of what I am today The nuns laid down the rules to stay. Wake up at ve you must, be in chapel in a rush, Walk to school for eight, dont be late, and back at half past one Lunch at two, homework at half past two Play time; snack time, bath time, Angelus time, rosary time, some fun time, some quiet time And then bed time, giggles time, story time and Sometimes punishment time, all in 24 hours.
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That life was maybe for me, but not for my younger sis. Determined she was to leave the convent far behind and be in bliss Our get-away she planned, Step-by-step from the convent to school, school to bus-stop Bus stop all the way to home sweet home. My heart raced a few beats when the nuns stopped the bus, Find us they couldnt, for we were under the seats. Alas, her plan fell through when kicking, screaming we were dragged back to the boarding, to shamelessly follow the same plan once again. This time with warning the school year dragged on, to return home full time for good! Back to the monkey fun life we so desired in the woods. SMC taught me to sew, this I never learnt because it was a real bore. SMC taught me to pray, and this I still do everyday. SMC taught me respect, dignity, uniformity and love And that to me is shoved to the top way above it all. SMC taught me to be who I am, Without which I would be just a lame scam.
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Standard Eight was a year of tears, unknown to me Goodbye was on the horizon, If only Id known. I might have spent time with my friends galore Knowing that I would see them in June no more. A challenging year of Marathi, Hindi and Math Gave me incentive for a future path. That day when summer holidays had just begun And fun time was here again With friends and siblings, skimming stones and jumping on the rocks Along came the post-man with visas in a box To take us to the land of Dubai.
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So long, farewell
B Y H AZEL P EREIRA 27
I write this, the lyrics made famous in the movie Sound of Music and sung by the Von Trapp children come to mind, So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu. Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.
Well, last Saturday, was a day of mixed emotions for me. It was the occasion of my son Aarons school farewell party. In addition to the emotions I felt as a mother, it also opened up a oodgate of memories for me of our own St Marys farewell parties. This happened both when we were in Std. IX and hosted the farewell party to the Std. X batch, as well as the farewell party that was hosted for us when we were ourselves in Std. X. Well, to start off, of course, the last day of the school classes was an event in itself. We would
27
Hazel Pereira (nee Mascarenhas) is one of the moderators of GreenChillies Net, with Arlette Azavedo and Selina Fernandes, and was a boarder at St. Marys.
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all start writing little farewell messages on each others uniform both the white blouse and the green pinafore which we would not be wearing ever again! By the end of the day, the uniforms would be lled with a mirage of colours and handwritings. Oh yes, some would even slap-on their hand-prints, after dipping their palms in water colors. On this day, the air would be lled with a festive spirit as all of us felt we were now nally free. No more coming to school to attend classes. No more strict discipline. No more uniforms, and all that went along with it. What we perhaps did not realize at that time, of course, was how drastically things would soon change. How barely a few years down the line, we would not just miss all these things, but, in fact, we would wish we could go back to what we now lovingly refer to as the best days of our life a.k.a. the good ole days in St. Marys. The farewell parties, well, they were something else. As a boarder, I had heard a lot about the farewell parties held in school. Every year, in the boarding too, we would host a farewell party for the boarders who were in Std. X. Gosh, till we ourselves reached Std.IX, we would all look forward to that day when we would see our seniors (those in Std. IX & Std. X, that is) dress up in their best dresses. A touch of make-up, high-heeled shoes, dangling and colorful earrings, bangles, purses, and what not. Why, it all seemed like such an exciting day!
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Then, nally, when we were ourselves in Std. IX, all of us in my batch did our best to make it really special for the departing Std. X batch. The farewell party had short skits, dancing, eats and soft drinks et al. At the end of the party, a tiny gift was given to each of the SSC students as a memento. Only on the day itself we nally realized how sad the occasion really was. As we bid them farewell and handed over the memento, each one of them cried. Thats when it dawned on us that this would really be these girls last time in the school premises as students. Barely a year later, I remember how hard I too tried to hold back the tears. Then, I nally cried on the last day during the Assembly. It happened when some of the younger ones, whose class I used to go to mind during the Assembly, came up to me with tiny farewell cards drawn by them. All of them were shouting "Please, dont go!". The farewell party was usually held in the school lab which would be cleared of all the tables and the scientic apparatus microscopes, test-tubes and burners. I remember having stitched a dress especially for the farewell. This was a surprise in itself, as I rarely stitched any dresses in those days and always wore the pretty ready-made dresses that we got in the Gulf. All of us were indeed looking our prettiest and best. That, of course, was until one girl started crying as she bid bye to another. Then, the ood of tears started for everyone. Teachers and nuns had words of advise as they bid each of us farewell: Study hard just a few days
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left for the Board exams, Practise your algebra and geometry well, Come and meet me in school if you have any difculty in this subject, Dont worry, all will go well, pray and God will help you to stay calm, and so on. Shouts of Keep in touch, Dont forget me, Best of luck for the Board exams, Pray for me rent the air as we left the portals of the school, clutching on to the memento given to us. We also had with us the bits of paper on which were scribbled the postal addresses of our friends. Forget the Internet, it didnt exist then as we know it now; but, not too many of us even had telephones in our homes in those days. So the only way to keep in touch after we left school and went our different ways would be through the post, the snail mail as they call it today. The boarders had an added ritual that followed the farewell party at school. That was, going to the photo studio near Cine Alankar and clicking a photograph of the boarders in both these batches. Yes, the snap would have teary-eyed faces, but it was a worthy remembrance of the day all the same. Well, from what I heard from my son on Saturday, the excitement that preludes the last day of school and the school farewell parties havent changed much. But, one thing is for sure: the kids of today will be able to keep in touch far more easily than in the days of old, thanks to the Internet and the many phones. This has, in fact, even helped to get many of us from St Marys back in touch with each other after so many years. Interestingly, I received a forward today that had a whole lot of sayings on childhood, and the ones that struck me as I write this are:
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So long, farewell
The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until our old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remaining over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves. There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in. If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older. Indeed, a good twenty plus years have now passed since I left the portals of St. Marys, but it seems just like yesterday that I was in class shouting "Present, Miss" as the teacher read out the rollcall for attendance. So, although I have physically stepped out of school and let the future in, I have never let the childhood memories fade away. I am proud to be a part of the GreenChillies Net where the memories of others bring back even more memories for me! The secret, perhaps to why we never seem to grow old and remain spicy green chillies till date!
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Nostalgia, and more

B Y O DILIA
DAS
C HAGAS
S ILVA 28
There was once a little girl So timid and so shy Her mind as blank as a slate Her thoughts sweet as apple-pie How does one mould someone so innocent Into a woman of substance and essence Our alma mater proved it possible Instilling good values by its mere presence. back on days gone by, thoughts keep running through my head. I keep thinking, what if I were but a child again. Of all the time
OOKING
28
Odilia Odi das Chagas e Silva was at St Marys from 1983 to 1993 and lived at Grande Morod in Mapusa. She is now based in Kuwait.
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that has passed me by, school days were the most memorable and of lasting inuence. I remember myself as a timid and shy little thing trudging to school, holding onto my sisters hand. When I think of this, a smile forms on my lips, proof of how great those days really were and how much I wish I could get back into those routines again. I lived in Mapusa itself. It took us my sister and me about 15 minutes to walk it out to school. I was the lazy one, or so says my sister, and would always delay getting to school. This would result in both of us getting punished for coming in late. We both have a hearty laugh over the good old days and about all the pinches and beating I got from her, which started from the minute we left our house, and lasted till we reached school. I guess I was a stubborn brat and would apply taxes in exchange for the acceleration Id add to my walking speed; the taxes being payable at the local sweet shop. How she hated that. My sister would have to spend all her pocket money on me just so that Id walk faster and she could attempt to get to school on time. It wasnt the reluctance of going to school that made me like that, I think I just liked to trouble her. She was the only sibling that was close to my age, all the rest being way older. Id be a different person when I entered the school gates, gone would be the brat and out would come a shy timid little girl, who would want to hide behind her sisters skirt for the slightest of reasons. Yet, school brings back so many awesome memories, Ive had the privilege of studying in the old primary school, the old high school and as well as
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of experiencing the comfort of better and improved facilities offered by the new school building. A lot of people worked hard to get the new school building up and running. I remember how we would go house to house selling rafe tickets, earnest in our efforts to be able to sell them all and return jubilantly back to school to get some more. Another awesome memory is that of the school fete, an exciting event for all with loads of games, prizes and plenty of fun. Each one was assigned a duty, which was performed to ones utmost ability. It seemed like one big family joined together for a purpose and working together relentlessly to reach that goal. What is a school? Does it just comprise of a big building with so many number of rooms and various different facilities? It would be inexcusable if I did not speak about the teachers, for a school is nothing but the people who comprise of it. Teachers and staff members come together to mould, build and inuence the lives and minds of the students. St. Marys Convent School has seen the best of teachers over the years; all have been involved in sincerely and devoutly shaping the lives of the little ones that have entered and walked out of school. One can safely say that school has truly been a home away from home, because the institution has been nothing less than a large family in itself. Teachers, for their part, have been catering to every need of the child, be it based on knowledge, emotionality or spirituality, leading to an all round development of the child.
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A few teachers come to mind at this point of time. Id like to start off with Mrs. Lira Rocha, a truly beautiful person both inside and out, her mesmerizing smile portraying the person she really is, warm and kind hearted and very soft spoken. I remember in Std VIII, she was our class teacher and taught us English. She asked the entire class to write a poem, be it on anything. She gave us the guidelines and some suggestions how we could go about writing it. I wrote my rst poem that day, the topic was My Goa and it was just a few lines long, but I think that inspiration proved enough to write a lot more in the days to come. Sir Peter Braganza was another teacher who was full of life and full of smiles. He always had something funny to say, and that kept all of us in high spirits during his art class. I think it is not enough to have knowledge alone, but one needs the drive to able to reveal and to pass things on to others. Sir Peter has been very talented and a lot many of us would do our best to draw or reproduce the kind of art he depicted on the blackboard. He was also our English teacher in Standard VII. I remember for the oral exam, I decided to recite the poem Okee Pokee Crack Me Crown, King of the Island Gulp-em-Down. I missed out on a few words, and he gave me the chance to recite it all over again thank you Sir. By the way, I still do remember most of the poem. Mrs. Raynor was our history teacher in Std. X. I really didnt like history that much, but she made the entire class so much more interesting by telling us the entire lesson in the form of a story. No need to look at our text books; just listen to her explanation and understand the entire historical episode.
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She made the lesson more interesting by dividing the class into three groups either row-wise or by roll numbers, and having a quiz competition. This would make the entire class much more exciting and we would read the lesson properly the previous day so that our group would win the quiz. She was an amazing and wonderful person and I think patience is one of her biggest virtues. I recollect endless times where she had to practise it on us. Mrs. Alzira was another very talented teacher. She taught us Hindi in the middle school, but her needle work was what amazed me the most. She was endowed with the knowledge and the art of needle-work, crochet, tatting (handmade lace fashioned by looping and knotting a single strand of heavy-duty thread on a small hand shuttle), wealth from waste etc ... you name it, she knew it. It was one amazing time, trying to nish the given task before anyone else could. We once made a doormat out of rope. She taught us how to dye the rope and then to intertwine it to form a doormat so that each layer would have different colours on it, I used mine at home so proudly till it tore into tatters. That was one of the proudest moments of my life. Sr. Clarinda was our class teacher in Std. X. She was a very soft-spoken person and our English lessons were very engrossing and lled with knowledge. I think half the time she taught us how to be lady-like and well mannered, because we were a bunch of rowdies who would just wait to make noise once left alone in class. Almost at the end of the year, before we could answer our board exams, she called out to each one separately and elucidated what was expected of
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us. Not for anyone else but for our own sake and because we were capable of achieving it if we believed it ourselves. Incidentally, the whole year round she tried her best to separate my best friend Ella and me from sitting together. But, at the end of the year, she herself actually brought us together, because the two of us had a big ght, GreenChillie style. Thank you, Sister Clarinda. I simply have to mention Sir Ramdas, who taught us physics. We were all very scared of him because he was this very serious person. But, looking back now, I know he was very kind hearted person and had more than a tinge humour in his blood. One funny incident that I clearly remember happened during one class of his. He was explaining about the chemicals used in some products we use, and how we get lured to the various different ads on the television. He specically mentioned a toothpaste brand, which had an ad in Hindi that said Baas Aaada (only half). Sir Ramdas went on to say Aada Paada, nothing doing, its better to brush our teeth with leaves than to use such products. Given the connotations of the word paada in Konkani, it had us all roaring with laughter. I have so many remarkable and overwhelming memories of school; to pen all of them down would be like attempting to reach an endless horizon of nostalgic moments. I am ever grateful to my school and to all my teachers for their relentless patience and hard work. This helped mould all of us students into better personalities, and better human beings. Through the years spent at St. Marys Convent School, we were woven into a blanket of wonderful
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colours, each colour representing good values, honesty, morality, decency, politeness, integrity, ethics and so on. When we left school as young ladies to face further challenges in life, whoever we engulfed into our warm blanket would also nd in themselves a reection of all these virtues. Schooling in St. Marys has been an amazing journey, one lled with numerous different experiences, the laughter, the knowledge, the friendships, the achievements, the failures, the tears, the innocence, the spirituality. Our alma mater will always be dear to me for it is here that I have grown from an innocent timid child into a mature person. I can truly say that this has really been a home away from home experience for me.
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Linking up once more...

B Y A NNA DS OUZA
Green Chillies of the 60s are meeting up once again Reinforcing their SMC bond, to which I say, Amen! Every bone in their body is jumping with glee Everyone, its so simple, cant you see? N ostalgic feelings will be all around
Cause the girls are meeting on home ground! H ow this has all come about, dont ask me I really dont care because Im so very happy Lumen is going to be there and so is my sister Agnes and Clara
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Linking up once more
I cant wait to meet them all and my friends Milagres and Zelma! Everyone will be missing Blanche, Caroline, Lavie, Myra... Since they belonged to the 60s when we did the cha-cha-cha!
Oh, I completely forgot to tell you of our meeting ground? Forgive me, its the excitement, in lovely Goa, where our hearts abound. Time has brought us oldies closer to one another How I wish we could just turn back the chapter! Every classmate, every friend I wish we could meet SMC, if only we could come back, wed do it in a heartbeat! I am condent that this is a Godsend gathering Xmas in Goa with friends of the 60s, amazing! To who do we owe a big thank you and Bravo? Its to none other than our dear friend Rico! Eager was I to reconnect with my long lost classmates
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Linking up once more
So many of who were my childhood playmates! Miguel, it was you who helped in my rendezvous Emerging from a magic box like my lucky horseshoe! Esteemed classmates and friends lets never again bid adieu Together let us stay in touch, no matter what we do! Undoubtedly Arlette, behind all of this you are the angel Perhaps if it werent for you, none of this would be possible!
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Encore in Toronto
B Y K ARYN B ECKETT29
I hope you have some hot chicken soup and a shot of the feni vaccine that Yolanda has been propagating! So now to give youll some khobros about our St. Marys gettogether at Yos (in Canada in late 2007).
RLETTE ,
I picked up Agnes (Noisy Annas quiet sis!) and my feisty sis Audrey and headed off to Yos. It was very exciting en route, as we tried to place who was in whose batch and who was going to be at Yos. Got a bit lost along the way and spoke to Yos hubby, Irving, who came across as being very friendly. That totally put us at ease. Arrived at Yos in typical Indian fashion late!
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Karyn Beckett is based in Toronto. This report is about one of the St. Marys past-pupil mini-reunions that happened there. E: kbeckett@blgcanada.com
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The second thing that stands out as you enter the doors is that Yos house is just spectacular! There are lit candles everywhere. You know how some of us just like to have candles on display but never light the bloody things. Well, Yo and Irving have candles in all shapes and sizes, in iron frames and stone trays, just everywhere and they lend a lovely warm glow to the whole house. The furniture, hand picked art pieces, carpets, rugs, replace (I could go on and on but wont) are breathtakingly beautiful and never ever gaudy. Ever item complements the other and sits right where it should be. The colours, pictures, curtains and the like are unique and simply lovely. So whats the rst thing that stand out as you enter their beautiful house? Well, its Yolanda and Irving. Irving is of average height and Yo is this little thing, but both come with personalities that are so huge that they dwarf the house. They are warm, affectionate, totally fun-loving, extremely generous and very, very genuine with no airs about them at all. Their three girls are equally lovely and lovable. So before you know it we are all there Agnes, Susie, Zelma and Tony; Audrey, Beatrice and Nancy (sisters), Blanche, Kathy and Felix, Yolanda and Irving and myself. Well, well guess who decides to show up Celina and Sylvester. And if any of you know Celu then you are in for a treat. The girl is a hoot! Thinks up things that make you wonder how that little brain works overtime and has not given up yet. Well, I have not mentioned the lovely kids because I cannot remember all their names, but they are all adorable.
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So at this point we are talking above each other. I realised that Blanche is this little choooah who sits like a saint and then lets out all these naughty, naughty anecdotes. We used to have a phrase for people like her, saint without any paint or something to that effect and you know what I mean. The SMCites talked fast and furiously, trying to condense 30 odd years of lost time into a few hours. Next Sylvester whips out his guitar and we attempt singing only Konkani songs. Well, as you know, in those days, the nuns did not allow us to speak Konkani. So we valiantly try but miserably fail in this attempt. We end up singing English songs instead. Then Yo has this brilliant idea to play Lorna and this time the St. Marys (car)toons succeed brilliantly in helping Lorna belt out her tunes.... Now Susie and Celina have to leave to attend other engagements so we decide to take pictures and line up standing and sitting on Yos spiral staircase. We are not sure if we should stand by the year we passed out of St. Marys. After some indecision, we just stand anywhere. Felix tells us to say cheese but Audreys suggestion was better....so we all yell something unprintable and, click, we have our shot. We then change venues and pose around the dinner table, the sofa. Anywhere that Felix can get our picture in just a mish-mash and total disarray for we are happy just to be with each other. Irving has now changed the tunes to Spanish cantaras and we gyrate without any inhibitions like wannabe amenco dancers. In between all of this, Yo and Irving are relling our drinks like theres no tomorrow, feeding us like our bodies need the food (trust me none of us are anywhere close to be-
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ing as skinny as we were in St. Marys), playing fantastic music, clearing the room so we can dance and just being the very perfect hosts. That when Irving decides to bring out the magic liquid, you guessed it, feni. Like we have not drunk enough and emptied Irving/Yos bar, we ll our glasses yet again and after another telltale picture of us boidees we go bottoms up. Did it ever hit the spot dead-on. For all the Johnny Walkers and Gordons out there, there is nothing like our kutuk elixir. Because Yo thinks of damn everything, she has kept the food warm in the oven. With just a click of her ngers, everything is on the table and in chafng dishes. We all claim that we are full. But lets fool you not, we are smelling choris and sorportel and sannas and are drooling big time. We hustle the kids around the table, say a quick Bless Us O Lord and then a prayer for all the Chillies, St. Marys staff and families. We remember those that have passed on and pray for them. We then dig in big time. We eat, we eat, we talk, we laugh and we eat some more. At this point, I have to leave for a Diwali celebration. But I will not leave before I get my dose of sugar. If everything else in the whole evening had gone wrong, which it so did not, the night would still have been a huge success if only for Irvings bebinca. The guy makes a very mean bebinca! Tasty as heck. I kid you not, Chillies. Between you and me, I think Yo married the man because of his bebinca... shh. But then we had to leave. I knew my sis Audrey would have loved to stay and so would I; but I had promised my sister-in-law that I would attend her
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party. So, with bear hugs all around, and something about meeting the next time without the husbands at a night club (no matronly e-mails back, please), we left. Thanks Yo and Irving for making this happen for us and god bless your big, big hearts.
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Promoting the written word, in and about Goa | http://bit.ly/Goa1556Books
!atalogue "1#
G$%&% / '$!%' ()*+,-( / .,()$/0 Globalising Goa (1660-1820). By Ernestine Carreira. A rich account by a scholar in Paris tells us of the place oa occupie! in "n!ia an! the #orl! beyon! before the a!$ent of the British %a&. oa #as the capital of an European 'ariti'e e'pire that teetere! on the brin( of collapse in the tu'ultuous 1)th century* only to beco'e a thri$in+ cultural* reli+ious an! !iplo'atic hub in the 18th century* buil!in+ close relations #ith the fore'ost continental e'pires of the !ay -- ,u+hal* ,aratha an! ,ysore. Medieval Goa: A Socio-Economic History (-eotonio % !e .ou/a %s. 012 pb. %s 312 hb.) Goa Found and Imagined: Possibilities, otentials, ti s and tools! .tu!ents fro' .#e!en of a post-'aster4s inter-!isciplinary course in urbanis' encounter oa. -hey as( the 5uestion6 Coul! urbanisation propose other #ays of interpretin+ the pre$ailin+ spirit bet#een nature an! culture7 -hey co'e up #ith an insi+htful ta(e on conte'porary oan society. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-60-2 "e#iguring Goa: From $rading Post to $ourism %estination! Challenin+ our current un!erstan!in+ of oan society an! history. %a+hu -richur. As %ear As Salt (%eyna .e5ueira). oa #as once fa'ous for its salt. -his boo( stu!ies salt-far'in+ co''unities as they e9ist to!ay in three $illa+es (A+ar$a!!o in Perne'* Bati' in -is#a!i an! Arpora in
Bar!e/). ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-61-8 %s 300 Goa: Fol&lore Studies (P. Phal!esai ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-22-1 %s. 212. Pp 280) Ma usa: 'esterday and $oday A "eminiscent $our (:o'nic P.;. ;ernan!es. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-30-3 %s 020. 2012) (and o# t)e Sal $ree: Stories o# t)e )istory, legends and traditions o# Saligao, a ty ical Goan village! (;r 8asci'ento <. ,ascarenhas "llus6 ,el :4.ou/a ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-02-1 012 pp. %s 020) A boo( on .ali+ao $illa+e. *eyond t)e *eac): $)e +illage o# Arossim, Goa, in Historical Pers ective (- :4.il$a ".B8 1)8-1080)01-10-6 %s. 112 Pp 1)6.) Picture-Postcard Poverty: ,n)eard voices, #orgotten issues #rom rural Goa (,ani= 8oronha ".B8 1)8-81102682-8-1 %s. 120. Pp 100. Pb.) Anot)er Goa (;re!eric( 8oronha ".B8 1)8-81-10268-2)-2 %s. 232. Pp 112. Pb.) %omnic-s Goa (:o'nic ;ernan!es ".B8 1)8-81-103630-0-0 %s. 020. Pp 263.) 1,G/%),$& .olonialism, Migration and t)e International .at)olic Goan .ommunity (.tella ,ascarenhas->eyes ".B8 1)810-80)01-01-1 %s. 012.) Goan Pioneers in *ombay (-eresa Albu5uer5ue ".B8 1)810-80)01-20-6 %s 212) Into t)e %ias ora /ilderness
(.el'a Car$alho ".B8 1)8-10-80)0102-1 282 pp. %s. 032.) ?oo(s at oan 'i+ration in the En+lish spea(in+ #orl!. Songs o# t)e Surviors (@$onne Aa/E/!ani ".B8 1)8-81-102682-3-1 %s. 212. Pp 210. Pb.) -he story of oans in Bur'a in 1132.
(>. . upta ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-08-0 %s. 300) An insi+ht into the +ro#th of an untypical in!ustrial un!erta(in+. Girls in Green: Memories #rom St Mary-s (".B8 1)8-81-10268-22-) %s. 120. Pp 116.)
1*(,!/).-%)/ $)e (ast Prab)u: A )unt #or roots -%0A, ancient documents and migration ,ndra Mu3a Mama Fol& Songs o# in Goa (Bernar!o El$ino !e .ousa ".B8 Goa: An Ant)ology o# %ul ods (:r <ose 1)8-10-80)01-12-1 %s. 112. Pp 1)2. Pb.) Pereira* ,icael ,artins* Antonio Costa ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-26-) Pp 220. Pb. B,$G/%P.0/%*)$B,$G/%P.0 %s. 212.) Char'in+ 'usic fro' oa. %iary o# an In#antryman! Bri+ (%et!) "an !a Costa* A., pens his 'e'oirs. ;ro' the story of the 'i+rant oan co''unity in 8a+pur* to his e9periences in the "n!ian Ar'y. Song o# Goa .ro4n o# Mandos (sa'e authors as abo$e* Pp 316. Bb. ".B8 1)810-80)01-00-8 %s. 220.)
/)en t)e .urtains "ise (An!re %afael ;ernan!es ".B8 1)8-10-80)01 Patriotism in Action: Goans In India-s 01-3 %s. 112. Pp 216. Pb.) Cn the tiatr* a %e#ence Services (Aal'i(i ;aleiro ".B8 $ibrant for' of 'o!ern "n!ian theatre 1)8-10-80)01-06-1 %s. 600. Pp 033. Pb.) fro' oa. It-s *een A (ong %ay: A 0onagenarian "emembers ("rene Bere!ia* ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-33-1* Pp 133. %s 112* 2012.) Goa1s (iberation and $)erea#ter: .)ronicles o# a Fragmented (i#e (.uresh >ane(ar 1)8-10-80)01-00-3 %s. 212. Pp 2)6. Pb.) Everyt)ing is Grace! $)e %iary o# an International Immigrant Priest! eor+e Aranha. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-23-0. %s 300. *attles /aged, (asting %reams (.il$ia Bra+anca ".B8 1)8-10-80)0111-1 %s. 020. Pp 260 Pb.) Cn A5uino Bra+an/a* #ho fou+ht for the cause of Blac( Africa an! continue! to play an i'portant role in ,o/a'bi5ue till bein+ (ille! in the plane crash that also clai'e! Presi!ent ,achel. Mansion o# Glass: $)e G2* Story ',)-/%)*/- / G$%& 2/,),&G 5riente e 5cidente na (iteratura Goesa (:r Eufe'iano !e <esus ,iran!a ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-23-0 028 pp. %s 012) A !etaile! stu!y of 20th century oan #ritin+ in Portu+uese. Base! on the author4s Ph: thesis on a littleun!erstoo! sub&ect in to!ay4s oa. Modern Goan (iterature Pivoting 5n t)e Point o# "eturn: An Ant)ology (Peter 8a/areth (e!.) ".B8 1)8-81-10268-22-8 %s. 012. Pp 3)8. Pb.) ;ascinatin+ antholo+y an! the earliest collection of oan #ritin+ in En+lish. Dith translations* this boo( offers uni5ue insi+hts into the oan e9perience. Francisco (uis Gomes 6789-67:9 A Select "eader (?uis Assis Correia* e!. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-28-1 %s. 020 pb %s 200 hb. Pp 326.) "nclu!es full-te9t translation of the no$el 5s *ra)amanes. Probably oa4s first no$el.
Mirror to Goa (:onna < @oun+ ".B8 1)8-81-10268-21-0 %s. 112. Pp 1)8. Pb.) An A'erican loo( at the #or( of oan fiction. Also inclu!es a listin+ of oan creati$e #ritin+* an! the titles E #hether a$ailable or out of print. /-',G,$& / %/) / !./,(),%&,)0 /ritten in Stone: ;esuit buildings in Goa and t)eir artistic and arc)itectural #eatures! (Cristina Css#al!. ".B8 1)810-80)01-16-8 Pp 300 %s 300) Passion in Paradise: Modern %ay .at)olicism in Goa (Christina ;ernan!es. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-36-2 Pp 80. Bb. Colour. %ich in photo+raphs. %s 220) A er'an photo-&ournalist offers an interestin+ insi+ht into conte'porary reli+ion in oa. )/%3-'$G* My ;ourneys $)roug) /onderland (Bren!a %o!ri+ues ".B8 1)8-10-80)010)-0 306 pp. %s 320.) Accounts of an a$i! +lobetrotter. Eboo( too. 1-+,% In *lac& and /)ite: Insiders- Stories about t)e ress in Goa (".B8 1)8-81102682-0-0 %s. 112.) '%2
022. Pb.) Stay Sa#e, .yberciti<en= (?ucius ?obo* "llustrate! by Ai&ay >u'ar >a(a!e. ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-21-8 %s 200) Follo4 Me: +olume III (;r 8asci'ento <. ,ascarenhas ".B8 1)810-80)01-00-) %s. 032 hb. Pp 99 G 328.) :etails on the churches of .alcete an! ,or'u+ao. 4,!),$& $)e General Is , ! Peter 8a/areth4s po#erful no$el set in Africa. (".B8 1)810-80)01-62-6 1)6pp. %s 200) Stray Mango *ranc)es!!!! >s)ort stories?! ;ati'a 8oronha. ".B8 1)8-1080)01-21-2. %s 200. Char'in+ short stories an! re'iniscences H#ith oan sapI. %s 200 $)e .ry o# t)e 2ing#is)er (Belin!a Aie+as ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-10-) %s. 112. Pb.) ;ust Matata: A 0ovel Set in 2enya and Goa (Bra/ ,ene/es ".B8 1)8-1080)01-06-6 003 pp. %s 212) A Matter o# $ime! *renda .outin)o ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-28-8. %e'in!in+ us #hat it #as li(e +ro#in+ up in a $illa+e in the oa of the 1180s. %s 200.
Puc& y los Mil y ,n Sue@os de un "ig)t to In#ormation: A Ste -by-Ste Guideboo& (.ahai F %a&+a!ia ".B8 1)8- Solstico de +erano: ,na Historia Magica de Goa ("n .panish. Ana 10-80)01-01-) 200 pp. %s 212) 2e. ,acha!o !e :ios. ".B8 1)8-10-80)0120-0) Also as Puc& and t)e $)ousand !/%4) and 5ne Midsummer %reams: A Magical History o# Goa (Ana ,acha!o $)e Art o# .oconut .ra#t (Ai&ay!atta !e :ios ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-22-6) ?otli(ar ".B8 1)8-81-10268-20-3 %s. 112.) A story of the role coconut can play Eboo(. in oan society* by #ay of han!icrafts. .onseAuences! By 8i+el ;ernan!es. A suspense-thriller. ".B8 1)8-10-80)011,(!-''%&-$*( 62-2 $)e "ise o# India (Eu+enio ,onteiro Pirates= *e4are= (Capt. 8orbert ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-20-2 %s. 212. Pp
%ebello ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-03-2 032 pp. %s 012)
years an! belo#.
P$-)/0 $)e $ulsi!!! and ot)er S)ort Stories #rom Goa (E!ila aiton!e ".B8 1)8-10- Mirrorred "e#lections by Antonio o'es (forthco'in+). ".B8 1)8-1080)01-22-0 %s. 112) .tories of oa. 80)01-63-1 Poetry. %s 200. S)ades /it)in S)ado4s: (Alan /)is ers o# t)e Heart (Capt 8. ,acha!o %ebello* ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-08-1 63pp ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-02-8 %s. 020. Pp hb. %s 112) 2)6.) InsideB5ut: 0e4 /riting #rom Goa! (<. !*,(,&?ourenco=B. :ir(in* e!s. %s. 112. ".B8 .o<in)a de Goa: )istory and 1)8-10-80)01-11-0) tradition o# Goan #ood (;Jti'a !a .il$a racias ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-30-0 %s. Goa Masala An Ant)ology o# Stories 212.) -he !efiniti$e #or( on the history by .anadian Goans (Ben Antao* e!. of oan foo!. 2e ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-03-2 %s. 112. Pp 2)2. Pb.) Goan "eci es and More (C!ette ,ascarenhas ".B8 1)8-10-108116-2-1 S&in! A 0ovel! (,ar+aret ,ascarenhas %s. 011. Pp 208. Pb.) Printe! fully in ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-02-2 %s. 212.) colour. $)e Sting o# Pe ercorns: A novel (Antonio o'es ".B8 1)8-81-1026821-6 %s. 212. Pp 216.) %elig)ts o# Goa (Al!a ;i+ueire!o ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-21-2. %s. 112. Pp 162. Pb. ?ar+e si/e.) ?o$ely boo( of oan recipies.
5##-side (<ohn A+uiar ".B8 1)8-10 2ornelia-s 2itc)en: Mediterranean 80)01-01-0) $)e Per#ect Matc) (,aria !e ?i'a Pereira ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-01- .oo&ing #or India (>ornelia .antoro 0 %s. 11 Pb.) ".B8 1)8-10-80)01-0)-6 %s. 212) !.,'+/-&5( Es i Mai Is Stuc& Again and 5t)er Goan $ales (Anita Pinto ".B8 1)8-1080)01-26-3. %s. 112. Pp 138. Pb.) Char'in+ short stories* for 2 to 11 year ol!s* all set in oa. Es i May Porot Cir&oli ani Goyc)eo )er &annio! %o'i >on(ani $ersion of the abo$e boo(. (".B8 1)8-10-80)01-22-) %s. 112. 4$/).!$1,&G
*omoicar! <ournalist %eena ,artins pieces to+ether the story of the oa that li$e! in* #or(e! #ith* encountere! an! create! the Bo'bay #e (no#.
/e do mail-order to any art o# t)e globe, and can send you an estimate o# t)e costs #or des atc)ing boo&s, single titles or in bul&, to any4)ere! "egistered airmail #rom India 4or&s out reasonable, $)e Golden Gate and ot)er stories is a e##ective and sa#e and can reac) in 6D-8E days o# ordering! S eedy delivery via set of !eli+htful tales for e$eryone. %s courier available too! 112. Fuloos Plays 4it) t)e Sun (An+ela ;errao* 12 pp* colour* %s 20). A colourful story about a baby ca'el. "!eal for 6
O u r b o o k s are stoc&ed at t)e main boo&-s)o s o# Goa and in libraries across t)e State! +isit us to buy direct or mail order #rom Goa,6FF: at SaligGo DEHF66 *arde< Goa! >0earest landmar&: (ourdes .onvent, Sonarb)at, Saligao?! /e sell boo&s via mail order to any art o# t)e globe! .ontact us #or details!
Goa6FF: I gmail!com J96-9788688DH: or J96-7H8-8DE9D9E! 5nline, c)ec& Ama<on!com or itsall)ere!in
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Girls In Green: Memoirs from St.

Girls In Green: Memoirs from St Marys ISBN: 978-81-905682-2-7

Price Rs 120 (in India) Overseas US$10

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