A costela portuguesa de Mário de Miranda
Assinala-se em 2 de maio o centenário de nascimento de Mário de Miranda, caricaturista de renome internacional, nascido no antigo Estado Português da Índia.
Não admira que muitos ignorem se a etnia do artista é goesa ou portuguesa. Na verdade, Mário era indo-português, nascido em Damão, de pai goês e mãe damanense. Constâncio do Rosário Miranda era administrador do enclave, onde conheceu Maria Zulema de Brito, neta de um capitão português do exército do Nizão de Hyderabad.
O casal fixou residência no seu solar brasonado na aldeia de Loutulim, em Goa. A história do brasão conferido ao bisavô de Mário pela captura de Custobá está consagrada no folclore goês. Inspirou Trikaal, filme de Shyam Benegal que rodou no solar dos Miranda, imortalizando o «carácter latino» de Goa.
Em criança, Mário vincara a sua vocação com rabiscos pelas paredes da casa. Zulema oferecia-lhe depois, em cada Natal, agendas, em que o miúdo fazia esboços, com anotações—as suas confissões—em português.
Mário exibe influências de Bordalo Pinheiro e de Lopes Mendes. Autodidacta, nos seus diários — santuário de imagens mágicas de Goa, Damão e Bombaim — cristaliza-se um microcosmo de meados do século XX.
Em 1952, o Bordalo goês fez sensação na imprensa indiana. Para o ganha-pão, porém, pensava em emigrar para o Brasil. Foi quando o destino no Oriente revelou-se promissor. Integrou a prestigiada Illustrated Weekly of India, e logo outras publicações se renderam ao seu traço que transpunha para o papel o movimento e o som da urbe.
Estava-lhe garantida uma carreira ascensional, mas nem sempre lhe era fácil converter o dia-a-dia em gargalhada. «Há momentos em que não tenho vontade de rir e, no entanto, tenho de produzir algo engraçado», dizia. Não era fazedor de anedotas; preferia o humor que surge da narrativa.
Desta sobriedade nascia a sua filosofia artística: a de que o caricaturista deve saber rir com as pessoas e abster-se da crueldade. Desdenhando os figurões da política, assumiu-se como caricaturista social e criou um elenco arquetípico que habita a memória colectiva do país.
O seu amor intrínseco pelo desenho encontrou o fôlego necessário quando bolseiro da Fundação Gulbenkian em 1959. Percorreu Portugal de lés-a-lés, destilando a essência da alma lusa. Logo depois, em Londres, cruzou-se com os grandes da caricatura, ganhando um sentido de autonomia necessário para encontrar a sua própria voz.
Com a tomada de Goa em 1961, Mário viu-se obrigado a regressar com passaporte indiano. Navegou temas sociais e políticos complexos, pois a linha editorial do Weekly tendia a integrar Goa na corrente dominante nacional. Mário assumia uma postura distinta, publicando ilustrações a reafirmar a singularidade de Goa—uma subtil campanha de resistência que manteria até ao fim.
Mário transformou a arte da caricatura, aliada ao seu conhecimento da história e literatura, em ferramenta de exploração nas suas viagens a convite de vários países. Esboçava linhas rápidas que a sua memória fotográfica depois convertia em desenhos matizados. Essa técnica evoluiu em ilustrações elegantes à tinta-da-china, com profundidade e variação tonal do grafite e das hachuras.
A sua mestria e olhar singular cruzaram fronteiras, consolidando-o como figura central ao intercâmbio cultural. A Fundação Gulbenkian organizou uma exposição de Mário, intitulada «Desenhos e Aguarelas», e a Fundação Oriente apresentou na Sociedade Nacional de Belas Artes a retrospectiva «Goa e outros trabalhos», em homenagem ao mestre que servira como um elo entre Portugal e a Índia.
Na meia-idade, Mário perenizou o seu gosto pela ilustração. A sua maturidade artística culminaria num reencontro linguístico. Ao ilustrar Momentos do meu passado, de Fernando de Noronha, Mário admitiu que o português dessa obra lhe despertou «memórias nostálgicas da juventude em Goa», fechando um ciclo emocional através da palavra e do traço.
Quando regressou a Loutulim, encontrou entre cães, tartarugas e memórias, um cenário congelado no tempo, tal como o deixara meio século antes. O artista inspirou a geração moderna, achando vital documentar o que os olhos novos não viam.
Além da sua ubiquidade em postais, t-shirts e azulejos, os murais de Mário definem a paisagem goesa.
«Goa goza de uma atmosfera distinta do restante da Índia...» afirmava. Embora sentisse ameaçada a herança indo-portuguesa, esperava que o património resistisse e que Goa não abdicasse da sua identidade única, sendo um intransigente defensor da língua e da cultura portuguesas.
Mário foi condecorado pela Índia, Espanha e Portugal, uns anos antes de morrer em 2011. Teve uma despedida sentida, que se repercutiu pela imprensa internacional.
Se «A morte é uma curva na estrada, / Morrer é desaparecer de vista», dir-se-ia que Mário dobrou a esquina, mas continua presente. Desde as ruas de Bombaim até ao Fado de Lisboa, passando pelas alegrias de Goa, Mário é uma janela intemporal para um mundo onde cada rabisco da sua mão guarda um toque da sua etnia e magia.
Mário de Miranda completava agora 100 anos e é, seguramente, um dos maiores símbolos da forte ligação cultural entre Goa e Portugal.
Publicado no Diário de Notícias, 7 de maio de 2026, https://www.dn.pt/opiniao-dn/a-costela-portuguesa-de-mrio-de-miranda#)
Foto, cortesia de Carmita Miranda
Mário and his Times
Mário’s long tryst with Mumbai began at the Times. He had spent his graduation years at St Xavier’s College, but saw the paper up-close on his return to the city in 1952. With 18 years of visual diaries under his belt, he visited newspaper and business offices. He began as a freelance cartoonist with The Current and sold his handcrafted postcards of the city landmarks at the Flora Fountain to make extra money.
The 26-year-old Goan cartoonist’s versatility, spontaneity, and detail created a significant buzz. Before long, editor C.R. Mandy and art director Walter Langhammer invited him to the Times group of publications. The Illustrated Weekly of India was his first stop. Soon, sister publications like Cocktail, Femina, Filmfare, The Evening News, and The Economic Times began to use Mário’s skilful depictions of movement and sound, often featuring his trademark dog.
The rest is history. Mário would soon rank among the best of India’s cartoonists. The job seemed easy, and everything grist to his mill, but finding humour was no mean task. ‘There are times when you don’t feel funny, or may not feel like laughing, but still have to produce a funny cartoon – like a clown who has got to make people laugh all the time, although he doesn’t feel like laughing,’ said Mário.
Add to it the fact that political bigwigs were breathing down his neck—and he had a sure recipe for disillusionment. Mário learned early on that lampooning power involved high risk. When he toned down the humour, cartooning became a ‘serious’ business. ‘Cartoonists are very serious people, and cartoons, no laughing matter,’ he quipped. That’s when Mário began to see himself mostly as a social caricaturist, turning his lens to fashions, crowded trains, music, films, the bustling life of Irani cafés, and so on!
Past the initial scramble for work, Mário began to yearn for the blissful freedom of his diary sketching. He travelled to Portugal and England, drawing merrily. He did cartoons for Mad magazine and ITV and was featured in Punch. He made fast money and friends, but most importantly, his idol Searle’s injunction — ‘Stay on in England, but stop copying me!’— infused him with the confidence to go by himself.
On Mário’s return in 1962, R.K. Laxman, the reigning deity of The Times of India, ‘subtly ensured that the pedestal was not for sharing,’ says Bachi Karkaria. Mário made his mark… ‘His hilarious work is packed with characters from the contemporary scene and his greatest gift is that he makes us laugh at ourselves,’ said a review in a 1960 issue Cocktail, adding, ‘His illustrations too have polished perfection and have been such a success that all our writers want Mario to illustrate their work.’
The period saw the rise of Mário’s characters to iconic status: the efficient secretary Ms Fonseca, the Boss and his crony Godbole; the corrupt politician Bundaldass and his sidekick Moonswamy; the glamorous Bollywood star Rajni Nimbupani and co-star Balraj Balram. For generations of Indians, these characters were more than ink on paper; they remain a mirror to the nation’s quirks, even if changing sensibilities put a negative spin on some of them.
In 1964, the Times of India Press published Mário’s book of sketches, Goa with Love. Successive editors of the Weekly—Khushwant Singh, M.V. Kamath and Pritish Nandy—held him in high esteem. While his literary background and travels gave him a broad outlook, he wore none of that on his sleeve. Vinod Mehta said that Mário abhorred ‘intellectual talk’, his forte being ‘the accumulation of trivia judiciously and harmoniously composed.’
By and by, Mário got excited about capturing moods and ambiences for his pictorial travelogues. To make time for travel, he first joined a new tabloid, The Midday, where his close friend Behram 'Busybee' Contractor was the editor; and then took to freelancing for The Afternoon Despatch & Courier, founded by humorist Busybee. Countries around the globe invited him to hold solo exhibitions. He also illustrated books for the likes of Ruskin Bond, Dom Moraes, Manohar Malgonkar in Bombay, and for several writers in Goa. There was perhaps no other Indian cartoonist whose works turned into murals that now adorn the urban landscape.
In 1996, after Mário and wife Habiba retired to the quiet of Loutulim, the quintessential Goan artist was instrumental in setting up a museum of Christian art at Rachol (now shifted to Old Goa) and restoring the Reis Magos Fort. But the homecoming far from ended his love story with Mumbai, as he continued infusing The Afternoon Despatch & Courier and The Economic Times with his peerless humour.
The Times was thus his first and last stop. In 2011, India grieved when the icon that had humoured it in good times and in bad fell silent… Thankfully, Mário still provides a timeless window into the local and the global. He is an artist for all times and climes.
Mário: with malice toward none - 2
Continued from Herald Café magazine, 2 May 2026
KEY MILESTONES
Mario Carlos do Rosário Brito Miranda (1926–2011)
- Early Life & Education: Born in Daman on 2 May 1926 to Constâncio do Rosário Miranda and Maria Zulema de Brito. Educated in Loutulim and Bangalore, he graduated from St Xavier’s College, Bombay, choosing a BA in Literature over formal art school.
- Career Beginnings: Began freelancing in 1952, eventually establishing a long-term association with the Times Group, in particular, The Illustrated Weekly of India.
- Hobbies: Reading, music, sports, cinema, travel.
- Artistic Style: Shifted from political to social cartooning, creating iconic, intricate depictions of daily life. Also, a visual diarist, caricaturist, painter, illustrator, and muralist.
- Return to Goa & Legacy: Returned to Goa with his wife, Habiba Hydari, in 1996. Key efforts included restoring the Reis Magos Fort and establishing the Museum of Christian Art.
- Awards & Recognition: Honoured with all three Padmas (Padma Shri, Bhushan, Vibhushan), the Goa State Cultural Award, and international awards from Spain and Portugal.
- Passing: Passed away on 11 December 2011 after a battle with Parkinson's disease.
MARIO’S DIARIES
Mário began to draw while he was still learning to walk and talk. To deter him from doodling on the walls, his mother gave him blank diaries, pencils, and pens, suggesting that he record a highlight of the day. He feverishly filled their pages with bright and breezy sketches. He used line drawings and water colours and made a few jottings in Portuguese. Noticing her son’s commitment to journaling, she gave him drawing materials as a Christmas gift every year.
Mário sketched every day for 18 years (1934-1952). His sister, Fátima Miranda Figueiredo, estimates that those sketches number around 6,000. While his eye caught the quirks of his society, he unwittingly froze a microcosm of mid-20th-century Goa in his drawings, which also mirrored universal human nature. In them lies Goa’s plenty, or, as Dryden said of The Canterbury Tales, “Here is God’s plenty!”
Three volumes (1949, 1950, and 1951) have been published in English translation as The Life of Mário, edited by Gerard da Cunha and published by Architecture Autonomous.
MÁRIO’S CHARACTERS
Mário’s diaries portray his busy social life. He had a large circle of relatives and friends with whom he spent carefree moments as well as solemn moments. They went to restaurants and the movies, attended picnics and birthday parties, and went to church, a wedding, or a funeral. But wherever he went, he always noticed something funny.
Mário notices everything and everyone, and spares no one. The serious and the pompous come very especially under his scanner. According to him, ‘when people take themselves too seriously, they tend to be funny.’ While his drawings embody that insightful observation, they don’t merely distort a person’s features; they perceptively bring to light things invisible to the naked eye.
Those who came under his diary scanner included Goan celebrities, village folk, and even his beloved pet animals. It was quite a different ballgame in his cartoon strips for Bombay newspapers or in his travelogues covering Portugal, Spain, France, Germany, the USA, Israel, Japan, or other countries. Occasionally, he reworked his diary ideas, especially for the Bombay newspapers — the city and village types, styles of dancing, scenes at the cinema theatre, the cafés and restaurants, and so on — implying that human nature is the same everywhere.
‘I’m a keen observer of people,’ said Mário, ‘they are generally doing something they shouldn’t be doing.’
Mário: with malice toward none - 1
‘Mário is a subject that has no end.’ That is how Carolina Miranda, the centenarian cousin of the inimitable Goan artist, concludes her foreword to Diário do Ano 1951: Uma Campanha Alegre de Mário de Miranda (‘Diary of 1951: A Cheerful Campaign’), an upcoming book edited by this writer. She offers a close-up of Mário’s visual diary and how it made the rounds among relatives and friends. The Lisbon-based Carolina is a former teacher, poet, visual artist, and author of Histórias que contei ao meu gato — ‘Stories I told my cat’ — her memoirs, in which Mário figures prominently.
About Mário’s own fondness for animals, Fátima Miranda Figueiredo draws attention to her brother’s saying, ‘To err is human; to forgive, canine’ — which speaks volumes about his gentleness and empathy. He gave his pets long names and surnames, making them star characters in his diaries. In these, says Luís Pereira da Silva in his afterword, Mário ‘ably articulated what he experienced every day with lines at once quick and elaborate.’ The retired professor of paediatrics and amateur caricaturist adds that ‘Mário was always noble hearted in his irony, choosing affection and subtlety over scorn and sarcasm.’
Was it the artist’s unmalicious intent, then, that prompted Archbishop-Patriarch Dom José da Costa Nunes to let go when some clerics felt targeted by the young lad’s depictions? He was acquainted with Mário’s diaries and grateful for his help crafting the swan boat to carry the Pilgrim Statue of Our Lady of Fátima from Panjim to Old Goa. Mário, for his part, was relieved that his diaries had sparked guffaws rather than a controversy. ‘That was the first time I was appreciated by someone I didn’t know,’ he said.
Mário was a versatile artist, but best remembered and universally recognised as a cartoonist. Possibly one of the world’s youngest caricature diarists, he turned his journaling habit into a career. In March 1952, seeking an opening in Bombay, he toured editorial offices, his diaries in hand. Thoroughly impressed, The Current editor D.F. Karaka sent Mário to cover a can-can at the Taj Hotel. Mário returned with a rib-tickler that promptly secured him a cartoonist’s position at the weekly.
Mário was an instant hit, yet could not land a full-time role in Bombay. A fellow hosteller, Policarpo (Polly) Vaz of Bastora, suggested that he also draw picture postcards of the city landmarks and sell them at the Flora Fountain. Their bond grew so strong that they planned to move to Latin America together. But suddenly, Bombay proved to be more promising than Brazil when editor C.R. Mandy and art director Walter Langhammer invited Mário to join The Illustrated Weekly of India… and the rest is history.
Mário went on to become one of the country’s best loved social cartoonists. His iconic characters, like Ms Fonseca, the Boss, and clerk Godbole; the corrupt politician Bundaldass and his sidekick Moonswamy; Bollywood stars Rajni Nimbupani and Balraj Balram, appeared in the Times group of publications. Generations grew up with those cartoon characters that are etched in collective memory, although the world’s ever-changing sensibilities tend to put a negative spin on some of them.
All of Mário’s works, be it Goa with Love, A Little World of Humour, Laugh It Off, or others, show him as a tireless seeker of the comic side of life. In Bal Bharati textbooks and Air India in-flight magazines alike, Mário’s drawings were always teeming with human specimens, each with their own story to tell. His hawk eye caused the poet Nissim Ezekiel to remark that there is ‘no escape if Mario is looking at you. The buffoonery of his human figures is redeemed from grossness by their verve, their inner urge towards going places, getting somewhere. It is not always their fault that there is no place to go, nowhere to get except through the corridors of illusion.’
The artist’s own ‘inner urge towards going places’ was clear on his first-ever trip abroad, to Portugal. Later, Mário went freelance as a cartoonist to satisfy his wanderlust. By his magical ability to capture the spirit of a place, he received assignments to sketch vignettes and hold exhibitions across the globe. Veteran editor Vinod Mehta saw no contemporary artist in India coming close to Mário’s command over the grammar of drawing; the alleged ‘lack of venom’ in his repertoire spoke for his ‘objective perspective,’ he said.
According to art critic Ranjit Hoskote, Mário’s confluential, Indic and Iberian, heritage ‘gives him an amplitude of cultural references [and] a historically informed sensibility.’ Bombay’s Cocktail magazine once said that Mário’s illustrations have ‘polished perfection and have been such a success that all our writers want Mario to illustrate their work.’ He took as much pleasure to draw for journalists as he did for literary giants and lesser writers. A much sought-after muralist, he is perhaps the only Indian cartoonist whose works adorn the landscape.
Prakruti Ramesh, in her hitherto unpublished thesis titled Making a Public Aesthetic: Heritage, Humour and Regional Identity in Goa, examines why Mário’s images have fascinated architects, urbanists, educators, and tourism entrepreneurs and have been used as a form of public art in Goa. While she draws many weighty conclusions, one can also say that, thanks to Mário’s malice toward none, he has touched a chord in the Goan soul and is also capable of raising the happiness quotient of the big wide world.
To be continued... See three items in the next blogpost: Key Milestones; Mário's Diaries; Mário's Characters
(First published in Herald, Café magazine, 2 May 2026)
Mário for all seasons
To deter him from doodling on the walls, his mother gave him notebooks, pencils, and pens, channelling his energy into journaling. The little lad started a visual diary, happily making entries almost every single day for nearly two decades.
That was Mário Miranda, a child prodigy. Born in Daman on 2 May 1926, he spent his childhood at his ancestral house in Loutulim. He was probably one of the world’s youngest visual diarists, a rough-and-ready visual ethnographer who reflected the quirks of his society and produced eighteen packed volumes by the time he was 26 years old.
Mário never trained as an artist. In 1943, he left J.J. School of Art, Mumbai, on the very first day and decided to pursue a degree in English Literature at St Xavier’s College. He had a mind of his own… Why be constrained by theory and history when he had the art in him?
In 1952, he transformed his diary habit into a career. He freelanced for The Current and other newspapers in Mumbai, and hand-painted postcards of the city landmarks to make ends meet. Before long, The Illustrated Weekly of India invited him… and the rest is history.
Soon, Mário was on his way to becoming a nationally renowned cartoonist—though not the typical political type. Feeling heckled by politicians, he chose to be a social cartoonist and directed his attention to fashions, crowded trains, music, films, the bustling life of Irani cafés, and so on! Everything was grist that came to his mill.
Mário is particularly remembered for his cartoon strips of Ms Fonseca, the Boss, and his crony, Godbole; the corrupt politician Bundaldass and his sidekick Moonswamy; the glamorous Bollywood star Rajni Nimbupani and co-star Balraj Balram. They appeared in the Times group of publications like The Illustrated Weekly, The Times of India, The Evening News, Femina, Filmfare, and The Economic Times. Mário’s omnipresent dog demonstrates his love for animals and his personal belief that ‘to err is human, to forgive canine.’
The cartoonist never ceased to experiment and went on to become a reputed illustrator. He did drawings for journalists and authors and, on invitation, for countries as well. An avid traveller and lover of fine things, he later became a freelance cartoonist to make time for travel. He captured the spirit of every place he visited and endeared himself to the land and its people. He was a cultural link between the East and the West.
Mário was a passionate movie goer, and the cinema house was his second home. In 1979, he worked as a creative artist on the sets of The Sea Wolves, a war movie shot in Goa. In 1983, he welcomed director Shyam Benegal to film Trikaal in his family home in Loutulim; its plot was loosely based on a curious story of the Miranda family.
Mário is a quintessential Goan whose classic book of caricatures, Goa with Love, reflects his devotion to his homeland. There is no Indian like him whose works have transmuted into murals marking public and private spaces that refuse to fade.
1996 saw Mário and wife Habiba’s journey back to Loutulim, but he never really retired. He kept infusing The Economic Times and The Afternoon Despatch & Courier with his humour for years to come... As a heritage lover, Mário inspired designers, artists, and collectors. He helped set up a museum of Christian art and restore the iconic Reis Magos Fort in Goa.
Mário received the Goa State Cultural Award and is the only Goan to have won three Padmas. He also received high honours from Spain and Portugal.
Mário completed his life canvas on 11 December 2011. India grieved that an icon who had humoured the country and built bridges for decades was no more…
The Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa says, “Death is a bend in the road, / To die is to slip out of view.” Mário gave him the slip; he turned a corner and stayed with us—in the salt air of Goa and the soot of Mumbai. A great interpreter of the Goan ethos, Mário’s works now speak for him, his magic lingering on like a drug with ER—extended release.
If laughter is indeed the best medicine, Mário can be safely prescribed in good times and in bad. His art cheers the mind and gladdens the heart. He is an artist for all seasons, beloved by people of all ages across the globe.
(First published in The Navhind Times, Buzz magazine, on 30 April 2026)
Goencheo Mhonn'neo | Adágios Goeses - 14
Segue a décima-quarta lista de adágios,[1] extraídos do livro Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, obra bilíngue (concani-português), de Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda (1872-1935)[2].
| Concani | Tradução literal | Tradução livre
|
| Ghârá sarkó soiró, soiryá sarquém ghâr nãy.
Ghora sarko soiro, soirea sarkem ghor nhoi.
Ghârkane guiniann viném, Ghârachém zalém divalém.
Ghorkarn ginean vinnem, Ghorachem zalem divallem.
Bololyá bam’nak dohim corcortá. Bhorlolea bamnnak dhoim khorkhorta.
|
O hóspede tem que pôr-se
segundo a estalagem, e não, conforme o hóspede, a casa de hospedagem.
Por não ser a dona assisada, ficou a casa dissipada.
Ao brâmane saciado até à fartura, a coalhada de leite é áspera, dura. Quem é rico e manjares finos tem, olha às coisas vulgares com desdém. |
[1] Cf. décima-terceira lista, Revista da Casa de Goa, Série II, No. 38, janeiro-fevereiro de 2026, p. 50.
[2] Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda, Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, dos mais correntes (Goa: Imprensa Nacional, 1931), com acrescentamento dos adágios na grafia moderna, pelo nosso editor associado Óscar de Noronha.
Publicado na Revista da Casa de Goa, Série II, No. 39, março-abril de 2026, p. 67.
Procissões da Santa Paixão em Pangim
Na Igreja Matriz da Imaculada Conceição, em Pangim, o sexto domingo da Quaresma começa com um tom festivo. É o Domingo de Ramos, que comemora a entrada triunfal de Jesus em Jerusalém.
Após as missas da manhã, porém, há uma visível mudança no clima, especialmente com a revelação do quadro no altar-mor: uma monumental estátua de Cristo a suportar a Cruz. Daí a designação alternativa do dia, ou da sua segunda metade: Domingo da Paixão.
Domingo da Paixão
Na tarde do Domingo da Paixão vai uma procissão solene que começa e termina na icónica igreja. Este é o ponto alto dos Santos Passos, realizados nos primeiros cinco domingos da Quaresma, destacando alguns dos momentos mais intensos da Paixão de Cristo que conduzem ao Calvário: a agonia no Jardim do Getsémani, a prisão de Jesus, a flagelação em torno da coluna, a coroação de espinhos e a condenação por Pôncio Pilatos.1 Nem sempre as igrejas em Goa têm o mesmo arranjo.2
O Domingo da Paixão marca o início da Semana Santa. A cor predominante é o roxo; os altares ficam vazios e sem decorações florais. Após a missa da tarde, uma procissão conhecida como Cruz às costas — com o referido cenário de Jesus carregando a Cruz — percorre primeiro estes espaços públicos da capital: o largo da igreja; um trecho da Rua 18 de Junho e da Pissurlencar, e o Azad Maidan (antigo Largo Afonso de Albuquerque).
Os confrades vestidos de opa e murça (capa vermelha e branca) carregam a estátua em conjunto, e tem-se a impressão de que ela está a flutuar por conta própria (Figura 1). No passado, uma banda de metais acompanhava a procissão, mas actualmente um coro canta de um patamar intermediário da escadaria em ziguezague da igreja. Ouvem-se cânticos e orações ao longo do percurso por meio de altifalantes. Os fiéis passam em fila, recitando os cinco Mistérios Dolorosos do Rosário até ao final da procissão.
Figura 1. Cruz às costas (Foto: Óscar de Noronha)
Mais de dez descansos (paragens) marcam o circuito. Nesses pontos, os fiéis acorrem para beijar a estátua. Uma pausa importante ocorre na Capela da Conceição. Construída em 1823, era uma capela privada anexa ao palacete de Dom Lourenço de Noronha, um nobre português. A capela foi legada às Confrarias da Igreja de Pangim e está em reparação desde 2019.
A procissão prossegue então pelas ruas Mahatma Gandhi e Dr. Domingos Roque de Sousa, passando pelo Jardim Garcia de Orta, até ao largo da igreja. Ao pé da escadaria, Jesus encontra sua Mãe, Maria (Figura 2). Entristecida pelo seu Divino Filho ter sido tão injustamente acusado e obrigado a carregar a cruz até à morte, ela acompanha-o nos seus últimos passos, como fez no Gólgota há dois mil anos.
Figura 2. Jesus encontra sua Mãe Maria (Foto: Óscar de Noronha)
Logo depois, as duas estátuas param no patamar intermediário, em frente a uma grande cruz incrustada na parede. No nível superior, a partir de um varandim a modo de púlpito, uma menina desenrola um Véu de Verónica enquanto canta a narrativa tradicional sobre o encontro da lendária mulher com Jesus. Conforme registado na quarta estação da Via Crucis, Verónica, comovida ao ver Jesus a carregar a Cruz, enxugou a sua testa com o lenço, encontrando uma impressão duradoura do seu rosto sagrado no pano.
Assim termina o Domingo da Paixão e, na tarde da Quinta-feira Santa, começam os preparativos para o Tríduo Sagrado. A missa vespertina, com o tradicional lava-pés, celebra a instituição da Eucaristia e do sacerdócio e a proclamação do mandamento do amor. Não há procissão pública.
Sexta-feira Santa
A estrutura da procissão da Sexta-feira Santa assemelha-se à do Domingo da Paixão, ressalvadas as devidas diferenças.
O comovente cenário da Crucifixão começa no altar-mor às 3,00 h da tarde. Nessa hora, curiosamente, o céu costuma estar nublado e o clima sombrio. A liturgia da Palavra e a Eucaristia continuam até cerca das 17,30 h. A seguir, a procissão parte com a figura recostada do Senhor Morto, maior que o tamanho natural, colocada num andor (Figura 3) e acompanhada pela imagem de Nossa Senhora.
Figura 3. Procissão do Senhor Morto (Foto: Óscar de Noronha)
Desta feita, os fiéis vestem trajes fúnebres, os quais antigamente eram trajes formais. Em vez do sino Sanctus, ouve-se a matraca ou chocalho de madeira, em cada paragem da procissão.
Uma diferença importante entre a procissão do Domingo da Paixão e a da Sexta-Feira Santa está no desfecho deste evento barroco: um padre profere o Sermão da Soledade de Maria a partir do mesmo varandim que funciona como púlpito. O pregador exalta as virtudes de Maria e destaca as suas disposições interiores. Dantes, a retórica desempenhava um papel crucial nessas ocasiões, ajudando a envolver totalmente a congregação. Hoje em dia, observa-se um número limitado de fiéis ouvintes, que se distraem facilmente, sobretudo com o ruído dos veículos que, além disso, retira a solenidade do ambiente.
Espectáculo comovente
Uma semelhança marcante entre as procissões é que ambas são assistidas com admiração por pessoas de outras religiões, incluindo polícias que ficam em posição de sentido e saúdam, principalmente, o Senhor Morto.
Em ambas as ocasiões, as residências ao longo do percurso enfeitam-se com luzes decorativas, velas ou lamparinas, em homenagem a Nosso Senhor. O mesmo sucede com alguns estabelecimentos não-cristãos que, sendo dia de serviço, permanecem abertos. O caso dos Caculó e dos Neurencar, duas famílias hindus na Rua Pissurlencar, é particularmente interessante; eles tradicionalmente oferecem guirlandas de xênvtim (crisântemo) ou de abolim (crossandra).
Em ambos os dias, dependendo do número de participantes, a marcha piedosa, com um quilómetro de extensão, e as cerimónias relacionadas duram entre 75 e 90 minutos. As estátuas regressam à igreja para os rituais finais e veneração. Às 8 horas da noite, encerram-se os trabalhos!
Esses dois eventos processionais deixaram uma marca duradoura na minha mente. Foi assim quando a minha vida começou; assim é agora que sou um homem. E assim será quando eu envelhecer — pois essa tradição antiga é, sem dúvida, um dos espectáculos mais comoventes do calendário religioso e cultural da minha cidade, Pangim.
Publicado na Revista da Casa de Goa, Serie II, No. 39, marco-abril de 2026, pp 43-47
Notas: Veja-se também
https://www.oscardenoronha.com/2019/03/17/santos-passos-in-panjim/
https://www.oscardenoronha.com/2021/03/21/lenten-traditions-in-goa/
https://studio.youtube.com/video/XaVO6nY2ASQ/edit
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXlnAoKU42M&t=17s
Goencheo Mhonn'neo | Adágios Goeses - 13
Segue a décima-terceira lista de adágios,[1] extraídos do livro Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, obra bilíngue (concani-português), de Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda (1872-1935)[2].
| Concani | Tradução literal | Tradução livre
|
| Casuló aplê chempêk manvotá.
Kazulo aple chempek manvota.
Errondd vaddolyar patti zatá? Erondd vaddlear patti zata?
Fortunn vetush, dossai vetá. Fortun vetoch, doxa-i veta.
|
O pirilampo
se desvanece vendo a cauda que resplandece. Um vaidoso, sendo esbelto, fica com mais presunção, todas as vezes que vê a sua própria feição.
Por pular em crescimento, a purgueira, ela serve p’ra a trave de vigamento?
P’la estatura e corpulência Do homem, não se regula o seu saber e experiência.
Quando a alguém a sorte Não olha e ampara, também a vergonha dele se separa. |
[1] Cf. duo-décima lista, Revista da Casa de Goa, Série II, No. 37, novembro-dezembro de 2025, p. 46.
[2] Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda, Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, dos mais correntes (Goa: Imprensa Nacional, 1931), com acrescentamento dos adágios na grafia moderna, pelo nosso editor associado Óscar de Noronha.
Publicado na Revista da Casa de Goa, Série II, No. 38, novembro-dezembro de 2025, p. 50.
Castellino: A Goan Baritone goes Global
Oscar Castellino (OC) in an interview with Óscar de Noronha (ON), Associate Editor, Revista da Casa de Goa.
For the Goan diaspora, music has always been the thread that stitches together our scattered history. Few artists pull that thread with as much resonance as Oscar Castellino. A baritone, who traces his Goan ancestry to the villages of Assagão and Curtorim, and whose voice bridges the gap between the vibrant streets of Mumbai, the lush hills of Goa, and the grand opera houses of Europe, Oscar is redefining what it means to be a Goan artist in the 21st century.
Lisbon Concert
ON: Lisbon is looking forward to your concert on 8 March. How have you curated the repertoire to resonate with both the Portuguese locals and the Goan diaspora?
OC: This is my first trip to Portugal and it is very exciting for me, due to the rich cultural bonds between Goa and Portugal. I love the sound of the Portuguese language and it has shaped my recent compositions. I would like to showcase some of them at the concert. Along with new compositions, I have selected beloved songs from the Goan tradition as well as beloved operatic tunes. Rodrigo Ayala, the pianist, and I will take the audience on a journey from Goa to Italy to Lisbon.
ON: In a city as historically connected to Goa as Lisbon, what specific emotions or cultural memories are you hoping to stir through your performance?
OC: My grandfather would sing lullabies to me in Portuguese and Konkani. Being exposed to those sounds at a very young age, then travelling out of Goa and India, picking up musical traditions and skills, and now coming back into that tradition to unite my background and my skills in opera — culminating in a concert in Lisbon — is a journey worth sharing with the audience. On the morning of the day when I leave London for Lisbon, I have a rehearsal at the Royal Opera House for Samson et Dalila by Camille Saint-Saëns. Incidentally, he is also the composer of Une nuit à Lisbonne.
Early Music Career
ON: Growing up in Bombay, how did the city's eclectic soundscape — from choral traditions to the Stop-Gaps Ensemble — shape your early understanding of Western music?
OC: My family are from the Sacred Heart Parish in Santacruz West, and we had the privilege of listening to wonderful singers at our church events. I remember in particular Gus D'Lima, who had a fabulous tenor voice and would sing from the loft in the church — that was my first exposure to a classically projected sound. I then joined the Stop-Gaps Choral Ensemble under the direction of Alfred D'Souza, who is a leading figure in the choral world in India and a pioneer in many ways. He would have us project our sound and move at the same time, with quick costume changes — very good training for my career in opera later.
ON: You were a software programmer before being discovered by Patricia Rozario. Could you describe that turning-point moment?
OC: After completing my Physics degree, I received a scholarship from the National Centre for Software Technology to do an advanced diploma in software programming. I then worked in the vibrant IT sector in India in the early 2000s. It was at that time that Patricia Rozario came to India to scout for voices with operatic potential. After hearing me sing, she recommended that I audition at the Royal College of Music in London. I auditioned after completing a workshop with her. I remember the day clearly — I was writing code at my desk in my software job when I saw a pop-up email notification on my screen saying that I had been accepted at the Royal College of Music. That was a pivotal moment in my journey.
ON: Transitioning from a science background to the Royal Colleges of Music and Drama is a massive leap. Beyond the financial hurdles, what was the steepest learning curve you faced when competing with students who had been training since childhood?
OC: When I mentioned to people in the West that I had moved from a software job to a music career, they were often surprised because of the vast difference in financial prospects. However, coming from an Indian background, this opportunity was something so unusual and almost unheard of that when I received a scholarship to study at the Royal College of Music, there was no question that I would take it up. It opened a whole new world to me — something that very few people from India could consider doing.
Coming to London to train in opera was a steep learning curve, not only musically but culturally. My colleagues had trained for over a decade in many cases, and I did not yet know how to read sheet music. We had a very intense training schedule every day and had to prepare songs in various languages — all of them new to me. But as with everything, I knew it would take some time and that I would grow more comfortable. I had a lot of confidence in my ability on stage, and I knew it would just be a matter of time before everything came together. Indeed, in my second year of training I was given my first role in an opera — the character of Dancairo in Carmen — and that was a very good showcase for me.
Singer, Composer, Actor
ON: From performing at the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Pageant in 2012 to singing in major opera houses, which moment has been the most surreal or emotionally fulfilling for you?
OC: There have been many large ovations and curtain calls on the operatic stage. However, interestingly, the most powerful moment for me was when I sang at the Mars Convention in California, USA — performing my own composition about Mars to an audience of scientists, astronauts, and space enthusiasts, who all sang along with me the refrain to “Rise to Mars”. It was a powerful moment because it combined the power of opera with the reality of an ongoing mission. I love to compose and to sing music that moves people and inspires them to dream big.
ON: "Rise to Mars" is an unusual topic for an opera singer. What inspired you to compose that inspirational space anthem? Also, how does your composing process differ from your singing?
OC: Two things inspired me about space. First, I of course have a degree in Physics. But beyond that, I attended a boarding school in the north of India in the hill station of Mussoorie, where the skies were very clear with very little pollution — you could see the night sky and the stars brilliantly. As a little boy, that begs you to wonder about celestial objects, their origins, and what lies beyond. That wonder has always stayed with me, and it came naturally to compose a song with the power of an orchestra to fulfil that imagination.
Composition is really an extension of my singing — I have mostly composed for my own voice, and it is doubly powerful when you sing your own work because it comes from deep within. You also have the liberty to write music that suits your voice. I have also written music for other voices — this past Christmas I wrote a song called “Nas praias douradas de Goa”, exploring the writings of a Goan-Portuguese poet, Gabriel Pais, who was my grandfather, and it was sung by Chelsea D'Souza. Her rendition took the song to another level entirely, which was very fulfilling to witness.
ON: What was the reaction from international listeners when you sang the Konkani Christmas carol "Mari Matek Ballok Zala" at the 2020 Commonwealth Christmas Concert? Why was that performance important to you?
OC: “Mari Matek Ballok Zala”, composed by Manohar Sardessai (lyrics) and Micael Martins (music), was an instrument that not only gave me the confidence to sing more in Konkani, but also reached many new listeners around the world — people hearing the Konkani language for the very first time. Not only did people back in Goa appreciate the song, but people from the opera world wrote to me asking about the language and the composers. I have sung many songs that appeal to particular communities — whether from the opera world or the Goan diaspora — but this song had the power to appeal across tastes and cultures.
This performance was very important to me in hindsight because, although I do not rate my Konkani and thought that listeners would be hard on me if my language was not perfect, I found that Goan people are very supportive when you use the language with purpose and good intentions. That encouraged me to further explore both Konkani and Portuguese-language music.
ON: How has your unique cultural background allowed you to look at operatic roles through a different lens, transforming potential language barriers into artistic opportunities?
OC: One can look at challenges in different ways. You could look at entering the operatic world from an unusual background as a disadvantage — you may not know the norms, you may not have trained as a child, you may face early rejection. On the other hand, if you are confident in your ability as an artist and performer, and you know that you have something to contribute, then when you persist and persevere, you will cut through and come up with something exciting — something that not only adds to the art form you are performing in, but also takes something back to your own culture.
Goa and the Future
ON: Goans have immense natural musical talent. What concrete advice would you give them for honing their craft and pursuing Western classical music? Also, how can they bridge the gap to opportunities in the West?
OC: Because Goan music has influences from both Western and Indian musical traditions, we have a unique situation — a wealth of classically adept musicians who are also able to adapt and improvise. These are powerful tools together for making great music.
I have seen various musicians put out their work on YouTube and other platforms, and these are excellent mediums for getting noticed today. One is also able to take advice and tuition over the internet without even travelling abroad, so a small investment in a few classes with a teacher in another country can give that little edge in making music more successful and accessible to a larger audience.
There are also musicians who visit Goa from various disciplines, and accessing those musicians is very helpful — they are often happy to perform, and many have time to give a lesson or simply have a conversation. I was very fortunate to learn from Patricia Rozario and Mark Troop when they visited India, and that gave me great insights into classical music.
The biggest challenges are also the biggest opportunities — and if you go with that attitude, great things can be achieved.
ON: Your recent videos circulating on social media feature you singing in Konkani, Portuguese, and English. Do you see your work as a form of cultural preservation, or is it more about evolving the Goan identity for a global stage?
OC: My actual main goal is simply to entertain people, inspire people, and bring old memories alive. It is almost coincidental that when I sit down to compose, I find my own culture and background to be a very powerful tool — which is why music in Konkani and Portuguese speaks to me, and therefore speaks to my audience. If in the process it helps in evolving the Goan identity on the global stage, there is nothing like it!
ON: As you continue your career, what is the ultimate legacy you hope to leave behind as an Indian-born, internationally acclaimed baritone?
OC: If I can help continue the legacy and bring to the attention of future generations our great poets of the past and the rich cultural heritage I was exposed to as a child — while also adding something from the modern day that makes it even more powerful — that would be very fulfilling, so that future generations can live and enjoy that tradition, and be proud to be Goan, no matter where they were born or what languages they speak.
The poem by Manohar Rai Sardessai, “Toch Mhozo Ganv” ("That’s my Village"), resonated deeply with me, as it has with so much of my audience — because we are so proud of our Goa and our villages that we never forget them, and identify with them even when generations have not lived there.
Credits: All images are property of Oscar Castellino website https://oscarcastellino.com/ unless otherwise stated.
Banner pic: Karol Wyszynski
First published in Revista da Casa de Goa, Series II, Issue No. 39, March-April 2026, pp 68-71. Published here with additional pictures.
Truthful living
There is no doubt that God is different from man in His omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence, yet He created man in His image and likeness. That is, we are like God but not God. We are on track as long as we acknowledge that truth; the moment we forget it, we stray from the Creator and fall into a deep pit of our own creation.
God has given us His law in the form of commandments, which may be difficult but are possible to fulfil. The First Reading (Sir 15: 15-20) states: “If thou wilt keep the commandments and perform acceptable fidelity for ever, they shall preserve thee.” In His infinite goodness, He has created water and fire, good and evil, life and death, and we must bear responsibility for the same while we have the freedom of choice.
Although the yoke is easy and the burden is light, we humans rebel against God’s law. We have a natural propensity to sin, but then, how long can we put up a ‘fight’? Is it not better to have a conciliatory attitude, an attitude of humility and surrender instead? “The eyes of the Lord are towards them that fear him, and he knoweth all the work of man.”
It is essential to have faith and trust in the Lord if we wish to be happy. “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord!” says the opening refrain of Psalm 119. In the world’s thinking, following God’s law and not our own is a sign of weakness. How faulty an approach to our problems! The bulk of these come from pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth, all of which cause a host of immoral behaviours.
Sadly, the flesh is attracted to what sin promises. We fail to see that it comes from a master liar, the devil. Therefore, let our prayer be: “Give me understanding, and I will search thy law; and I will keep it with my whole heart.” (Ps 119: 34) Needless to say, the Christian outlook will be different from that of the secular world that surrounds us, for, as the truly wise St Paul says in the Second Reading (1 Cor 2: 6-10), “We speak a wisdom to those who are mature, not a wisdom of this age, nor of the rulers of this age who are passing away. Rather, we speak God's wisdom, mysterious, hidden, which God predetermined before the ages for our glory, and which none of the rulers of this age knew.”
Knowledge of the Mystery of Christ is true wisdom. Alas, the world has long misjudged this, or else they “would not have crucified the Lord of glory.” It is a matter of great consolation that God has prepared something special for those who love and adore Him. It takes faith—total trust in God—to determine it. Of course, those who are faithful enjoy that moral certainty; the unseen God reveals Himself to them through the Spirit, “for the Spirit scrutinizes everything, even the depths of God.”
The beauty of it all: the humbler and more childlike we are, the more is revealed to us. “Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth; you have revealed to little ones the mysteries of the kingdom.” The first ones of this world will be the last in the kingdom. The rich and powerful, the bold and beautiful will hide their faces in shame. This truth alone could take away our fret.
In the Gospel (Mt 5: 17-37), which is a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus highlights self-control, lifelong marital relationships, and honest communication: “Whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do so will be called least in the kingdom of heaven.” In other words, we must not only keep the commandments ourselves but also enjoin upon others to do so.
Jesus makes it clear that He came not to abolish the old law but to perfect and fulfil it. He emphasizes loving obedience over mere ritualism or legalism. Although Jesus was referring to the Jewish law and its enforcers, we could apply the same to the natural law, which we cannot pretend to be ignorant of, for it is set like a seal on our hearts. It is no use to rationalise or interpret the law according to our whims and fancies, for God knows our hearts’ innermost recesses.
We must stop looking at God’s law as oppressive. When we accept it with understanding and love, it is healing. Given that we tend to go about our daily tasks wearing a mask, it was time we shed the mask, for God can see through it all. The more truthful our living is, the better.
Banner: https://ln.run/nfw6Y