The Third Floor and the Three Blocks: My Heart’s Journey

The Third Floor and the Three Blocks: My Heart’s Journey

By John Aguiar

​For years, the staircase to my third-floor office in the Information Department was just part of the morning routine. But one "fine morning," those steps grew heavy. The air felt thin, and my chest felt tight. I didn’t know it then, but my heart was trying to tell me a story that my family tree had been writing for generations.

​A Meeting of Fate

​I was lucky. In the halls of the hospital, I found a familiar face—Dr. Shirish Borkar, my old collegemate from Chowgule College, Margao. There is a certain comfort in being treated by someone who knew you before you were a "patient."

​The initial tests said I was fine. My heart seemed perfect on paper. But then Dr. Manjunath Desai walked in. He asked the one question that changed everything: "Is there a history?"

​I thought of my family. I thought of the many relatives I had lost to heart attacks. I said, "Yes."

​Fifteen Years of Resilience

​The angiography the next day revealed the truth: three blocks. I didn't go under the knife for an angioplasty. Instead, the doctors put me on medical management. That was 15 years ago. Since then, I have lived with those three blocks. They are a part of me, a reminder of the fragility of life and the incredible power of modern medicine and disciplined living. My heart, the most vital organ in my body, kept beating.

​The Lesson from Nagpur

​My journey took another emotional turn during my Civil Defence training in Nagpur. I was there to learn how to save others, to be a volunteer for my community. But during the CPR session, a trainer asked me a question that hit me harder than any physical symptom:

​"Have you taught CPR to your wife and family?"

​I realized then that while I was training to be a hero for strangers, I had left my own home unprotected. The advice I received was simple but profound: "Go home and first teach them CPR."

​Why I Tell My Story

​I am a survivor, a volunteer, and a family man. My blocks didn't stop me; they woke me up.

​I learned that:

​Intuition matters: If I hadn't mentioned my family history, I might not be here today.

​Stability is possible: You can live a full, long life even with "blocks" if you respect your body and your treatment.

​Love is a skill: Teaching your family CPR is the ultimate act of love. It’s giving them the power to save the person they love most.0

​Fifteen years later, I am still here. I am still serving. And thanks to that wake-up call in Nagpur, my family is ready, too.

तिसरो माळो आनी तीन ब्लॉल्क्स: म्हज्या काळजाचो प्रवास

​लेखक: जॉन आगियार

​वर्सांनुवर्स, म्हायती खात्यांतल्या म्हज्या तिसऱ्या माळ्यार आशिल्ल्या ऑफिसाच्यो पायऱ्यो चडप म्हळ्यार म्हज्या सकाळच्या नेमाचो एक भाग आशिल्लो. पूण एका "बऱ्या सकाळीं, त्यो पायऱ्यो जड जावंक लागल्यो. वारो उणो जाल्ल्यावरी दिसलें आनी काळजांत ओड बसली. तेन्ना म्हाका खबर नाशिल्ली, पूण म्हजें काळीज म्हाका ती काणी सांगपाचो प्रयत्न करतालें जी म्हज्या कुटुंबान पिळग्यान्-पिळग्यो बरयल्ली.

​दैवाचो मेळ

​हांव नशीबवान आशिल्लो. हॉस्पिटलाच्या वण्टीं मदें म्हाका एक वळखीचो चयरो मेळ्ळो—डॉ. शिरीष बोरकर, मडगांवच्या चौगुले कॉलेजींतलो म्हजो पळो वांगडी. तुमकां "पेशंट" म्हण वळखचे पयलीं तुमकां वळखतल्या मनशान उपचार करपांत एक वेगळोच विस्वास आसता.

​सुरवातीच्यो तपासण्या प्रमाण  सगळें ठीक आसलें. कागदार म्हजें काळीज एकदम 'परफेक्ट' दिसतालें. पूण उपरांत डॉ. मंजुनाथ देसाय भितर आयले. तांणी एक असो प्रस्न विचारलो ज्यान सगळेंच बदलून उडयलें: "तुमच्या कुटुंबांत असलो कसलो इतिहास आसा?"

​हांवें म्हज्या कुटुंबाचो विचार केलो. काळजाच्या धक्याक लागून मरण आयिल्ल्या म्हज्या जायत्या सोयऱ्यांचो विचार केलो. हांवें म्हणलें, "हय."

​१५ वर्सांची चिकाटी

​दुसऱ्या दिसा केल्ल्या 'अँजिओग्राफी'त सत मुखार आयलें: तीन ब्लॉक्स (आडखळो). हांवें 'अँजिओप्लास्टी'ची शस्त्रक्रिया करून घेतली ना. ताच्या बदलाक, डॉक्टरांनी म्हाका वखदांच्या मॅनेजमेंटार दवरलो. ती गजाल १५ वर्सां फाटली. तेन्ना सावन हांव त्या तीन ब्लॉक्स वांगडा जियेता. ते म्हजो एक भाग जाल्यात, जिणेची नाजूकाय आनी आधुनिक वखदांची तशेंच शिस्तीच्या जिणेची तांक म्हाका जाणवून दितात. म्हज्या कुडींतलो सगळ्यांत म्हत्वाचो अवयव—म्हजें काळीज—अजूनय धडधडटा.

​नागपूरचो धडो

​नागपूर हांगा जाल्ल्या 'सिव्हिल डिफेन्स' प्रशिक्षणा वेळार म्हज्या प्रवासाक एक भावनिक मोडण मेळ्ळें. हांव थंय दुसऱ्यांचे जीव कसो वाटावचो हें शिकपाखातीर, म्हज्या समाजाखातीर एक स्वयंसेवक म्हणून गेल्लो. पूण CPR (सि.पि.आर.) सत्रा वेळार, एका प्रशिक्षकान म्हाका एक असो प्रस्न विचारलो जो खंयच्याय शारीरिक लक्षणा परस काळजाक चड लागलो:

​"तुम्ही तुमच्या बायलेक आनी कुटुंबाक CPR शिकयलां?"

​म्हाका तेन्ना जाणवलें की, हांव अनोळखी मनशां खातीर 'हिरो' जावपाचें शिक्षण घेतालो, पूण म्हज्या स्वताच्या घराक हांवें असुरक्षित दवरलेलें. तांणी म्हाका दिल्लो सल्लो सादो पूण खोल आशिल्लो: "घरा वचात आनी पयलीं तांकां CPR शिकयात."

​हांव म्हजी काणी कित्याक सांगतां

​हांव एक वाटावपी (survivor), एक स्वयंसेवक आनी एक कौटुंबिक मनीस. म्हज्या ब्लॉक्सनी म्हाका थांबयलो ना; तांणी म्हाका जागो केलो.

​हांवें हें शिकलें:

• ​अंतर्मन म्हत्वाचें: जर हांवें म्हज्या कुटुंबाच्या इतिहासाविशीं सांगलें नासतें, तर कदाचित हांव आज हांगा नासतों.
• ​थिरता शक्य आसा: जर तुमी तुमच्या कुडीचो आनी उपचाराचो मान राखतात, तर तुमी "ब्लॉक्स" आसून लेगीत एक पूर्ण आनी लांब जीण जियेवंक शकतात.
• ​मोग ही एक कळा: तुमच्या कुटुंबाक CPR शिकोवप म्हळ्यार मोगाचें सगळ्यांत व्हड कार्य. तुमी तांकां अश्या मनशाचो जीव वाटावपाची तांक दितात, ज्याचेर ते सगळ्यांत चड मोग करतात.

​पंदरा वर्सां उपरांत, हांव अजूनय हांगा आसां. हांव अजूनय सेवा करतां. आनी नागपूरच्या त्या जागृत उल्याक लागून, म्हजें कुटुंबूय आतां सज्ज आसा.

The Guava Tree Chronicles: Growing Up "Baba" in Ponda

 

The Guava Tree Chronicles: Growing Up "Baba" in Ponda

​By John Aguiar

​In the quiet locality of Ponda, I wasn't known by my name. To the neighbors, I was simply "Baba." To my paternal cousins, I was "Nanu." As an only child, I was the sun around which my parents’ world orbited—a position that granted me an abundance of love, but also meant their eyes were rarely off me. This was a challenge, because, by all local accounts, I was the naughtiest boy in the neighborhood.

​My home was a melting pot of Goan identity, a blend of two distinct cultures and religions. With a Roman Catholic father and a Hindu GSB mother, my upbringing was as rich as it was disciplined. However, as I grew, my parents quickly realized that my spirit couldn't be contained within four walls. I was a child of the outdoors.

​The Ladder and the Louse

​If I wasn't hanging from the branches of the guava tree behind our house, I was likely on the roof. My parents tried everything to hide the household ladder, but I possessed a supernatural instinct for its location. I could smell that ladder from a distance, much like a dog sniffs out a buried bone.

​Naturally, coming home covered in scrapes and bruises was a daily ritual. My parents' worry eventually turned into a unique form of psychological warfare. One afternoon, my mother took me on her lap. Instead of a lecture, she took a louse, pressed it between her fingernails, and showed me the result.

​"See," she said solemnly, "what happens to the louse when its blood comes out? It becomes empty. We will also become empty if we aren't careful."

​The terrifying image of "becoming empty" haunted me. Suddenly, I wasn't just a daredevil; I was a boy carefully avoiding broken glass and jagged stones, terrified of a leak that might deflate my very existence.

​A Lesson in Literalism

​Despite my newfound caution, my tongue remained as sharp as ever. Whenever my mischief pushed my mother to her limit, she would resort to a classic Konkani ultimatum:

​"Tum masti kelear have tond gheun vatli" (If you keep misbehaving, I will depart with my face intact—meaning, I will leave in shame).

​My innocent, albeit cheeky, rebuttal was always the same: "Tond ghevn vachunaka, tondd dovrun voch" (Don't go away with your face; leave your face here and go.)

​The world outside my home was equally daunting. I vividly remember a pregnant teacher who once pointed to her burgeoning belly and told our class of toddlers that she would put the naughtiest student inside there. The prospect was so frightening that I staged a one-boy strike, staying away from school for an entire week.

​The Slender Stick

​While my mother used folk tales and metaphors, my father believed in a more direct approach: discipline and devotion. He spent his evenings trying to mold me into a man of "pleasant manners," bringing me sweets and taking me for alternate-day bicycle rides. But he did not spare the rod.

​The most enduring memory of my childhood involves that same guava tree I loved to climb. After a particular mistake—the details of which have faded into the mists of time—my father marched to the tree and broke off a supple branch.

​Because I was shirtless, the slender stick left marks across my skin that looked like they had been made by a blade. It is a cruel irony of physics: the more slender the stick, the more durable the evidence of its use.

​Seeing those marks on my tender skin broke something in my father. He was visibly disturbed by his own handiwork and vowed never to beat me again. In return, moved by his remorse, I vowed to finally be a "good boy."

​We both kept our promises, but the memories of that guava tree, the fear of "emptiness," and the literal interpretations of a Ponda childhood remain as vivid today as they were decades ago.

 म्हजें पेराच्या झाडाचें भुरगेपण

​लेखक: जॉन आगियार

​फोंडेंचया शांत वाठारांत, कोणाकच म्हजें खरें नांव खबर नाशिल्लें. शेजारी-पाजारीं खातीर हांव फकत ‘बाबा’ आशिल्लो आनी आतेभावां खातीर ‘नानु’. घरांतलो एकलोच चलो आशिल्ल्यान म्हज्या आवय-बापायचें सगळें विश्व म्हज्या भोंवतणीच भोंवतालें. तांचो मोग अफाट आशिल्लो, पूण ताची एक आडमेळ्ळी बाजूय आशिल्ली—तांची नदर सदांच म्हजेर आसताली. आनी देखूनच, त्या वाठारांतलो सगळ्यांत ‘खोडकर’ भुरगो म्हूण गाजिल्ल्या म्हज्या सारक्या भुरग्याक तें कठीण जातालें.

​म्हजें घर म्हळ्यार गोंयकारपणाचो एक सुंदर मेळ आशिल्लो. कॅथलिक बापूय आनी हिंदू (जीएसबी) आवय, अशा दोन वेगळ्या संस्कृतींच्या संस्कारांत हांव वाडलो. पूण हांव घरांत बसून उरपी भुरगो नाशिल्लोच; म्हजें खरें राज्य घराभायर, सैमाच्या सान्निध्यांत आशिल्लें.

​शिडी आनी उवांचो धाक

​घरा फाटल्यान आशिल्ल्या पेराच्या झाडाच्या खांदयेर हांव लोंबकळ्ळो ना, असो एकूय दीस वचनासलो. झाडाचेर ना जाल्यार पाख्याचेर (roof). म्हज्या आवय-बापायन घरांतली शिडी लपवून दवरपाचे खूब प्रयत्न केले, पूण त्या शिडीचो वास घेवपाची मजकडेन विलक्षण शक्त आशिल्ली. खंयच्याय कोपऱ्यांत शिडी आसली तरी हांव ती सोदून काडटालोच.

​सदांच आंगार घांय आनी रगत घेवन घरा येवप हो म्हजो नित्यनेम जाल्लो. निमाणें म्हज्या आवयन एक वेगळीच युक्ती काडली. एके दनपारा तिणें म्हाका माथ्येचेर बसयलो आनी एक उं (louse) धरून आपल्या नखां मदीं चिरून दाखयली.

​"पळे बाबा," ती गंभीरपणान म्हणाली, "जेन्ना उंवेतलें रगत भायर येता, तेन्ना ती पोकळ जाता. आपणेंय जर शिटूकसाण पाळ्ळी ना, तर आपणूय अशेच पोकळ जातले."

​त्या ‘पोकळ’ जावपाच्या भयान म्हज्या मनांत घर केलें. उपरांत कितले तरी दीस हांव फातर वा काच लागून रगत येवपाच्या भयान शिटूक रांवक लागलो.

​उतर पाळपाची सवय

​हाता-पायांची हालचाल उणी जाली, तरी म्हजी जीब मात थंयच आशिल्ली. जेन्ना म्हजी मस्ती आवयच्या सहनशक्ती भायर वताली, तेन्ना ती कोंकणींत एक गाजिल्लें वाक्य म्हण्टाली:

​"तूं मस्ती केल्यार हांव तोंड घेवन वतली!" (म्हळ्यार हांव अपमानित जावन घर सोडून वतली).

​त्या वेळार हांव ल्हान आशिल्ल्यान तिचें उत्तर तितल्याच निरागसपणान दितालो: "तोंड घेवन वचूं नका, तोंड हांगाच दवरून वच!"

​शाळेचो तो भंय

​घरा भायले विश्वूय म्हाका तितलेंच भिराकुळ दिसतालें. म्हाका आजून याद आसा, आमच्या शाळेतली एक गुरवार (pregnant) शिक्षिका म्हाका म्हण्टाली की, जर हांवें मस्ती केली तर ती म्हाका आपल्या पोटांत घालून दवरतली. हो विचार इतलो भयानक आशिल्लो की हांवें सलग एक सप्तक शाळेत वचपाचें बंद केलें!

​पेराची ती लवचीक बडी

​म्हजी आवय म्हाका काणी आनी म्हणी सांगून सुदारपाचो प्रयत्न करताली, पूण बापायचो मार्ग मात रोखडो आनी रोकडो आशिल्लो. तांकां हांव एक शिस्तीचो आनी बरो मनीस जावंचो अशें मनांतल्यान दिसतालें. ते म्हाका खावपाचें हाडटाले, सायकलचेर भोंवडावंक व्हरताले, पूण शिस्त मोडली की तांचो हातय सुटटालो.

​एकदां म्हज्या हातांतल्यान अशीच एक चूक जाली (जी आतां याद ना). त्या दिसा बापूय थेट त्या पेराच्या झाडा कडेन गेलो आनी ताणें एक लवचीक बडी तोडून हाडली. हांव त्या वेळार उघड्या आंगान आशिल्लो. बापायन जेन्ना म्हाका मारलो, तेन्ना त्या बारीक बडयेचे वळ म्हज्या आंगार सुरी मारिल्ल्या वरी उमटले. भौतिकशास्त्राचो (physics) तो एक विचित्र नेम आसूं येता—बडी जितली बारीक, तितलो तिचो मार चड बसता आनी वळूय चड काळ उरतात.

​म्हज्या नाजूक आंगार ते रगतमय वळ पळोवन बापायच्या काळजाक पीळ पडलो. तांकां आपल्याच करणीचो पश्चात्ताप जालो आनी तांणी शपथ घेतली की ते परतून म्हजेर कदीच हात उखलचे नात. बापायचें तें रूप पळोवन हांवेंय तांकां उतर दिलें की हांव आतां एक ‘बरो भुरगो’ जावन दाखयतालो.

​आमी दोगांनीय आपआपलीं उतरां पाळ्ळीं. आज कितलीं तरी वर्सां जालीं, पूण फोंड्यांतलें तें भुरगेपण, पेराचें झाड आनी रगत भायर येवन ‘रिकामें’ जावपाची ती ओली भीती आजून म्हज्या मनांत ताजी आसा.

From the Compound to the Byline: A Goan News Odyssey

 

From the Compound to the Byline: A Goan News Odyssey

By John Aguiar

​In the quiet mornings of the 1960s and 70s, the soundtrack of my childhood began with a specific mechanical hum and the rhythmic thwack of a folded newspaper hitting the red earth of our compound. That was Shanu, our local news vendor. In a classic Goan hustle, Shanu was a motorcycle pilot by trade and a Gomantak correspondent by heart. Long before motorcycles were officially registered as taxis, he was the original "multitasker," delivering the world to our doorstep before heading off to chase his own leads.

​The Architect of the Habit

​I owe my love for the written word to my mother. While she made sure I had my fill of the magical worlds in Chandamama (which we devoured in both English and Marathi) and the legendary heroes of Amar Chitra Katha, the centerpiece of our daily ritual was always Gomantak.

​Reading the paper wasn't just a passive hobby; it was an education in the grit and glamour of a changing Goa. We didn't just read "news"; we read sagas.

​Crimes, Capers, and Molasses

​The Gomantak of that era was a powerhouse of investigative journalism. I still remember the hushed conversations and the gripping headlines surrounding the Janu Ghadi murder case. The story of a simple waiter in a Margao hotel caught in a web involving a police officer and a bar dancer felt like a noir film unfolding in real-time.

​Then there were the "exclusive" escapes. When the notorious smuggler Sukur Narayan Bakhia vanished from the high walls of Aguada Jail, it wasn't just a report—it was an event that held the entire state breathless. Even the environmental scandals of the day, like the molasses leakage from the Sanjivani Sugar Factory, were laid bare with a tenacity that defined the era's journalism.

​Full Circle in Ponda

​Decades later, the transition from reader to writer felt less like a career choice and more like a destiny fulfilled. Standing in Ponda as a correspondent for the very paper that Shanu used to toss into my yard was a surreal, "pinch-me" moment.

​Reporting for Gomantak allowed me to give back to the institution that shaped my worldview. Every time I filed a story, I thought of my mother’s insistence on the daily paper and Shanu’s motorcycle disappearing into the Goan mist.

​The ink might be digital now, and the motorcycle pilots now have motorcycle taxis, but the spirit of those early mornings—the smell of fresh print and the thrill of a story well-told—stays with me. I wasn't just a kid reading a newspaper; I was a journalist  with the same newspaper I started reading i the Gomantak .

आंगणांतल्यान खबरांपत्राच्या ओळींमेरेन: एक गोंयकार खबरांपत्री प्रवास

​बरोवपी: जॉन आगियार

​१९६० आनी ७० च्या दशकांतल्या त्या शांत सकाळिंचो उगडास आयलो म्हणल्यार म्हज्या कानांत एका खास यंत्राचो आवाज आनी घराच्या तांबड्या मातयेच्या आंगणांत खबरांपत्र पडपाचो तो 'थप्प' असो आवाज घुमपाक लागता. तो आशिल्लो आमचो खबरो पोचोवपी— शामू. एका अस्सल गोंयकार कश्टी मनशा वरी शामू वेवसायान 'मोटारसायकल पायलट' आशिल्लो आनी मनान 'गोमंतक'चो खबरपत्री. मोटारसायकल टॅक्सी म्हुणून अधिकृत नोंदणी जावच्याय खूब पयलीं, तो खरो 'मल्टिटास्कर' आशिल्लो. जगांतल्या घडणुको आमच्या दारांत पावोवन तो स्वता खबऱ्यो सोदपाक भायर सरतालो.

​वाचपाच्या सवयेची निर्माती

​बरपावळिचेर मोग बसपाचें सगळें श्रेय म्हजे आवयक वता. 'चांदोमामा'तल्या (जे आमी इंग्लीश आनी मराठी अशा दोनूय भासांतल्यान वाचताले) अजापी संवसारांत आनी 'अमर चित्र कथा'तल्या वीर गथांनी हांव भुलतालोच, पूण आमच्या दिसाची खरी सुरवात सदांच 'गोमंतक' खबरांपत्रान जाताली.

​खबरांपत्र वाचप ही फक्त एक संवय नाशिल्ली, तर तें बदलत्या गोंयच्या संघर्षाचें आनी वलयित जिविताचें शिक्षण आशिल्लें. आमी फक्त 'खबऱ्यो' वाचनाले, तर आमी त्या काळांतल्यो कादंबरी वरी वाटपी घडणुको वाचताले.

​गुन्यांव, थरार आनी मळी

​त्या काळांतलें 'गोमंतक' हें तपासणी करपी पत्रकारितेचें एक व्हड केंद्र आशिल्लें. जानू घाडी खून प्रकरणाच्या त्या काळच्या गाजिल्ल्या मथळ्यांचो आनी लोकांच्या गुपित उलोवपाचो म्हाका अजून उगडास आसा. मडगांवच्या एका हॉटेलांतलो एक सादो वेटर, एक पोलीस अधिकारी आनी एका बार डान्सराच्या जाळांत कसो फसालो, हाची ती कथा एखाद्या सिनेमा वरी वाटताली.

​तशेंच त्या काळांतल्यो सुटका जाल्ल्याच्या 'खास' खबऱ्यो लेगीत गाजताल्यो. ज्यावेळार कुख्यात तस्कर सुकूर नारायण बखिया आगवाद जेलाच्या ऊंच वण्टीं वयल्यान पळून गेलो, तेन्ना ती फक्त एक खबर नाशिल्ली, तर पुराय गोंय राज्याचो स्वास रोखून धरपी ती एक व्हड घडणूक आशिल्ली. संजीवनी साखर कारखान्यांतल्यान जाल्ली मळीची गळती (molasses leakage) सारखी पर्यावरणाची प्रकरणां लेगीत त्या काळच्या पत्रकारितेन अत्यंत निर्भयपणान मुखार हाडिल्लीं.

​फोंड्यांत पूर्ण जाल्लें चक्र

​दशकां उपरांत, वाचकाचो लेखक जावपाचो हो प्रवास म्हजे खातीर फक्त एक करिअर नाशिल्लें, तर ती एक नशीबान थारयिल्ली गजाल आशिल्ली. ज्या 'गोमंतक' खबरांपत्राच्यो प्रती शामू म्हज्या आंगणांत उडयतालो, त्याच पत्रा खातीर फोंड्यांत बातमीदार म्हुणून उबो राविल्लो तो क्षण म्हजे खातीर 'पिंच-मी' (सपनांत आसां काय कितें) असो आशिल्लो.

​'गोमंतक' खातीर पत्रकारिता करप म्हळ्यार म्हाका घडयिल्ल्या त्या संस्थेक परतें कांतयिल्लें फळ दिवपा वरी आशिल्लें. जें केन्ना हांव बातमी बरोवंक बसतालो, तेन्ना म्हाका आवयन लायिल्ली वाचपाची सवय आनी शामूची मोटारसायकल धुक्यांत गरायप जाताली, तें दृश्य दोळ्यां मुखार येतालें.

​आज शाईची सुवात 'डिजिटल' पड्ड्यांनी घेतल्या आनी मोटारसायकल पायलटां कडेन आतां टॅक्सीची अधिकृत मान्यता आसा. पूण त्या पयल्या सकाळिचो आत्मीय भाव—त्या नव्या छापिल्ल्या कागदाचो वास आनी एक बरी कथा सांगपाचो थरार—अजून म्हज्या मनांत ताजा आसा. हांव फक्त खबरांपत्र वाचपी भुरगो नाशिल्लों, तर हांव त्या 'गोमंतक' पत्राचोच एक भाग जालो, जाच्यांतल्यान म्हाका संवसाराची वळख जाल्ली.

Poetry as Truth: A journey from Bhakti Geet to Social Awakening

Poetry as Truth: A journey from Bhakti Geet to Social Awakening

By John Aguiar

There is a unique kind of magic in hearing your own words take flight. Listening to poetry I have written—sung beautifully by Gautami Hede and composed by Shri Sidhnath Buyao in the soulful Yaman raag—reminds me daily of how literature and music have transformed my life. Shifting my focus to composing bhakti (devotional) songs has brought me immense happiness and deep satisfaction. Historically, there has been a scarcity of literature in Konkani bhakti geet, and I am proud to be a trendsetter in this space. Today, devotional videos for my songs like Dambaba tu pav re and Shantadurge maye have become extremely popular, bridging the gap between faith and modern expression.

The Early Footsteps: From Jinn to Paulam The journey of a poet is rarely easy, but it is always deeply personal. My roots in poetry stretch back to my school days, marked by the sheer thrill of seeing my very first poem, Tin rongi bavtoo, published in Uzvadd. That moment sparked a crucial belief in myself.

My formal literary debut came during my college years. In 1982, my very first booklet of Konkani poetry, titled Jinn, was published by Adv. Uday Bhembre, who was then the President of the Konkani Bhasha Mandal. This was a foundational stepping stone. Later, it was the release of my book Paulam that truly made me aware of my fully realized identity as a poet.

Why I Write: Voices of Nature and Justice When people ask me, "Why do you write poetry?" my answer is simple: because it is the most intense form of expression. I have always felt that poetry is truth.

I am moved by the world around me. Nature moves me, travelling moves me, and beauty moves me. However, I am equally moved by loss and injustice. I keep writing about the Goa that we have left far behind, lamenting the tragic destruction of our once-pristine landscapes and hills. Sometimes, my poetry takes on the voice of the voiceless: a ragpicker or a poor little boy shivering on the street. I write to remember my roots, penning verses dedicated to my parents and my mother tongue. I believe in speaking out while there is still time, using my poetry as a vessel for social causes and justice.

The Rich Tapestry of Poetry in Goa My personal journey is just one thread in the rich, diverse history of Goan poetry. Often characterized by its celebration of the land, its people, and its unique culture, poetry in Goa has evolved beautifully over the centuries:

A Plurilingual Heritage: Goa’s unique environment has fostered a vibrant tradition across Konkani, Marathi, English, and Portuguese.

A Surge Among the Youth: Recently, there has been a massive surge in poetry's popularity, particularly among younger generations who use it to connect with their heritage.

Digital Expression: Social media platforms and modern video formats (like my own bhakti videos) have provided a fresh, accessible space for poets to share their work, experiment with different styles, and build a sense of community.

Whether it is a devotional hymn echoing in a temple, a verse mourning a bulldozed hill, or a reflection on the struggles of the marginalized, poetry remains Goa’s enduring voice. It is the truth of our past, the mirror of our present, and the hope for our future.

कविता म्हणल्यार सत्य: भक्ती गीतां सावन समाजीक जागृताये मेरेनचो प्रवास

​लेखक: जॉन आगियार

​आपलेच शब्द जेन्ना सुरांच्या पंखांनी वयर उडटात, तेन्ना मेळपी अणभव खरोच अजापाचो आसता. हांवें बरयिल्ली कविता—गौतमी हेडे हिच्या गोड आवाजांत आनी श्री सिद्धनाथ बुयांव हांच्या 'यमन' रागांतल्या संंगीत दिग्दर्शनांत—जेन्ना हांव आयकता, तेन्ना म्हाका जाणीव जाता की साहित्य आनी संगीतान मोजें जिवीत कशें बदलून टाकलां. कोंकणी भक्ती गीतां रचपाचेर हांवें आपलो चड लक्ष दिलो आनी ताका लागून म्हाका एक वेगळेंच आत्मिक समाधान आनी खोस मेळ्ळ्या. कोंकणींत भक्ती साहित्याची उणाव आशिल्ली, आनी ह्या क्षेत्रांत एक 'ट्रेन्डसेटर' जावपाचो म्हाका अभिमान आसा. आयज 'दामबाबा तूं पाव रे' आनी 'शांतादुर्गे माये' सारकीं मजीं भक्ती गीतां व्हिडिओच्या माध्यमांतल्यान घराघरांनी पाविलीं आसात.

​सुरवातीचीं पावलां: 'जीण' ते 'पावलां'

​एका कवीचो प्रवास केन्नाच सोंपो नासता, पूण तो सामको वैयक्तीक आसता. मजे कवितेचें मूळ म्हळ्यार म्हज्या शाळेतले दीस. 'उजवाड' अंकांत मजी पयली कविता 'तीन रंगी बावटो' छापून आयली, तो दीस म्हाका अजून याद आसा. त्या एका क्षणान म्हजो आत्मविश्वास वाडयलो.

​खऱ्या अर्थान मजी साहित्यीक वाटचाल कॉलेजींत आसताना सुरू जाली. १९८२ वर्सा, 'कोंकणी भाशा मंडळा'चे त्या काळचे अध्यक्ष अॅड. उदय भेब्रे हांच्या हस्तुकीं म्हजो पयलो कविता झेलो 'जीण' उजवाडाक आयलो. तो म्हजो पयलो जैतवंत पांवडो आशिल्लो. पूण फुडें जेन्ना म्हजें 'पावलां' हें पुस्तक आयलें, तेन्ना म्हाका कवी म्हण मज्या खऱ्या अस्तित्वाची वळख पटली.

​हांव कविता कित्याक बरयता? निसर्ग आनी न्यायाचो आवाज

​जेन्ना लोक म्हाका विचारतात, "तूं कविता कित्याक बरयता?" तेन्ना मजें जाप सामकी सादी आसता: कारण कविता हें उक्तावपाचें सगळ्यांत प्रभावी माध्यम आसा. म्हाका सदांच दिसता की कविता म्हणल्यार सत्य.

​भोंवतणचो जग म्हाका सतत स्फूर्त दिता. निसर्ग, भोंवडी आनी सौंदर्य म्हाका भावता. पूण तितलेच दुख्ख आनी अन्याय म्हाका दुखायतात. फाटीं सुटिल्लो गोंय, आमचे निसर्ग, दोंगर हांचो जावपी विनास हाचेर हांव कवितां वरवीं दूख व्यक्त करता. केन्ना केन्ना म्हजी कविता अगतिक लोकांचो आवाज जाता—रस्त्याचेर थंडीन कांपपी तो गरीब भुरगो वा तो कागदां विणपी मनीस. हांव मजीं मुळां याद दवरपा खातीर, म्हज्या आवय-बापायक आनी म्हज्या मायभाशेक अर्पण केल्ल्यो कविता बरयता. वेळ आसतानाच आवाज उठोवप गरजेचें आसा, अशें हांव मानता.

​गोंयच्या कवितेची गिरेस्त विण

​म्हजो हो वैयक्तीक प्रवास गोंयच्या गिरेस्त साहित्यीक परंपरेचोच एक वांटो आसा. गोंयच्या कवितेन काळा प्रमाण आपलें रूप बदललां:

• ​बहुभाशीक वारसो: कोंकणी, मराठी, इंग्लीश आनी पुर्तुगेज अशा भासांतल्यान गोंयचो साहित्यीक वारसो फुलला.
• ​तरणाट्यांचो प्रतिसाद: आयज नवी पिळगी मोठ्या संख्येन कविते कडेन ओढली गेल्या. आपल्या संस्कृती कडेन जोडपा खातीर ते कवितेचो आदार घेतात.
• ​डिजिटल माध्यम: सोशियल मिडिया आनी व्हिडिओच्या माध्यमांतल्यान कविता आयज लोकांच्या हातांत पाविल्ल्या.

​देवळांतलीं भक्ती गीतां आसूं वा इबाडपी दोंगरां खातीर गाळिल्ले दुख्ख—कविता हो गोंयचो अजरंवर आवाज आसा. तें आमच्या फाटभुंयचें सत्य आसा आनी फुडाराची आशा आसा.

From the Mud House to the Parade Ground: A Life Defined by the Uniform

 

From the Mud House to the Parade Ground: A Life Defined by the Uniform

​By John Aguiar

​For as long as I can remember, my life has been measured in crisp creases and the rhythmic sound of boots on asphalt. My fascination with the uniform wasn't born from movies or books, but from the very ground I stood on as a child.

​Growing up in a modest mud house situated directly opposite 6TTR Camp 1, my daily "television" was the view out of our front door. I watched with wide-eyed wonder as the Regimental Police (RP) stood with unwavering posture, saluting officers with a precision that felt like art. As dusk fell, I watched the transition—the RPs replaced by night sentries donning monkey caps, full sleeves, and anklets. In those days, before the era of combat camouflage, the hierarchy of the camp was a map of my neighborhood: officers to the left, JCOs to the right, and NCO families in the middle.

​Beyond the sight of the camp, my mother’s stories fueled my fire. She spoke of the Indian soldiers during the Liberation, painting them as heroes of myth and steel. To me, the uniform wasn't just clothing; it was a symbol of character.

​The Pursuit of the Olive Green

​I chased that symbol through every stage of my youth. I joined the Scouting movement in school and transitioned into the National Cadet Corps (NCC) during college, eventually rising to the rank of Senior Under Officer. My dedication was absolute: I completed two 21-day Army Attachment Camps at the Maratha Light Infantry Regimental Centre (MLIRC) in Belgaum, attended Advanced Leadership with Rock Climbing at Pachmarhi in Madhya Pradesh, and earned both my 'B' and 'C' certificates through three rigorous Annual Training Camps.

​Despite my qualifications and attending the Services Selection Board (SSB) interviews five times, the path to the Regular Army remained closed. It was a heartbreak only a true aspirant can understand—standing at the threshold of the "Olive Green" without ever being allowed to step through.

​A New Calling: The Home Guards

​Destiny, however, has a way of rewarding persistence through different avenues. My journey took a pivotal turn in 1984 when PI Vishwanath Varik enrolled me as a Home Guard volunteer. Shortly after, a meeting with Mr. Karnal Singh (DIG) changed everything. Impressed by my background and my unwavering discipline, he appointed me as an Honorary Company Commander.

​I realized then that the "Olive Green" was not the only way to serve. The khaki of the Home Guards became my new canvas for excellence. As Company Commander, I didn't just want to wear the uniform; I wanted to elevate it. I was instrumental in instituting the Goa Chief Minister’s Medal for the Home Guards, ensuring that the dedication of our volunteers was recognized at the highest level of state government.

​A Decorated Journey of Service

​My career has been defined by a continuous strive for excellence, recognized over the decades by both the state and the nation. In 2007, I was humbled to receive the very award I helped create: the Goa Chief Minister’s Medal. This was followed by the President’s Medal for Meritorious Services in 2013, and the pinnacle of my service recognitions, the President’s Medal for Distinguished Services in 2020. Along this journey, I was also honored with both the Bronze and Silver DGCD Commendation Cards.

​One of the proudest moments of my career remains commanding the contingents at the State Parade and leading the full Raising Day Parade when the then Home Minister, Mr. Ravi Naik, reviewed the ranks. Standing there, reporting to the dais, I felt the same pride I had seen in those RPs decades ago.

​Reflections

​Looking back, I may have missed the chance to wear the specific shade of Olive Green I once dreamed of as a boy in that mud house. But the uniform I did wear gave me something greater: the opportunity to fulfill my dream of leadership and lifelong service.

​The uniform doesn't just make the man; the man’s commitment to service defines the uniform. My dream wasn't lost—it simply found its true home in the service of the people.

मातयेच्या घरांतल्यान परेड मैदाना मेरेन: गणवेशान घडयल्लें एक जिवीत

​लेखक: जॉन आगियार

​म्हज्या उगडासांतल्यान म्हजें जिवीत म्हणल्यार कडक इसत्री केल्लो गणवेश आनी डांबरी रस्त्याचेर बुटांचो तो लयबध्द आवाज. गणवेशाविशीं म्हजें आकर्शण खंयच्या पुस्तकांतल्यान वा सिनेमांतल्यान आयिल्लें न्हय, तर तें म्हज्या भुरगेपणांतल्यान, त्या आंगणांतल्यान आयिल्लें जंय हांव ल्हानाचा व्हड जालो.

​आमचें सादें मातयेचें घर 6TTR कॅम्प 1 च्या सामकें मुखार आशिल्लें. थंयचें दृश्य म्हज्या खातीर एका जिवंत 'टेलिव्हिजन' सारकें आशिल्लें. रेजिमेंटल पोलीस (RP) कडक शिस्तींत उबे रावन अधिकाऱ्यांक जो सॅल्युट मारताले, तें पळोवन हांव अजाप जातालों. थंयच्या शिस्तींत एक वेगळीच कळा आशिल्ली. सान्जेवेळार जेन्ना आरपी वताले, तेन्ना तांची सुवात 'मंकी कॅप' आनी पांयांत अँकलेट्स घालिल्ले रात्रीचे राखणदार घेताले. त्या काळांत कँपांतली मांडावळ लेगीत स्पश्ट आशिल्ली—दाव्याक अधिकारी, उजव्याक जेसीओ (JCO) आनी मदीं एनसीओ (NCO) कुटुंबां.

​ह्या दृश्यां वांगडाच म्हज्या आवयच्या काणयांनी म्हज्या मनांतली उर्बा वाडयली. सुटके झुजाच्या वेळार भारतीय सैनिकांनी दाखयल्लें शौर्य ती सांगताली. तेन्ना सावन म्हज्या मनांत गणवेश म्हणल्यार फकत कपडे न्हय, तर तो 'चारित्र्याचो' एक सुंदर पुतळो जालो.

​ऑलिव्ह ग्रीनचो सोद

​होच गणवेश मेळोवपा खातीर हांवें म्हज्या जिविताचो दरेक टप्पो गाजयलो. शाळेत आसतना हांव स्कॅव्टांत (Scouts) आशिल्लों आनी कॉलेजींत गेल्यार हांवें एनसीसी (NCC) जॉईन केलें. थंय हांवें 'सिनियर अंडर ऑफिसर' पदा मेरेन मजल मारली. बेळगांवांतल्या मराठा लाइट इन्फंट्री रेजिमेंटल सेंटर (MLIRC) हांगा हांवें दोन फावटी २१ दिसांचें आर्मी अटॅचमेंट कॅम्प केलें. पंचमढी हांगा रॉक क्लायंबिंगा वांगडाच ॲडव्हान्स लीडरशिप कोर्स पूर्ण केलो आनी 'बी' तशेंच 'सी' प्रमाणपत्र मेळयलें.

​पूण, नियतीच्या मनांत दुसरेंच कांय आशिल्लें. पांच फावटी सर्व्हिस सिलेक्शन बोर्डाची (SSB) मुलाखत दिवन लेगीत, 'ऑलिव्ह ग्रीन' सैन्यांत वचपाची म्हजी संद हुकली. तें एक काळजाक लागपी दूख आशिल्लें.

​एक नवी वाट: होम गार्ड्स

​खंय तरी एक दार बंद जालें की दुसरें उघडटा. १९८४ वर्सा पीआय विश्वनाथ वारिक हांणी म्हजी नोंदणी होम गार्ड व्हॉलेंटियर म्हणून केली. उपरांत मिस्टर कर्नल सिंग (DIG) हांची भेट जाली. म्हजो एनसीसीचो अणभव आनी शिस्त पळोवन तांणी म्हजी 'ऑनरी कंपनी कमांडर' म्हणून नेमणूक केली.

​थंय म्हाका जाणवलें की, देशसेवा करपा खातीर फकत 'ऑलिव्ह ग्रीन' गणवेशाचीच गरज नासता. होम गार्ड्सचो तो खाकी गणवेश म्हज्या खातीर सेवेचें नवें मळ जालें. कंपनी कमांडर म्हणून काम करताना म्हाका फकत गणवेश घालप नाशिल्लें, तर त्या पदाची प्रतिष्ठा वाडवपाची आशिल्ली. म्हज्याच प्रयत्नांतल्यान होम गार्ड्स खातीर 'गोवा मुख्यमंत्री पदक' सुरू जालें, जाका लागून सेवेक योग्य मान मेळपाक लागलो.

​सेवेचो भोवमानी प्रवास

​म्हज्या सेवेची पावती म्हाका वेळोवेळो मेळत गेली. २००७ वर्सा म्हाका 'गोवा मुख्यमंत्री पदक' मेळ्ळें. उपरांत २०१३ वर्सा 'राष्ट्रपती गुणवत्तापूर्ण सेवा पदक' आनी २०२० वर्सा म्हज्या सेवेचो सगळ्यांत व्हड भोवमान म्हणल्यार 'राष्ट्रपती विशिष्ट सेवा पदक' (President’s Medal for Distinguished Services) म्हाका फावो जालें.

​राज्य पातळेचेर जावपी परेडांत पथकाचें फुडारपण करप आनी होम गार्ड्सच्या 'रायझिंग डे' परेडांत गृहमंत्री रवी नायक हांकां रिपोर्टिंग करप, हे म्हज्या जिवितांतले उमेदीचे क्षण. त्या वेळार म्हाका तेंच अभिमान जाणवलें, जें भुरगेपणांत त्या आरपीक पळोवन जातालें.

​अणभव

​आज फाटीं वळून पळयताना म्हाका जाणवता की, जरी म्हाका सैन्याचो तो खास 'ऑलिव्ह ग्रीन' रंग मेळ्ळो ना, तरी म्हज्या खाकी गणवेशान म्हाका फुडारपण आनी लोकसेवेची तीच संद दिली.

​शेवटी, गणवेश मनशाक घडयना, तर मनशाची कर्तबगारी आनी सेवा गणवेशाक वळख दिता. म्हजें सपन हारलें ना, तर तें लोकसेवेच्या रूपान आनीक घट जालें.

Echoes of a Goan Childhood: Lessons from the Red Soil

 

Echoes of a Goan Childhood: Lessons from the Red Soil

​By John Aguiar

​Childhood is not just a phase of life; it is the foundation of who we become. When I look back, I don’t just see years passing by; I see a vibrant mosaic of memories—a time when life was measured not by the ticking of a clock, but by the games we played and the chores we shared.

​The Playground of the Soul

​Growing up in Goa, our world was vast and adventurous. We didn't need screens to be entertained. Whether it was a spirited game of football, cricket, or traditional games like logoryo and chor-police, the outdoors was our kingdom. I still vividly remember the simple joy of balancing on a bicycle, or the focused determination of rolling an old tire with a stick down a dusty path. Those moments taught us independence and the value of a carefree spirit.

​A Life Tied to the Earth

​Our home was a reflection of the land. Living as mundkars, our lives were intimately connected to the seasons. I remember the rhythmic labor of the monsoons—cleaning the roof tiles (nolle) and ensuring our mud-walled house remained dry.

​The heart of our home was the kitchen, where a traditional mud stove (chul) burned bright. I remember the duty of trekking into the woods to collect firewood (shirputa) to keep that fire going. Life was rustic; we bathed with water heated in large copper vessels (fukni) outside, surrounded by the sounds of our livestock—our goats and cows who were as much a part of the family as anyone else.

​A Tapestry of Faith and Culture

​One of the most beautiful aspects of my upbringing was the fusion of traditions. Born to a Christian father and a Hindu Goud Saraswat Brahmin mother, my childhood was a masterclass in harmony. I grew up hearing stories from the Puranas from my mother, while also attending St. Mary’s School.

​Whether it was celebrating the festivals of the Tulsi plant or visiting the bakery my father ran in Ponda, I learned early on that faith is about love and respect, not divisions.

​The People Who Shaped Me

​Our lives are defined by the people who walk alongside us. I think of my mother’s insistence on education, leading her to appoint Devidas Sabaji Hardikar to teach me Marathi. I think of the joy of birthdays—not for the grandeur, but for the warmth of family, the blowing out of candles, and the simple gifts that felt like treasures.

​Even as an only child, I never felt alone. From the cousins who filled our home with laughter to the neighbors who felt like kin, my childhood was rich with human connection.

​"These childhood memories are more than just stories; they are the knots that keep us tied to our roots. As we grow older, they remain our greatest source of happiness."

गोंयच्या तांबड्या मातींतल्या बालपणाचे पडसाद: एक अणभव

​बरोवपी: जॉन आगियार

​भुरगेपण हो फकत जिणेचो एक वांटो न्हय, तर तो फुडाराचो बुन्याद आसता. जेन्ना हांव फाटीं वळून पळयतां, तेन्ना म्हाका फकत सरिल्लीं वर्सां दिसनात; तर यादिंचो एक सोबीत 'मोझेक' (mosaic) दिसता. तो असो एक काळ आशिल्लो जेन्ना आयुश्य घड्याळाच्या काट्यार न्हय, तर आम्ही खेळिल्ल्या खेळांनी आनी वांटून घेतिल्ल्या कामांनी मेजताले.

​आत्म्याचें खेळंगण

​गोंयच्या त्या वातावरणांत आमचो संवसार खूब व्हड आनी धाडसी आशिल्लो. करमणुकी खातीर आमकां खंयच्याच 'स्क्रीन'ची (mobile/TV) गरज नासली. फुटबॉल, क्रिकेट वा लगोर्यो आनी चोर-पोलीस सारके पारंपारिक खेळ आसूं, आमकां उकती सुवात (outdoors) म्हळ्यार आमचें राजपण आशिल्लें. सायकल बॅलन्स करपाचो तो खोस, वा जुन्या टायरक बडयेन धपका मारत धुल्लाच्या रस्त्यार धांवडावपाची ती उमेद म्हाका आजूनय याद आसा. त्या खणांनी आमकां स्वतंत्र रावपाची आनी ओझें मुक्त जगपाची मोलादीक शिकवण दिली.

​धरणी माते कडेन नातें

​आमचें घर म्हळ्यार आमचे मातीचें प्रतिरूप आशिल्लें. मुंडकार देखून आमचें जिवीत ऋतूं कडेन लागीं सावन जोडिल्लें आशिल्लें. पावसाळ्याच्या दिसांनी घराच्या न्हल्यांची (roof tiles) निवळाय करप आनी मातयेच्या वणटींचें रक्षण करप, हें एक शिस्तीचें काम आसतालें.

​आमच्या घराचो काळजाचो कुडको म्हळ्यार आमचें रांदपघर, जंय मातयेची चूल पेटताली. रांदप चालू दवरपा खातीर रानभर भोंवून शिरपुटां (firewood) पुंजावप, हें आमचें काम आशिल्लें. जिवीत सादें आशिल्लें; घरा भायर फुकणी वा तांब्याच्या व्हड आयदनांत उकळिल्ल्या उदकान न्हावप आनी घरांतल्या गोरवांची-वासरांची साथ आसप, हें सगळें एक घरगुती नातें निर्माण करतालें.

​धर्म आनी संस्कृतायेची वीण

​म्हज्या वाडपांतलो सगळ्यांत सोबीत वांटो म्हळ्यार दोन वेगवेगळ्या परंपरांचो मेळ. क्रिस्तांव बापूय आनी हिंदू गौड सारस्वत ब्राह्मण आवय हांच्या पोसांत वाडिल्ल्यान, म्हजें बालपण म्हळ्यार एकचारचो एक 'मास्टरक्लास' आशिल्लो. एका वटेन आवय कडून पुराणांतल्यो काणयो आयकपाच्यो, जाल्यार दुसऱ्या वटेन सेंट मेरी स्कूलान शिक्षण घेवपाचें.

​तुळशीची परब आसूं वा फोंड्यांतल्या बाबांच्या बेकरींतली लगबग, म्हाका एक गजाल बेगीन समजली—धर्म म्हळ्यार मोग आनी मान, कसलीच विभागणी न्हय.

​म्हाका घडोवपी मनशां

​आमची वळख आमचे वांगडा वाडिल्ल्या मनशां कडून जाता. आवयच्या आग्रह खातीर म्हाका मराठी शिकोवपी देवीदास सबाजी हर्डीकर गुरुजींची याद येता. तशेंच वाडदिसांची ती खोस—खंयच्याय भपक्या खातीर न्हय, तर घरांतल्या उबे खातीर, मेणवाती पालोवप आनी ल्हानशा भेटीं खातीर आसताली.

​एकलोच पूण म्हाका केन्नाच एकसुरेपण जाणवलें ना. घरांत हांसपाची ल्हारां हाडपी चुलत भाव-भणीं आनी सोयऱ्यां सारके शेजारी, हांकां लागून म्हजें भुरगेपण नात्यांच्या गिरेस्तकायेन भरिल्लें आशिल्लें.

​"ह्यो बालपणाच्यो यादो फकत काणयो न्हय, तर तीं एक अशीं गांठीं आसात जीं आमकां आमच्या मुळां कडेन घट्ट जोडून दवरतात. आमी कितलेय व्हड जाले, तरी ह्योच यादो आमच्या सुखाचो सगळयांत व्हडलो झरो जावन उरतात."

 

A Legacy on the Field: Remembering My Father, Diogo

 

A Legacy on the Field: Remembering My Father, Diogo

​By: John Aguiar

​In the golden era of Goan football, names weren't just written in newspapers; they were etched into the red soil of the local maidans. Among those legends was my father, Diogo—a man whose life was defined by a leather ball, a pair of boots, and an unbreakable love for the game.

​Growing up, I heard the stories of his days with  Viriato's de  Ponda. My father wasn't just a player; he was a clinical forward and a prolific goal-scorer. During a time when his team stood as state champions, he was the heartbeat of the attack.

​His style was "traditional"—a term that, to those who saw him play, meant grit, natural flair, and a rhythmic flow that you just don't see in the hyper-tactical matches of today. To him, football wasn't just a sport; it was an art form.

​The legendary Kranti Maidan was his stage. It was there that he played the kind of "thrilling" football that turned casual spectators into lifelong fans. Even after his playing days were over, his passion never dimmed.

​I remember his eyes lighting up at the mention of Diego Maradona. He was a massive fan, finding a simple, childlike joy whenever he saw the name "Diego" in the news. He lived for the sport—from the local village matches to the grand opening of the Nehru Stadium in Margao. His dream was always to be part of that atmosphere, to see the greats like Brahmanand, and to witness the evolution of the game he loved.

​My father often said that a successful athlete isn't made in a vacuum. He believed that family support and social respect were the two pillars of growth. In his day, football wasn't just about winning trophies; it was about representing your village and your people. It was a social bond that tied the community together.

​He taught me that football is a mirror of life: it requires dedication, teamwork, and the courage to keep going even when the odds are against you.

​Though my father has passed away, his legacy remains alive in every cheer heard at a Goan football match. He was a pioneer who inspired countless youngsters to lace up their boots and head to the field.

​To the world, he was Diogo the footballer. To me, he was the man who showed me what it means to have a true passion. He wasn't just a goal-scorer; he was the soul of our family and a hero of the Goan turf.

​We miss him dearly, but every time a ball hits the back of the net, I know he’s smiling.

 

Ye Kashmir Hai: A Journey to Paradise

​By: John Aguiar

​In 2023, my wife Savita and I decided to trade the coastal breezes of Goa for the majestic, snow-capped peaks of Kashmir. Our journey began with a flight from Goa to Delhi, followed by a connecting hop to Srinagar. As the plane began its descent, the view from the window was nothing short of a dream—shimmering white mountains and lush valleys rising to greet us. We knew then that we were in for something special.

​Pahalgam: The ‘Mini Switzerland’

​After arriving in Srinagar, we headed straight to Pahalgam. The air was crisp, and the scenery was breathtaking. Our second day took us to the famous Baisaran Valley, widely known as "Mini Switzerland." Surrounded by dense pine forests and snow-dusted mountains, the beauty of the gorge is indescribable. We enjoyed a pony ride through the rugged trails to reach the valley—a thrilling experience that offered panoramic views of the Aru and Betaab valleys.

​Gulmarg and the Thrill of the Gondola

​On the third day, we set out for Gulmarg. No trip to Kashmir is complete without the Gondola ride. We took the cable car up to the Glacier point, where we finally got to touch and play in the snow. It was a moment of pure joy—photographing the vast white expanse and feeling the chill of the high-altitude winds. We also managed a quick visit to Sonamarg, further soaking in the pristine landscapes.

​Spirituality and Serenity in Srinagar

​Returning to Srinagar, we visited the Shankaracharya Temple, perched atop the Zabarwan Mountain. Dedicated to Lord Shiva and situated about 1,000 feet above the city, the temple offers a panoramic view of Srinagar and acts as a spiritual watchtower over the valley.

​We also wandered through the historic Mughal Gardens—Shalimar Bagh and Nishat Bagh. The symmetry, the blooming flowers, and the ancient Chinar trees reflect the grandeur of a bygone era.

​A Night on the Dal Lake

​We saved the most iconic experience for our final day: staying on a Houseboat on Dal Lake. Unlike the moving houseboats of Kerala, these are stationary floating palaces, intricately carved from wood.

• ​The Shikara Ride: We took a traditional Shikara boat ride across the calm waters, navigating through the floating markets.
• ​The Stay: Life on the houseboat was incredibly peaceful. The hospitality of the caretakers and the gentle lap of the water against the boat made it a deeply relaxing end to our trip.

​A Heartfelt Farewell

​As we flew back from Srinagar to Goa via Delhi, our hearts were heavy but full of memories. We are immensely grateful to Dushal and Anushka from Travel Bug for organizing such a comfortable and unforgettable journey. Kashmir isn't just a place; it’s a feeling of peace that stays with you long after you’ve left.

 काश्मीर: सर्गाची एक यादयात्रा

बरोवपी: जॉन आगियार

२०२३ वर्सा, हांव आनी म्हजी घरकान्न सविता आमी गोंयच्या दर्यादेगेवेलो वारो सोडून काश्मीरच्या धव्याफुल्ल आनी उंच साद घालपी दोंगरांक मेळपाक वचपाचो निर्णय घेतलो. आमचो प्रवास गोंयच्यान दिल्ली आनी मागीर श्रीनगर असो विमान प्रवास जालो. विमानांतल्यान जेन्ना सोंकण सोंकली, तेन्ना खिडकयेंतल्यान दिसपी तो देखावो—धव्यो गजाली आनी पाचव्योचार साळी—आमकां खरोच एका स्वप्नांत पावल दवरिल्लो अणभव दिवन गेलो.

पहलगाम: 'मिनी स्वित्झर्लंड'

श्रीनगर पावल्या उपरांत आमी थेट पहलगाम वटेन गेले. थंयचो वारो नितळ आनी देखावो काळीज जिता सारको आशिल्लो. दुसऱ्या दिसा आमी फामाद बैसरन व्हॅली (Baisaran Valley) पळोवपाक गेले, जाका लोक 'मिनी स्वित्झर्लंड' म्हणटात. घट पिनेच्या (pine) रानांनी आनी बर्फान नटिल्ल्या दोंगरांनी घेरिली ही सुवात अणभविली तेन्ना तिचे सोबीतकायेचें वर्णन करपाक उतरां उणीं पडटात. थंय आमी घोड्यार बसून दोंगरी वाटांनी प्रवास केलो आनी अरु (Aru) तशेंच बेताब (Betaab) व्हॅलीचें दर्शन घेतलें.

गुलमर्ग आनी गोंडोलाची मजा

तिसऱ्या दिसा आमी गुलमर्ग पावले. काश्मीरची भोंवडी म्हळ्यार गोंडोला (Gondola) सफर नासतना अपुरी. आमी केबल कारान वयर ग्लेशियर पॉयंट (Glacier point) मेरेन गेले. थंय आमी पयले फावट बर्फाक हात लायलो आनी तातूंत खेळपाचो आनंद घेतलो. थंयच्या थंडगारा वाऱ्यांत फोटो काडपाचो एक वेगळोच उल्लास आशिल्लो. उपरांत थोडो वेळ आमी सोनामर्ग (Sonamarg) वचून थंयच्या निसर्गाचोय आस्वाद घेतलो.

श्रीनगर: अध्यात्म आनी शांतताय

परतून श्रीनगर येत कना, आमी झाबरवान दोंगराचेर आशिल्ल्या शंकराचार्य देवस्थानाक भेट दिली. सुमार १००० फूट उंचायेचेर आशिल्लें हें भगवान शिताचें मंदिर पुराय श्रीनगर शाराचें एक विहंगम दृश्य दाखयता. तशेंच मोगल काळांतल्या शालीमार बाग आनी निशात बाग ह्या ऐतिहासिक बागांची सोबीतकाय आमी अणभविली. थंयचे पुरातन चिनार रुख (Chinar trees) आनी फुलांची मांडणी त्या काळांतली सोबीतकाय परतून जिवंत करता.

दाल लेक: हावसबोटींतली एक रात

आमच्या प्रवासांतली सगळ्यांत याद उरपा सारकी गजाल म्हळ्यार दाल लेकाचेर हावसबोटींतलो राबता. केरळच्या हावसबोटीं परस ह्यो वेगळ्यो आसतात; ह्यो एकाच जाग्यार उब्यो आसपी लाकडी कोरीव काम केल्लीं 'तरतीं राजवाड्यां' कशीं दिसतात.

 * शिकारा सफारी: आमी पारंपारिक शिकारा बोटीन शांत उदकांतल्यान प्रवास केलो आनी थंयच्या तरत्या बाजारांत भोंवडी केली.

 * राबतो: हावसबोटींतली ती रात खूब शांत आशिल्ली. थंयच्या लोकांचो मोग आनी आदरातिथ्य, आनी उदकाचो तो मृदु आवाज आमका खूब विसावो दिवन गेलो.

एक काळजाक स्पर्श करपी निरोप

श्रीनगर ते दिल्ली आनी परत दिल्ली ते गोंय विमानांत बसतना आमचें काळीज भरून आयिल्लें. 'ट्रॅव्हल बग' (Travel Bug) चे दुशाल आनी अनुष्का हांचे आमी खूब उपकारी आसात, जांणी आमचो हो प्रवास इतलो सुखाचो आनी याद उरपा सारको केलो. काश्मीर हें फकत एक थळ न्हय, तर ती एक शांतताय आसा जी तुमी थंयच्यान आयल्या उपरांतूय तुमच्या काळजांत सदांकाळ उरता.

My Andaman Odyssey: A Journey to the Emerald Isles

My Andaman Odyssey: A Journey to the Emerald Isles

​By John Aguiar

​The dream of visiting the Andaman and Nicobar Islands had been etched in my mind for years. When that dream finally turned into reality, it wasn't just a vacation; it was an immersion into a world of turquoise waters, poignant history, and untouched natural beauty.

​The Journey Begins

​Our adventure took flight from Dabolim Airport, Goa. As the IndiGo aircraft touched down at Veer Savarkar International Airport in Port Blair, the warm tropical breeze carried the distinct, salty scent of the sea—a welcoming embrace from the Bay of Bengal. After checking into our hotel, the anticipation of what lay ahead was palpable.

​Echoes of History and Golden Sunsets

​Our first evening was spent at Corbyn’s Cove Beach, followed by a visit to the iconic Cellular Jail. Standing within the corridors of "Kala Pani," one cannot help but feel a deep sense of reverence for the freedom fighters who endured unimaginable hardships here. The evening Sound and Light Show vividly brought that history to life, serving as a powerful reminder of the price of our independence.

​We also experienced the ethereal beauty of Radhanagar Beach. Often cited as one of the best beaches in Asia, its crystal-clear waters and white sands at sunset are a sight that words can barely do justice.

​Underwater Wonders and Island Hopping

​The journey continued to Havelock Island (Swaraj Dweep). Here, my wife Savita and I delved into the vibrant world beneath the waves through snorkeling. Exploring the coral reefs felt like entering a different dimension—one filled with colorful marine life and serene silence.

​We also visited:

• ​Neil Island (Shaheed Dweep): Famous for its lush green settings and relaxed vibe.
• ​Ross Island (Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Island): Once the administrative headquarters, it now stands as a beautiful ruin where friendly deer roam freely among the old British structures.

​A Tapestry of Memories

​From the semi-submarine rides that offered a window into the deep sea to the warm hospitality of the local people, every moment was a treasure. The Andaman Islands are a perfect blend of a "Gilded History" and "Incomparable Beauty."

​As we packed our bags to return home, we didn't just carry souvenirs; we carried a piece of the islands in our hearts. This trip was a reminder of how vast and beautiful our country is, and I am deeply grateful for the memories we created.

म्हजी अंदमानची यात्रा: पाचव्या जुव्यांचो एक अद्भूत प्रवास

लेखक: जॉन आगियार

अंदमान आनी निकोबार जुव्यांक भेट दिवपाचें स्वप्न कितल्याशाच वर्सां सावन म्हज्या मनांत घोळटालें. जेन्ना हें स्वप्न प्रत्यक्षांत आयलें, तेन्ना तो फकत एक विसव उरलो ना; तो जालो निळशार उदकाचो, अदीक इतिहासिक काळजाचो आनी सैमीक सोबीतकायेचो एक अणभव.

प्रवासाची सुवात

आमचो हो प्रवास गोयांतल्या दाबोळी विमानतळा वयल्यान सुरू जालो. जेन्ना इंडिगोचें विमान पोर्ट ब्लेअरच्या वीर सावरकर आंतरराष्ट्रीय विमानतळाचेर देंवलें, तेन्ना थंयच्या उश्ण कटिबंधीय वार्यान आनी दर्याच्या खाराणसाणिन आमचें येवकार केलें. हॉटेलार पावतकच फुडल्या प्रवासाची उमेद मनांत भरिल्ली.

इतिहासाचे पडसाद आनी भांगर सोबीत सांज

आमची पयली सांज कॉर्बिन कोव्ह बीचाचेर (Corbyn’s Cove Beach) सारली, आनी मागीर आमी नामनेच्या सेल्युलर जेलाक (Cellular Jail) भेट दिली. "काला पाणी" च्या त्या वंण्टीं मदीं उबे रावन त्या स्वातंत्र्य सैनिकां विशीं आपसूकच काळजांत आदर निर्माण जाता, ज्यांनी देशा खातीर थंय अतोनात हाल सोंसले. थंयचो 'लाईट अँड साऊंड शो' तो काळजाक भिडपी इतिहास परतून दोळ्यां मुखार उबो करता.

तशेंच, आमी राधानगर बीचाची विलोभनीय सोबीतकाय अणभवली. आशियांतल्या सुंदर दर्यादेगां मदीं हाची गणना जाता. धवळीफुल्ल रेंव आनी अस्तमतेच्या वेळार बदलपी उदकाचो रंग हें दृश्य उतरांनी वर्णन करप कठीण!

पाण्याखालचें विस्व आनी जुव्यांची भोंवडी

आमचो फुडलो मुक्काम हॅवलॉक जुव्याचेर (स्वराज द्वीप) आशिल्लो. थंय हांव आनी म्हजी घरकान्न सवितान 'स्नॉर्कलिंग' (Snorkeling) केलें. उदका पंदा आशिल्लें तें प्रवाळ (Coral reefs) आनी रंगीत नुस्त्यांचें विश्व म्हळ्यार जणुं एका वेगळ्याच दुनियेत पाविल्ल्या वरी दिसतालें.

आमी हेर कांय सुवातांकूय भेट दिली:

 * नील जुंवो (शहीद द्वीप): आपली पाचवीचार सोबीतकाय आनी शांतवातावरणा खातीर हो जुंवो वळखतात.

 * रॉस जुंवो (नेताजी सुभाष चंद्र बोस द्वीप): एके काळांत हें ब्रिटीशांचें मुख्यालय आशिल्लें. आज थंय पोरण्या इमारतींचे अवशेष आनी मुक्तपणान भोंवपी हरणां पळोवंक मेळटात.

यादींचो एक सुंदर पुंजको

'सेमी-सबमरीन' (Semi-submarine) सफरींतल्यान दर्याचें अंतरंग पळोवपाचो अणभव आसूं वा थंयच्या लोकांचो मोगळ स्वभाव, दर एक क्षण मोलादीक आशिल्लो. अंदमान म्हळ्यार "भांगराळो इतिहास" आनी "अतुलनीय सोबीतकाय" हांचो एक अप्रूप मेळ.

जेन्ना आमी परते येवपाक सामान भरतालें, तेन्ना आमच्या वांगडा फकत यादस्तीक (souvenirs) नाशिल्लें, तर त्या जुव्यांचो एक कुडको आमच्या काळजांत सदां खातीर उरिल्लो. हो प्रवास म्हळ्यार आमचो देश कितलो व्हड आनी सुंदर आसा हाची एक गवाय.

One ‘Rakhi’ Just for Me: A Bond Beyond Blood

 

One ‘Rakhi’ Just for Me: A Bond Beyond Blood

​By John Aguiar

​In the heart of our Goan culture, Raksha Bandhan is far more than a ritual of silk and beads. It is an anchor of belonging. Yet, for many, this day can carry a quiet, bittersweet weight—especially for those who grow up as an only child. I know this feeling well, for I lived it.

​From Solitude to Sisterhood

​Growing up, I was the only child in my family. There was a certain silence in the house on festival days that others, surrounded by siblings, might never understand. But fate, and the wisdom of our parents, had a different plan.

​In our neighborhood, there was another girl, Pournima Naik, who was also an only child. Seeing our shared solitude, our parents made a beautiful decision: they brought us together to bridge that gap. They decided that we should become siblings not by birth, but by heart.

​The Thread That Never Frayed

​What started as a simple suggestion turned into a lifelong journey. For several decades now, we have celebrated this "thread ceremony" every single year without fail. The Rakhi Pournima ties on my wrist isn't just a tradition; it is a seal on a pact made years ago.

​Over time, we have become more than biological siblings could ever be. Our bond isn't just about a festival day; it is about being there for the milestones that define a life.

​"Biology may give us relatives, but it is love and consistency that give us family."

​The ultimate testament to this bond came during her daughter’s wedding. In our Goan traditions, the role of the 'Mama' (maternal uncle) is sacred and pivotal. Because our bond was so deeply recognized by our families and our hearts, I stepped into that role. I ceremoniously participated as the Mama at her daughter’s marriage, fulfilling the duties and receiving the honors that come with that title.

​A Lesson for Every Goan Home

​To the parents of an "only child" today: do not let your child feel the void of loneliness. Look around your community. There is always a Pournima for every John.

• ​Look Beyond Blood: Teach your children that a brother or sister is someone who stands by you, regardless of whether you share the same last name.
• ​Create Your Own Traditions: If you don't have a sibling, find a bond in a cousin or a neighbor and nurture it with the same respect you would give a blood relation.
• ​The Power of 'Mama': My experience shows that society and tradition will always make room for a bond that is genuine and pure.

​Conclusion: The Eternal Promise

​As the years pass and our hair turns grey, the Rakhi remains as colorful as ever. This bond of love continues to thrive, proving that the strongest threads are the ones we choose to weave ourselves.

​To my sister Pournima, and to everyone who has found a sibling in a friend: may your bond remain Ghatmut (Unbreakable).

रक्ताच्या नात्या पयलीं, काळजाची गजाल: एका अतुट पासाची काणी

जॉन आगियार 

​गोंयच्या मात्येंत आनी संस्कृतायेंत सण-परबो फकत मनोरंजना खातीर नासतात, तर त्या सणां फाटल्यान एक मोगाचो ‘आदार’ आसता. राखी पुनव म्हळ्यार फकत एक सुताची वळ न्हय, तर ती दोन काळजां मदली एक न्हय विसरपा सारखी भास. पूण जे घरांत एकूच भुरगें आसता, थंय ह्या सणाचो सुकसाणाटाचो हुस्को मात्सो चड जाणवता. जॉन आगियार हांच्या अणभवांतल्यान हीच भावना आनी मागीर फुलत गेल्लें ‘नाते’ पळोवन दोळे भरून येतात.

​एकसुरेपणांतल्यान वळखिल्लो मोग

​भुरगेपणांत जॉन घरांत एकलोच. सणा-परबेच्या दिसा खंय तरी मनाच्या कोपऱ्यांत एक ल्हानशी पोकळी आसताली. पूण देव एका हातांतल्यान उणें केलें तरी दुसऱ्या हातांतल्यान चड दिता, अशें म्हणतात. तशेंच जाले! शेजाऱ्यांची चली, पूर्णिमा नायक, तीय घरांत एकलीच. दोन सुकसाणाटांनी मेळून एक मोगळ काळजांचें नातें तयार केलें.

​आमच्या आवय-बापायनी फकत वळखीच्या नात्याक जोडले ना, तर तांणी दोन अत्म्यांक 'भाय-भयण' म्हणून एकठांय हाडले. तें सुताचे धागे न्हय, तर ती एक प्रतिज्ञा आशिल्ली—एकमेकांक आयुष्यभर सांबाळपाची.

​धा दशकां, एकूच विस्वास

​आज कितलीं तरी वर्सां उरलीं, केंस धवे जाले, पूण जॉन आनी पूर्णिमा हांच्या मदली 'राखी' केन्नाच जुनी जाली ना. दर वर्सा ती राखी मनशाच्या हाताक बांदता, तेन्ना त्या रेशमी सुतांत कितले तरी उगडास गुंथलेले आसतात.

​खरे नातें रक्तांत न्हय, तर कश्टाच्या आनी सुखाच्या काळांत एकमेकां खातीर उभे रावपांत आसता. पूर्णिमाच्या धुवेच्या लग्नांत जेन्ना जॉनान 'मामो' (Maternal Uncle) म्हणून फुडें येवन सगळीं कार्यां केलीं, तेन्ना समाजातल्या सगळ्या रूढी-परंपरांनी त्या नात्याक वंदना केली. रक्ताचो भाव नासूनय, 'मामो' म्हणून दिलेली मान-मान्यताय हें त्या पवित्र नात्याचें व्हडपण.

​आमचे खातीर एक शिकवण

​आजच्या काळांत कितलीं तरी घरांनी एकूच भुरगें आसता. अशा वेळार जॉन आनी पूर्णिमाची ही काणी आमकां एक नवी वाट दाखयता.

• ​नात्याची निवड करा: भयण-भावाचें नातें फकत एकाच कुळांत जल्मल्ल्यान येना, तर तें जपणूक केल्यान फुलता.
• ​शेजारधर्म पाळा: तुमच्या भोंवतणी खंय तरी एक 'पूर्णिमा' वा 'जॉन' आसतलो, ताका वळखा आनी तुमच्या कुटुंबांत फावो तो मान दिवन सामील करा.
• ​परंपरेक अर्थ द्या: परंपरा फकत पुस्तकांत नासतात, तर त्या काळजांतल्यान पाळच्यो आसतात.

From Discipline to Discovery: My Journey Through School and College

 

From Discipline to Discovery: My Journey Through School and College

​By John Aguiar

​Life is a series of chapters, but if I were to bookmark the ones that truly defined me, they would undoubtedly be my days at St. Mary’s Convent School, Ponda, and Smt. Parvatibai Chowgule College, Margao. One gave me my roots; the other gave me my wings.

​The Foundation: Discipline at St. Mary’s

​My journey began in the quiet, disciplined environment of St. Mary’s Convent. Originally a school for girls, it transitioned into a co-educational space during my time, but the "Convent" ethos—rooted in manners and social etiquette—remained unshakable.

​Under the watchful eyes of the nuns, we didn’t just learn academics; we learned the value of a code. I vividly remember the "language tax"—the small fines imposed on us if we slipped into Konkani instead of English. It was a strict regime, but it polished our communication and instilled a sense of order. Even our uniforms told a story of growth, evolving from the classic grey shirts and shorts to the more formal long pants as we matured.

​I was a painfully shy child, the kind who preferred the background to the spotlight. However, my teachers saw something I didn't. They pushed me onto the stage for our school gathering, where I enacted the role of Ravli in the one-act play Shevteali Chali Bhoguneali Sun. That moment was a seed planted in a shy boy’s heart—a seed that would later bloom into a love for the arts. Through those years, I wasn't alone; I had a band of brothers—Socirto, Sukhvinder, Gaurish, Sudin, and Vincent—who turned those disciplined days into lifelong memories.

​The Transformation: Finding Flight at Chowgule College

​If school was a sheltered cocoon, moving to Smt. Parvatibai Chowgule College in the late 70s and early 80s felt like stepping into the "open air." It was an era of change—vibrant, energetic, and marked by the unmistakable fashion of bell-bottom pants.

​College life offered a freedom I had never known. I traded the strict confines of the classroom for the rigors and rewards of the National Cadet Corps (NCC). The NCC was my crucible; it gave me the physical strength, the mental motivation, and the internal force to reinvent myself. It stripped away my shyness and replaced it with the confidence of a leader.

​My literary pursuits, which began with a small role in a school play, found a true home at Chowgule. I began writing and presenting playlets for college gatherings, finding my voice in the applause of my peers. The culmination of this transformation came when I was awarded the Best All-Round Student Award—a testament to the fact that I had finally learned to balance discipline with creativity.

​Reflection

​Looking back, I realize that the "cage" of school was necessary—it taught me how to stand straight and speak clearly. But it was the "open air" of college that taught me how to fly. To every student reading this, cherish both. One builds your character; the other builds your future.

A Tribute to Menino Peres: A Heartfelt, Punctual, and Visionary Leader

 

A Tribute to Menino Peres: A Heartfelt, Punctual, and Visionary Leader

​By John Aguiar

​The news of the passing of my former senior officer and mentor, Menino Peres, at his residence ‘Shristhal’ in Porvorim, has left a void that is difficult to fill. In his departure, we have lost a generous, cheerful personality and, above all, a dear friend

​A Bond Beyond Professionalism

​I have known Menino Sir since his days at the periodical Ujwaad. Our professional journey together solidified between 1990 and August 2012, during his tenure at the Department of Information and Publicity. When you work with someone for 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year, a relationship develops that transcends the typical boss-employee dynamic.

​Sir was more than just a boss; he was a guide. I learned immensely from the mistakes I made under his supervision. His witty nature and sense of humor allowed him to maintain a positive and productive atmosphere, even in high-pressure situations.

​A Career of Excellence

​Menino Peres was a man of many talents and achievements. His journey was remarkable:

​Academic Excellence: He held a B.A. in Sociology from Mumbai University and an LL.B. from Goa University. Despite being qualified for law, his passion for journalism led him to pursue a Post-Graduate degree in Journalism and Public Relations.

​Literature: He authored two significant books: Goa Roadmap to Growth and Mass Communication.

​Public Service: He served as the Goa In-charge for the Press Information Bureau (PIB), Private Secretary to former Minister Vasu Paik Gaonkar and MLA Vishnu Wagh, and Director of the Directorate of Official Language.

​Media Veteran: From representing the Konkani daily Ujwaad to working as a news reader for Akashvani Panaji, his contribution to Goan media was vast.

​Political Advisor: He had the distinct honor of serving as the Press Advisor to two former Chief Ministers of Goa, Luizinho Faleiro and Francisco Sardinha.

​The Man Behind the Designation

​What I remember most fondly is his discipline. He believed that the ability to complete work systematically was a gift. He often said, "We have been taught these values by Lord Jesus."

​He was a man of action. During emergencies or critical assignments, he wouldn't just give orders; he would often step into the fray himself or send me with full confidence, knowing I would be there for him. He never had to "call" us to attention—his dedication made us want to be present.

​I remember a specific instance where a project went slightly off-track due to a mistake. Instead of scolding me, he stayed late into the night, working alongside me to ensure the file was corrected and completed. That was his greatness—he chose to guide rather than criticize.

​A Legacy of Humility

​Even after his retirement in 2012, Menino Sir remained active, always ready to help anyone in need. While we had our share of intellectual disagreements—as any two people working closely might—our hearts were always in sync.

​The title "Man of the Year" awarded to him by Gulab magazine was a testament to his professional standing, but to those of us who knew him, he was simply a great man with a golden heart.

​I offer my humble tribute to his sacred memory. Menino Sir, you will be deeply missed. 

The Editor Who Showed Me the Way

 

The Editor Who Showed Me the Way

​By John Aguiar

​My journey into the world of journalism began with a single person who saw potential in me before I could see it in myself.  I had worked earlier with West Coast Times but I never had the opportunity to interact much with the Editor Mr M.G. Bailur. We interacted with the News Editor Mr Baptista and the Chief Reporter Mr. S  Valmiki Faleiro.

Therefore  Rajan Narayan was  my first editor at OHeraldo whom I had the opportunity to interract, he didn't just give me a job; he opened the door to my entire career. I was just a young lad, fresh out of college, when Rajan took a chance on me. He believed in my ability, and in return, I worked tirelessly to prove him right.

​Learning the Craft
​Under Rajan’s guidance, I was rewarded with patience, professionalism, and a diverse range of assignments that exposed me to the true "rich contours" of the news business.

​In the beginning, my stories were tucked away in the middle of the paper. But as I honed my skills, my work moved to the front page. Some of the most memorable moments of my early career included:
​Covering the visit of President Giani Zail Singh.

​Reporting on the unveiling of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj statue in Ponda by then-Minister AB Vajpayee.
​The three-day "bottom spread" investigative series on the Charles Sobhraj case.

​Reporting from the Front Lines
​Those were intense days. I remember the language agitation, where I was assigned to cover the "lathi charge" at Agacaim. I was on the spot where the action was taking place, witnessing history unfold. We also covered similar unrest at Goa Doordarshan and Customs, where our photographer, Menino Afonso, was unfortunately injured in the line of duty.

​A Professional and Personal Turning Point
​Joining OHeraldo changed my life in more ways than one. It was there that I met my future wife, Savita, who worked in the accounts department. I later learned—with a bit of a wink—that Savita might have been the reason I was eventually transferred to Margao as Bureau In-charge!

​When we finally married, an editorial in the next anniversary issue jokingly noted: "My crime reporter John Aguiar married my accounts staff Savita and eloped with her to New Delhi."

​From the Newsroom to the Capital
​The transition to New Delhi happened when Eduardo Faleiro, then the Union External Affairs Minister, requested a personal assistant. Without hesitation, Rajan recommended me. I met the Minister at the Circuit House, and soon after, I was working in his office in the capital.

​On my final day at the paper, Rajan gave me a letter of appreciation—a document that proved invaluable when I eventually joined the State Information & Publicity Department.

​The Legacy of Mentorship
​I have always believed that the relationship between a journalist and an editor is built on mutual respect and cooperation. A great editor doesn't just edit copy; they nurture talent and push you to find the stories that matter most to the readers.
​To me, Rajan Narayan was the ultimate mentor. He  was the editor who shaped my path.