A rival to Hobson's choice NT
The last comment may be off the mark. As I later learnt from Papa himself, the project was conceived from a broader vision. Throughout the Konkan, from Ratnagiri district in Maharashtra to South Canara (now Dakshin Kannada) districts in Karnataka, no English-language daily was available before noon or afternoon those days. While the Mumbai dak editions of Times of India (ToI) and Indian Express (IE) did the honours in coastal Maharashtra, it was Bangalore's Deccan Herald in coastal Karnataka. Goa's NT, which took only a couple of hours less to reach Margao, could not be expected to travel beyond its borders on mass circulation basis – till WCT arrived, NT was in fact believed to have pegged its circulation (to avoid re-classification to a higher bracket, which implied higher minimum wages to staff and workers!)
It was Papa's dream to fill this void of a morning English-language daily for the entire Konkan, from Goa. Hence the West Coast in the newspaper's name. Competition to NT was only incidental. (I am not aware of any family feuds among Goa's mining magnates at the time and shall stand corrected if there was any such raison d' etat. If there really were any differences between the two families, they would be buried some years later: under blessings of the Partagal Swamiji, Papa's grand-daughter, Pallavi, was given in marriage to the Dempo headman, Vasantrao's son, Srinivas – current Chairman of the Dempo group.)
The infrastructure put into place to realize Papa's dream matched. A modern civil construction, meticulously designed, was put up at Davorlim, just beyond Margao's municipal boundary. Editorial, advertising and printing departments were housed under one roof for optimum synch. All sections of the newspaper's production process, from subbing to typesetting, from proof reading to optical processing, from plate-making to the final printing, were so located as to achieve maximum production speed. Attention was paid even to minor details, like sending galley proofs to the news desk in a jiffy. Such were the conveniences that the edition could go to bed by a leisurely 4.30am (the print run took barely half an hour.) Communication lines were made as reliable as possible, given frequent power interruptions. Both PTI and UNI ticker services were subscribed to (though only the PTI had a carrier station in Margao to cope with breakdowns.) A full-fledged bureau was set up in Panjim, connected to the editorial offices in Davorlim by teleprinter link.
The printing technology employed was said to be the best available in India – except in typesetting, where for some unknown reason, Lino machines were used instead of computers (maybe the value of lead scrap, in place of katchra bromides that computers generated those days, had something to do with it!) No more block-making for photographs and illustrations; these were optically processed directly to printing plates. A modern web offset printing machine was brought in (together with a Delhi-based Haryanvi operator who soon acquired fondness for palm feni from nearby Jose's bar and other unprintables from across the Rawanfond railway tracks!). The machine churned out, if I remember right, 50,000 copies/hour. Even the camera purchased for the Staff Photographer was a top-of-the-line German Leica, complete with an array of lenses and filters, worth a lakh of rupees of 1978. Krishna Kurwar managed the plant, under the GM-cum-Publisher, Madkaikar. The result was a refreshing, never-before-seen product on the landscape of Goa's print media.
To match, a high-profile editorial team was put together under the stewardship of Konkani-speaking M.G. Bailur and his Associate, Tulu-speaking Y.M. Hegde, both originally from South Canara. The backbone of the newspages, the News Editor, was P.R. Menon, the old and revered FPJ warhorse. The complement of three Chief Subs and about a dozen Subs was picked from various national dailies – Goa could come up with only two pairs of hands on the news desk. Being unfamiliar with local affairs, this cast added onus on Kaka Singbal and me to mark the priority of our dispatches in the initial days!
The news-gathering team headed by Kaka (assisted by Dharmanand Kamat in Panjim and Karamchand Furtado on the TP link) was, of course, entirely home-bred. I rushed college-mate Leslie St. Anne thro' a crash course in typing to join me in Margao. In South Goa, we had Radharao Gracias and Joey Rodrigues (both law students then), Felicio Esteves (who went on to become a Ministerial P.A. and co-author of the infamous Marks Scandal subsequently scooped by me for the FPJ), John Carlos Aguiar in Ponda, Vallabh Dessai in Quepem, Minguel Mascarenhas in Sanguem, Kelly Furtado in Vasco, and half a dozen stringers across South Goa. Manikrao (brother of the award-winning ToI photographer, Prabhakar M. Shirodkar) was our lensman, assisted by Lloyd Coutinho in Margao and Lui Godinho in Vasco, excellent photographers all, who provided the memorable photo inputs that shot the WCT to instant fame.
WCT hit the newsstands in early-July 1978. We raced. In Margao, I concentrated on at least one off-beat, human-interest, interview-based or photo-story per day, carried usually boxed or in anchor position. Aware of our printing process strengths, I never lost an opportunity to get Manik shoot a good pic, including one that had to be clicked from a bubbling canoe in choppy waters off a rocky beach in Betul, South Goa. [This one was of a rotting human male corpse – sprawling, shocking and white on the dark rocks – which the cops had neglected to recover despite the local Sarpanch's days-long complaints. P.R. Menon splashed the pic in the lead-story position. I had to take Papa's reprimand the following morning – it seems the Lt. Governor was taken so aback picking the morning's WCT that his P.A. personally called Papa to complain about bad taste. But I still considered the two-and-half Rupees paid to the canoe man for the ride a fine expense!]
Consciously, though, we shunned sensationalizing and Kaka firmly shot the idea of carrying the day's matka figures. We refrained from gimmicks like carrying dummy advertisements, especially in the Classified columns, barometer to a newspaper's popularity.
Instead, we went for innovative editorial content. [Including, at my instance, a SundayMag column on Sleight of Hand by the Salcete magician, Marco. When Marco didn't show up for a couple of weeks, leading to howls from eager readers of his column, Y.M. Hegde was so furious that I had to fill in with a piece on how Marco had performed the Vanishing Trick and restore YM's trademark smile!]
To further notch up circulation, I almost coerced Madkaikar into breaking the back of monopoly newspaper distributors in South Goa – by selling retail bundles to any willing vendor on an initial sell-or-return basis.
Results were evident. By month 6, we sold around 4,500 copies in and around Margao alone, compared to less than half that number by NT. Circulation problems, however, persisted in North Goa, including delayed deliveries to news stalls in the northern talukas. But then, we had just two vehicles to cover the entire territory. ("Penny wise, Pound foolish," P.R. Menon forever rued, he never carried much of an impression about the managerial abilities of Goan mineowners – all his life, after all, Menon had worked in a establishment owned by the Karnanis, Marwaris to the core!) Even then, overall, WCT's print order would be just about 2,000 copies short of the NT. And at the rate we were going, the gap would fast be closed and surpassed?
My heroes, of course, were Shivram Borkar and Babal Borkar, ace drivers who by day ferried the shift editorial staff to and from quarters in Margao to office in Davorlim . By night, the duo snoozed whatever time available, on heaps of 'raddi' in the press. And zipped their way with newspaper bundles to either end of Goa before the crack of dawn – in terribly overloaded, ramshackle, dieselized Ambassador cars that should have been a delight to Mario Miranda and Alexyz (we used a syndicated pocket cartoon, incidentally, since Mario was with the ToI group in Mumbai and Alexyz hadn't yet surfaced as a cartoonist.) Babal and Shivram, true heroes who virtually were at call, round the clock, round the year. [They of course made out-of-pocket money, ferrying passengers on the return. When this reached Papa's ears, he tailed one of the drivers one fine morning. When the unsuspecting fellow stopped to take in passengers, Papa is reported to have pulled alongside and advised the driver, "Bhara, bhara, taxi ti!" The man was often magnanimous. The driver did not lose his job.]
By the first year of publication, despite impressive circulation figures, there were no signs of advertising revenue picking up to reach the financial break-even point. To the sheer dismay of our well-knit editorial team, there were also no signs of implementation of the pan-Konkan Plan. The management, instead, began fighting shy to inject fresh investment in the enterprise. Corners started getting cut. Virgin plates came to used only for jacket pages, inside pages were processed on recycled plates. Papa's dream began to show signs of fatigue?
By the third month into the second year of publication, amid this uncertain scenario, arrived Nicholas ("Nicky") Rebello, a lino-typesetter and leader of the NT worker's union. I will not hedge a bet if Nicky was 'inspired' by his employers, but having been in touch with him much after his retirement from NT at his home in Betim, I can vouchsafe Nicky didn't travel to Davorlim by any 'political' inspiration. My best guess is that some restive workers of the WCT press, aware of wages being paid at NT, must have approached and invited Nicky to Davorlim. The workers of WCT press got unionized and Nicky soon served a Charter of Demands. The management stood its ground, often unreasonably in the opinion of the editorial team – which of course had no locus standi in the imbroglio. As the strike showed signs of protraction, P.R. Menon, known for leftist leanings from his fiery days at the FPJ, tried to intervene with the management. To no avail.
(P.R. Menon was forever of the conviction that managerial skills of Goan mine-owners were limited to blasting, transportation and shipping – and after the importer's cheque arrived, to distributing the proceeds to those who had blasted, transported and shipped. And, of course, to profits!) Papa, strangely, sometimes used queer management methods. There was this Chief Accountant, hired for the PTI group, on a then princely salary of Rs.4,000 a month. To get a feedback on the Chief Accountant, Papa assigned a peon drawing no more than Rs.250 a month. After office hours, the peon would report to Papa on the activities of the C.A. from which, inferences on the Chief Accountant were drawn!
But a man of immense experience and intuition he was. From the streets of native Assolna in Salcete, where as a child he hawked textiles, a wooden yard measure slung across his shoulder and a coolie with a headload of wares in tow, Papa must have surely post-graduated from the University of Experience. On occasions when I was seated in his chamber, his P.A., Sambari would buzz to announce a visitor. In a flash Papa knew why the man had come, what he would say, and had the replies even before the visitor entered! I personally saw flaming creditors leave his chamber smiling, even though not a paisa had yielded! He had that rare ability to disarm even the most irate visitor. But when it came to the WCT strike, I have always held the belief that a man of such calibre who could have easily placated the agitated workers and even broken their Union, was somehow carried away with the opinion of one trusted man, who was obviously misleading him – and since I've named names, I will exclude Madkaikar and Kurwar.]
With no end to the strike in sight, Bailur, Hegde, Kaka and me next met and virtually pleaded with Papa to concede some sops to the striking workmen and get the publication going. I think the establishment (may not have been Papa) thereafter regarded as being pro-Union!
The editorial team, bulk of which was from outstation, met frequently during those bekaar days and finally, the painful decision emerged that we tell the management to either settle the dispute with the Union or we quit en masse. The management was unmoved. We quit, but Papa's dispenser of bad advice insisted on serving 'dismissal' letters!
And thus a lofty dream to publish from Goa, the land of Banna Halli, an English daily serving the entire of Lord Parashuram's Konkan on the West Coast of India, went phut. A modern press and process, an excellent editorial team – path-breaking infrastructure in Goa's history of newspaper production – lay in waste.
The venerable Bailur returned to retirement, as did P.R. Menon. Y.M. Hegde joined Mumbai's Shipping Times as Editor. The Chief Subs and Subs returned to their original publications or to new jobs. A Goan Sub, Vincent Rangel, from Tivim-Bardez, went into business, as the Mumbai-end partner of Manvin Couriers. I joined the FPJ Group (Free Press Journal, its tabloid-eveninger Bulletin and fortnightly, Onlooker) as Goa Correspondent; moved in like capacity to IE when FPJ's Chief Editor, S. Krishnamurty joined IE's Mumbai edition as Resident Editor; played a role in J.D. Fernandes' decision to start an English avatar of the near defunct Portuguese O Heraldo (including the hiring of its first editor) – and almost joined, but didn't quite – as that newspaper's Chief Reporter, for reasons that Rajan Narayan should know. And finally got into business. Without regrets.
Chapter 4: Novem Goem: The Roof Caves In
Paul J Fernandes
Paul Fernandes, known to journalists in the state for his amiable nature, as also his ability and inclination to do off-beat and far-from-the-beaten-track stories, has published a vast amount on issues that concern rural Goa, archaeology and the average resident of Goa. He was recently winner of a Centre for Science and Environment (Delhi) fellowship to study water issues in Goa.
Konkani as the official language of Goa was then still a distant dream. And granting of statehood to the Union Territory, a remote possibility. A few Konkani protagonists casually discussing the issue felt that a medium was sorely needed to project the aspirations of true Goans. And only a "people's newspaper" free from the shackles of the capitalist could achieve that, they thought.
A few years earlier, Uzvadd, reincarnated as Novo Uzvadd and Novo Prakash, had become defunct after its editor Evagrio Jorge learnt a few bitter truths. The Herald – in its new English-language avatar as also in the much-touted role of a champion of Konkani – was yet to appear on the horizon.
It was then in 1980 on a dark night … in Panjim … that the idea of launching a Konkani daily was born. And talk about the requirement of funds for the mammoth project threw up a novel idea. The way out was a 'pad-iatra ' (or, long march across Goa on foot) through the villages of the then union territory. At a follow-up meeting, the individuals involved formed a Trust – called the Novem Goem Pratishthan. They crowned the then young seminary-student turned trade union leader Christopher Fonseca, who floated the idea of a pad-iatra, as its general secretary.
Trustees were Sara Machado, Advocate Pandurang Mulgaonkar, Gurunath Kelekar, Dr F M Rebello, Advocate Antonio Lobo, and Gustav Clovis Costa. Mathany Saldanha and Fr Braz Faleiro played a stellar role in getting the idea through.
And so began an eventful, and an unforgettable, 70-day trudge through the nooks and corners of Goa. There were some 70-odd volunteers, which included a few women and two vivacious sisters, Tina and Colete Xavier, students at that time.
The pad-iatra started on October 26, 1980. Fonseca recalls that wherever they went, they received a good response. Money, small and big sums, was contributed. There were occasions too when – language being a sensitive issue in Goa – they were insulted. But they had decided not to retaliate in any way. A person spat on a young pad-iatri, Srikant Chodankar, when he knocked at his door for his contribution for the new paper. But he bravely said 'thank you' and stepped out with the others.
Two of the girls accompanying him burst into tears, as participants from that venture recall.
The eventful 'pad-iatra' ended on December 31, New Year's eve. By then, the volunteers had managed to collect around Rs 250,000, a tidy sum considering that this was just in the start of the 'eighties, when the rupee still had more value than now.
Needless to say, it took about six months to create the requisite infrastructure to launch the daily. Finding premises, purchasing machinery and recruiting the staff. When the Novem Goem first hit the stands in 1980, many naturally had great expectations that it would serve as a people's paper. Several dailies in the past had not survived for long, given the huge requirement of funds.
Indeed, Novem Goem could not scale great heights; but it had many 'lows' during its span. The coverage could not be extensive, nay it was even below average. This is perhaps understandably because the publication could not engage a big team of reporters or set up a network of reporters in all corners of Goa. But it carried to work with few expectations and fewer rewards.
During the agitation, the tabloid served to keep the mass of Konkani lovers, specially in its heartland of Salcete, if it can be called that, posted of various developments. The paper served to forge a relationship and bridge the gap between the old Roman Konkani writers and those who had just started writing in the Devnagri script. Well-known poets, writers, such as Uday Bhembre, Dr Bhikaji Ganekar, Manoharrari Sardesai were among those who often contributed their writings to the paper.
The paper also sought to raise the standard of Konkani among its readers by often explaining difficult words, as compared to the poor quality of writing in most Roman script periodicals. I myself recall contributing to a column Aichim Don Utram (Today's Two Words), which gave the readers two new words to learn daily, with meanings in English and also illustrated by examples.
'Konkni uloi, Konkni boroi, Konknintlean sorkar choloi' (Speak Konkani, Write Konkani, Administer The State In Konkani), the slogan coined by one of the trustees, Gurunath Kelekar, gained currency and set the mood among Konkani lovers.
While the paper finally closed down, coincidentally, it did so after Konkani was included in the Eight Schedule of the Constitution of India and Goa was granted statehood – two of the avowed objectives for which the Trust had launched the paper. Many may be skeptical about the contribution of this small paper to these two great and important causes. But having worked in this paper for just over three years as a sub-editor, I recall that Dr Rebello, as its editor, contributed significantly to the chorus for the twin demand.
DURING THE ENTIRE existence of the paper, its management had to face several struggles and even upheavals among the trustees.
Its problems started from the day the presses were set up. While an offset machine could have been bought, a Glockner machine owned by one of the Trustees was sold to the Trust. With that, it was only possible to print a tabloid paper. The machinery subsequently gave several problems. How a newspaper cannot survive without infusion of frequent doses of capital was best exemplified here. Advertising revenue was very low, though there were phases when its staff pooled their efforts to raise funds by canvassing for advertisements through their own initiative. There were managerial problems, too. With lack of experience in running a paper, and negligence by some of the Trustees at certain stages, the roof finally had to cave in.
A former trustee alleges that the quantum of advertisements released by the government to the paper was meagre, and the staff even led a morcha to the Secretariat, alleging shabby treatment. This continued even after Konkani was made the official language of the state.
If the paper survived for around a decade, it could be termed as a miracle of sorts. There were around 7,000 readers, who religiously read the daily. However, the poor coverage towards the end saw its readership go down sharply. The emergence of a slickly printed and produced Konkani-monthly Gulab also hastened its death.
However, there was no dearth of sympathisers. Gulf Goans contributed generously, and quite often, to keep it afloat. But tiatrists were largely not among them as they showed apathy towards it vis-a-vis advertisements of their shows. They preferred an English-language daily and very few advertised in Novem Goem, if at all rarely.
The real heroes and the sufferers in the bargain were the Novem Goem workers, who toiled during its entire 10-year existence. Lack of revenue meant that they often received their salaries late. On the 10th of any month, it was not unusual for the management to announce they would give some advance on the salary. For one thing, the salary was being delayed; over and above, to be told that they would get it in installments was the ultimate affront. More so when these were people with families to feed. But this went on month after month, specially during the last few years.
They were entitled to a scale of salaries under Palekar Wage Award – the Central Government-notified standards then in force for minimum wages to be paid to journalists – but they accepted graciously whatever they were offered. This was, naturally, much below the Wage Board recommendations.
And the employees, having few options, hung on with commendable courage, though there was no hope of a turn around. Their toil and sacrifices were really something to think about. After the paper closed, they should have received their dues from what came in as the proceeds from the sale of machinery and the balance of a raffle draw, which had been floated to raise funds for the paper.
But they are yet to be given their due.
The paper finally went to bed for the last time some time in June 1988. And a novel experiment to offer a people's paper to the masses made a quiet and sad exit….