"Photographic Memory: Rosa Maria Perez on Goa through Krishna Navelcar’s Camera" in SCROLL (3 June 2025)

 

On 15 May, Portugal’s Museu do Oriente opened the exhibition, Foto Arte Ganesh: Goa, Photography and Memory. Curated by Professor Rosa Maria Perez, senior researcher at Lisbon’s Centre for Research in Anthropology, with assistance by Douglas Santos da Silva, the exhibition focuses on the work of late photographer Krishna Navelcar whose studio once thrived on Rua José Falcão, a bylane of Goa’s capital city, Panjim. Although Navelcar’s Foto Estúdio Ganesh may now only be a distant memory, what the exhibition reveals is the legacy this Goan photographer created. Accordingly, the photography exhibit, which runs till 12 October, also enquires into issues of heritage preservation given the lack of official visual archives in Goa, erstwhile capital of Portuguese India (1510-1961). On 5-6 June, A symposium titled Through a Goan Lens: Multidisciplinary Approaches will also be held in conjunction with the exhibition.

Navelcar’s career bridged the periods of Portuguese and, then, Indian rule in Goa, spanning the 1950s to the 1980s. During this time, the photographer captured images in official contexts, including events attended by the last two governors of Portuguese India, Paulo Bénard Guedes and Manuel Vassallo e Silva; Navelcar also documented the 1963 visit of Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru to post-Portuguese Goa. The photographer’s images would appear in local Goan newspapers, but he also worked with radio stations during Goa’s Portuguese and Indian periods. For instance, his pictures show up in the Boletim da Emissora de Goa (a publication of the official radio station in Portuguese India) and he was also employed as a photographer for All India Radio from 1963 until the time of his retirement. Yet, Navelcar additionally trained his camera on local goings on of an everyday nature, such as weddings, religious rituals, and festivities. Because of this, the exhibition showcases a varied array of twentieth-century Goan history and life.

In this interview, Dr. Perez offers insights into Navelcar’s extensive oeuvre, themes of the exhibition, and what it means for his pictures to be on display in Lisbon more than a half-century after the end of Portuguese rule in Goa.

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R. Benedito Ferrão: As a researcher, your scholarship on South Asia has tended toward matters of religious identity, gender, and social relations. How did you first learn about Krishna Navelcar and what connections, if any, did you see between his photographs and your previous research? In turn, what led to the creation of this exhibition?

Rosa Maria Perez: I would like to clarify that my research interests primarily center on social structures and issues of discrimination and marginality, rather than on religious identity. While religious identity is an important aspect—particularly in research about the caste system in India—it is more of a subsidiary consideration in my work. On the other hand, I find that women’s studies offers a more appropriate framework for my research than gender studies.

My first encounter with Krishna Navelcar’s brother, the painter Vamona Navelcar, occurred in the mid-1990s, yet I was not introduced to Krishna until I was invited to assess the significance of a substantial collection of negatives—over 15,000—held by the Fundação Oriente. The extraordinary richness of this photographic archive culminated in the recently inaugurated exhibition following approximately eight years of work with the collection.

As an anthropologist, my interest in photography traces back to the earliest figures in the field, notably Margaret Mead, who incorporated it into their research. I have been captivated by the interplay between photography and anthropology for many years, particularly as contemporary anthropologists have begun to systematically investigate this relationship, moving away from an earlier focus on colonial photography.

Although I have not regarded myself as sufficiently specialized to write extensively on photography, I am now considering further research based on collections of Goan photographers currently preserved in Portugal. It is also worth noting that I have been teaching visual anthropology for many years—initially with Professor Lina Fruzzetti at Brown University, and more recently through a course I developed at the Indian Institute of Technology (Gandhinagar), titled Anthropology of Visual Systems, with a core approach to photography. I have also supervised theses on photography and film.

 

RBF: In your curatorial note to the exhibition, you remark that Navelcar’s photographs open up “a more complex narrative of Goan history.” You suggest that these images may challenge colonial conceptions of the region, which is notable given that Navelcar often functioned in an official capacity, commissioned as he was by state agencies to document various events in what was then the capital of Portuguese India. What can you tell readers about Navelcar’s official work and how do you foresee the exhibition offering new ways of thinking about the past as Navelcar chronicled it?

RMP: Krishna Navelcar’s official photography, commissioned by state agencies in the former capital of Portuguese India, transcends merely reflecting the colonial perspective or serving as a passive tool of the state. Instead, his extensive collection of photographs offers a comprehensive view of nearly forty years of Goan history, covering the end of Portuguese rule and the social and political changes that shaped modern Goa. Navelcar documented state events and public ceremonies, but he also captured everyday life, showcasing the diversity and resilience of the Goan people.

His photographs depict lively celebrations, everyday street scenes, and moments of transformation, often emphasizing the region’s rich religious and social diversity. In doing so, Navelcar’s images challenge the narrow views often present in colonial documentation, which tried to define Goan identity in limited ways. They prompt us to reflect on how official photography can both support and challenge mainstream historical narratives, and invite us to recognize Navelcar not just as an official chronicler but also as a witness to and participant in the formation of Goan memory.  In summary, while Navelcar's official role could have restricted him to reproducing colonial viewpoints, the depth and variety of his work adds complexity and richness to the narrative of Goan history.

 

RBF: Of your own process in selecting images for the exhibition, you muse upon how Navelcar’s pictures show an “intricate interplay between [himself as] photographer and [his] subject [that] underscores the significance of every detail … [These features] are all captured in time, transforming an ordinary photograph into a powerful testament of human connection and emotion.”

As visitors to the exhibition take in the display, what might they glean of Navelcar between him doing his official job as a commissioned photographer and his own expression of personal and artistic agency?

RMP: It would be a significant oversimplification to restrict a collection of over 15,000 negatives—especially since this collection does not represent the entirety of Navelcar’s work, with many additional negatives held by his daughter—to merely his role as a commissioned photographer. The exhibition showcases images selected from thousands of portraits, street scenes, and photographs capturing everyday life. These images clearly extend beyond the scope of his commissioned work, both before and after the end of colonial administration. This broader visual record highlights Navelcar’s engagement with Goan society in all its complexity, countering any attempt to diminish his legacy to that of mere official documentation.

With regard to your second question, every commissioned photograph of individuals represents a complex negotiation among the expectations of the commissioner, the creative vision of the photographer, and the agency of the subject. This is particularly evident in portraits or images of people, where the resulting photograph transcends a mere reproduction of the commissioner’s intent, emerging instead from a dynamic interplay between the photographer and the subject. While the photographer operates within the frameworks established by the client or agency, they also infuse their unique perspective, aesthetic choices, and ethical considerations into the process. Subjects may pose, resist, or collaborate, influencing their representation both consciously and unconsciously. Their expressions, body language, and willingness to engage play crucial roles in shaping the final image, highlighting the photograph as a product of interaction rather than a one-sided endeavor.

Even within a brief or formal assignment, the photographer interprets the scene through decisions regarding framing, timing, and focus. These choices can subtly or overtly challenge, nuance, or reinforce the intended message. Although the commissioner outlines the broad purpose and context, it is the photographer who negotiates the particulars: the approach to the subject, what to include or exclude, and how to respond to the subject’s reactions. This negotiation is especially critical in ethnographic contexts, where sensitivity to the subject’s dignity and agency is of utmost importance.  Such negotiations underscore that even official or commissioned photographs are the result of dialogue, not a unilateral process.

RBF: An important fact is that Krishna Navelcar named his studio for his late brother Ganesh, who died
very young. Ganesh was also the name with which the artist Vamona Navelcar (1929-2021), another of the photographer’s brothers, would sign his canvases, also as an homage to his late sibling. Both Krishna and Vamona were in the employ of the colonial state, the former in Portuguese Goa and the latter in Portuguese Mozambique. Despite the geographic distance, the brothers shared a close bond. What might we make of the emotional and political entanglements in the lives of these artistic brothers?

RMP: No one is better positioned than you to address this question, given your extensive and profound scholarship on the work of Vamona Navelcar—partly in collaboration with Vishvesh Kandolkar. My own response would likely reflect much of what you have already written, the lectures you have delivered, and the exhibition you curated. Nevertheless, I will attempt to provide a reply.

Both brothers navigated careers within colonial state structures, yet their creative output consistently reflected a deep engagement with issues of identity and belonging. By honoring their brother through their professional identities, they engaged in a subtle form of resistance against erasure and marginalization, thereby asserting a familial and cultural memory within the frameworks of colonial modernity. Politically, their lives exemplify the paradoxes experienced by colonized individuals who contributed to official cultural production while simultaneously cultivating spaces for personal and collective meaning. The emotional bond between the brothers, maintained across continents and colonial boundaries, underscores how affective ties can both enhance and complicate artistic agency. Their shared tribute to Ganesh serves as a site where personal grief, cultural symbolism, and the politics of memory converge, challenging the oversimplified narratives often imposed by colonial and postcolonial histories.

RBF: At present, there is no official repository of visual culture and history in Goa. As your curational
essay explains, “The evident lack of visibility of photographers’ collections in Goa has resulted in a significant deficiency of systematic studies on photography in the region.” Apart from the intellectual challenges that arise due to this unarchived photographic history, what is lost culturally and artistically by not having a permanent collection of such photographs in Goa? In this regard, what intervention can an event like Foto Arte Ganesh offer and are there any plans to bring the exhibition “back” to Goa?

RMP: Without these visual records, the lived experiences, social transformations, and diverse identities that have shaped Goa could be forgotten or reduced to official or externally constructed narratives. The absence of a permanent photographic archive leaves Goa’s cultural identity vulnerable to erasure, oversimplification, and external definitions, rather than allowing it to be continually reimagined and affirmed by Goans themselves.

The exhibition aims at doing more than simply showcasing images; it revitalizes collective memory, confronts historical amnesia, and honors the people and diversity of Goa. By presenting these photographs in a curated public setting, Foto Arte Ganesh not only fills a gap in the historical record but also encourages new avenues of dialogue, research, and artistic expression, fostering a shared sense of heritage and belonging.

Looking ahead, as a curator I recognize the essential need to diplay exhibitions like Foto Arte Ganesh in Goa that would restore a significant visual history to its rightful place and act as a catalyst for further archival initiatives, public engagement, and the potential development of a permanent photographic collection. This endeavor would mark a meaningful step toward addressing the historical importance of Goan photographic heritage and promoting continued cultural and artistic renewal.

In conclusion, I want to emphasize that my role in this exhibition and its catalogue is not doctrinal and definitely not patronizing. The work I have done is the result of over thirty years of “observing” Goa, an endless source of inspiration, shaped by its artists, researchers, and creators. I view myself as a vessel through which this inspiration has flowed. Ultimately, this work rightfully belongs to Goa and to the Goan people.

From Scroll. 

 

"How the 16th-century Basilica of Bom Jesus became an Icon of Goan Identity" in SCROLL (17 November 2024)

 

Once a decade, the sacred relics of Saint Francis Xavier are put on public display at the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa. The decennial Exposition that begins in 2024 will run between November 21 and January 5, 2025.

Since 1624, the Basilica has housed the remains of St Xavier, a Catholic missionary of Spanish origin. Goa was a Portuguese colony from 1510 to 1961. Nearly 500 years on, the church still stands and is a revered site for many Goans and others regardless of their religious affiliations. Images and representations of the Basilica, depicting its towering, auburn laterite walls, are widely used to advertise Goa as a tourist destination

How did a 16^th-century basilica become an icon of Goan identity? 

In his research, scholar Vishvesh Prabhakar Kandolkar has found recurring use of images of the Basilica of Bom Jesus over the centuries, depictions in each period reflecting technological changes. Most notably, between the 19th and 21st centuries, advancements in photography and other forms of reproduction have allowed for the Basilica to be seen in Exposition-related ephemera as well as modern-day tourist souvenirs.

Kandolkar, an architectural historian by training and an associate professor at the Goa College of Architecture, has documented his findings in his new book  Goa’s Bom Jesus as Visual Culture: The Basilica’s Architecture, Image, History and Identity, the first monograph-length study on the visual history of the Basilica of Bom Jesus.

In this interview, Kandolkar talks about his book, controversy surrounding the maintenance of the Basilica, and what makes architecture in Goa unique.

 What led you to research the Basilica and why focus on its visual appearance, especially the exterior, rather than the famed relics it houses and the baroque interior of the church?

This book would never have happened. Let me explain. A long time ago, I had written to the famous architectural historian Paulo Varela Gomes about his book, Whitewash, Redstone: A History of Church Architecture in Goa (2011). In my message, I proposed the idea that his important work be made accessible in a more visual form to lay readers, but also to parish priests and others directly involved in dealing with the rich architectural heritage of Goan churches.

Varela Gomes was not too keen on this idea. He felt that the subject of Goan church architecture had been adequately covered. As a result, I had all but moved on from thinking about Goan architecture as well.

However, as time went on and I developed my own ideas about Goan architectural history, it became evident that there was a great deal left to be researched, especially from the vantage point of Goans themselves. This eye-opening insight made me approach the subject anew as I commenced my PhD research at Srishti Institute of Art, Design and Technology in 2016.

At Srishti, my supervisor, Dr Pithamber Polsani, got me interested in the genealogical study of images related to architecture in Goa. As I dug into the archives at the Central Library in Panjim and Xavier’s Centre of Historical Research in Porvorim, Goa, images of the Basilica became a recurring theme across different media, be it books, souvenirs, pamphlets, and newspapers.

Most of these publications that I came across were the kind produced on the eve of the various Expositions of St. Francis Xavier’s relics. From the mid-19th century onwards, the Expositions had become recurring events. As Pamila Gupta explains in her book The Relic State: St Francis Xavier and the Politics of Ritual in Portuguese India (2014), the declining Portuguese colonial state benefited from periodically displaying the remains of the saint.

However, the recurrence of the Basilica’s images in various Exposition souvenirs, published across the 19th and 20th centuries, underscore the need to study how symbolic legacies are perpetuated through architecture. In fact, it is clear that right from the colonial period, when Goa was heralded as the Rome of the East, to the post-Portuguese period, when Goa has become an idyllic destination for leisure tourism, architectural images of Bom Jesus have been central in shaping Goa’s identity.

Interestingly, the Basilica is a modest structure compared to many buildings from the early modern period. Lacking a fancy vaulted ceiling and featuring a simple, single-nave design, it has nevertheless become central to Goan identity over time. Its significance lies not only in the fact that it has housed the relics of St Francis Xavier since 1624, but also in its role as a symbol of Old Goa’s glorious past despite the city’s ruination. The Basilica evokes the idea of Golden Goa (which refers to the heyday of Portuguese rule), embodying multiple legacies simultaneously, which has contributed to its iconic status.

Old Goa was once the capital of Estado da Índia (Portuguese India). As your book points out, despite its political and religious importance as the eastern hub of Catholicism in the early modern period, Old Goa did not retain its allure for long. Pestilence caused people to flee and, later, the capital itself shifted to Panjim, a city which still functions in this capacity. Neglect led to the ruin of many early modern structures, but the Basilica survived unlike other edifices in Old Goa. Why was this?

Usually, when we see that very old buildings like the Basilica have survived till now, it shows that they have been taken care of. This has not been the case with many other buildings in Old Goa, which have suffered due to negligence and disrepair. Of course, some conditions of neglect have also arisen because of the specific history of the longue durée of Portuguese rule in Goa.

Popular belief attributes the downfall of Old Goa primarily to recurring pestilences. However, the arrival of other European powers in Asia by the late 16th century, coupled with the faltering economic and social policies of the Portuguese, also significantly contributed to the city’s decline.

For instance, after a two-century partnership, the Portuguese state sought to reduce Church control in the 18th century. This period marked a secularisation of the Portuguese empire initiated by the Marquis de Pombal. As a result, the Jesuits, the powerful religious order to which St Francis Xavier belonged, were expelled by the Portuguese in 1759. Consequently, many Jesuit monuments in Old Goa, including St Paul’s College (built between 1560-74), underwent rapid ruination.

Similarly, the Portuguese also expelled all the other religious orders (Augustinians, Dominicans, Carmelites, etc.) from Goa in 1835, which meant that the buildings that belonged to these orders, such as the once-magnificent Augustinian Church (built between 1597 and the early 1600s), were left to ruination.

The case of Bom Jesus is different, because of St Francis Xavier, whose legacy continues to be very important to Goans. Local people in Goa played a crucial role in ensuring the timely restoration of the Basilica; even during the 19th century, a time when many other monuments in Old Goa were falling into disrepair, the Basilica remained well-maintained. Let me give you a specific example of such care.

A careful examination of archival photographs of the Basilica shows that the three lateral walls underwent significant change: the buttresses seen on the northern side of the church are 19th-century additions. This particular restoration along with a complete overhaul of the Basilica’s roof was undertaken in the 1860s, immediately following the 1859 exposition. This illustrates that the widespread reverence for the saint and the popularity of his church were key factors in ensuring the monument’s protection.

Because it serves as the resting place of their beloved saint, the building has become iconic of the identity of Goans. For the same reason, the neglect of the church continues to garner attention. In 2020, a major controversy arose when the roof of the Basilica was left unrepaired, allowing rainwater to enter the monument.

Goans raised objections, calling on their political leaders to take action. As a consequence, the government directed the Archaeological Survey of India [which is responsible for the Basilica’s maintenance] to undertake immediate repair of the structure. Essentially, it is the love of the people that has ensured that the Basilica has enjoyed a long afterlife.

Apart from its attraction to tourists, Goa has become a favoured destination for those from India who settle there, often looking to buy what has commonly been referred to as “Portuguese houses”. Your research contends that second home ownership by non-Goans is contentious for many reasons. Among these is the disregard for local conditions coupled with the desire for homes and lifestyles tied to the alleged Iberian aesthetics and nature of the region. Additionally, your book argues that even though the Basilica itself may have been built in the early modern colonial era, its design cannot be described as Portuguese. Likewise, why is it also erroneous to call the aesthetics of non-church structures in Goa “Portuguese”?

Yes! Very much. In fact, to recognise that the architecture of these monuments (and even local Goan culture itself) is not exclusively “Portuguese” needs decolonial thinking. Although influenced by architecture in Portugal and the rest of Europe, the architecture of Goa is distinctively Goan, particularly because it was built with local materials, construction techniques, labour and patronage.

In the contemporary period, architecture in Goa is termed as “Portuguese” because such denomination is seen as more exotic; it is a concept used to attract tourists from the rest of India and profit-seeking real-estate investors.

Conversely, calling it what it is – Goan architecture – means to acknowledge that locals are very much part of this conversation and are the creators of their own culture. On the other hand, to term architecture in Goa “Portuguese” then even permits non-Goans to think that they can partake of such commodification by simply buying real-estate properties, for instance. By labeling every aspect of Goan culture as “Portuguese,” there is an implied sense of a bygone era and an absent coloniser.

This tendency, however, obscures the active role Goans have played throughout the colonial period in shaping their own cultural identity. Not surprisingly, therefore, many tourists from other parts of India who come to buy second homes in Goa often hold the view that “Goa would be so much better without Goans.” What they fail to recognise is that without Goans, there would be no Goa at all.

Such disregard for the concerns and welfare of locals is not restricted to the field of real-estate or tourism alone, for even academia is guilty of the same. Consider that even prestigious American universities like Yale are presently conducting research on and about Goa and Goan culture, but without the involvement of Goans themselves. Sadly, Goans are being marginalised from the very culture they helped produce, marking yet another episode of direct and indirect colonialism.

In an installation series you did in 2021 titled This is Not the Basilica!, you employed several visual representations of Bom Jesus (which can also be seen in your book) to explain how this church has become synonymous with Goan culture. You suggest that although Goa is often represented with those elements that pertain to coastal holidaymaking (like the beach and palm trees), the Basilica may still make an appearance, even in tourism advertisements. Why has the image of this church become so persistent in representing Goa?

This was the most fun part of my research – to see the recurring use of images of the Basilica across different media, including the sale of mattresses among other things. I enjoy studying popular tourist souvenirs in Goa, which do reveal how the Basilica has played a central role in depicting Goan identity. For example, in a souvenir plate I saw being sold in 2016, the likeness of the Basilica of Bom Jesus is juxtaposed with other popular images associated with Goa, such as the sea, sand, swaying palms, and frolicking tourists.

While the convenient superimposition of Goa’s religious architecture with other secular images on popular souvenirs reveals the easy stereotypes used to commoditise Goa as a destination for tourism, I also want to draw attention to why it is no coincidence that the image of Bom Jesus has come to represent Goa’s identity even presently. Bom Jesus plays a vital role in representing Goa because, without its image, the beach scene (in advertisements and souvenirs, among other things) symbolises a generic tropical location, a place that could be anywhere in coastal India if not somewhere else on the planet.

If in the tourist souvenirs of the contemporary period, the 16th-century colonial-era architectural images of the Bom Jesus become a visual argument to represent the identity of this location – to mark its difference – the questions I address in the book are when and how did the architecture of this early modern monument come to symbolise Goan identity.

An 1890 image of the Basilica of Bom Jesus showing its plastered and whitewashed exterior. Credit: Photograph by Souza & Paul, Central Library, Panjim, Goa.

 Now nearly a half-millennium old, the Basilica has not been without issues related to its upkeep. In fact, it is the very look of the church as it appears now – its laterite stone exposed to the elements – that has led to some of these troubles as I will let you explain. Clearly, as your book posits, it is indeed visuality that has been this structure’s problem.

Consecrated in 1605, the Basilica of Bom Jesus was a plastered and whitewashed monument for most of its life. In fact, it is a miracle that the exposed laterite walls of the Basilica have withstood the onslaught of the Goan monsoon since Portuguese architect and restorer Baltazar Castro ordered the removal of the external plaster in the 1950s. The same fate was not accorded to the Arch of the Viceroys – another monument in Old Goa that was deplastered on the recommendation of restorer Castro in the same period.

Sadly, the Viceroy’s Arch crumbled during the heavy monsoon rains that followed the “restoration” in 1953; the arch visible today was reconstructed in 1954-’55 to approximate the original and does not even stand in the same location as its forebear.

According to architectural historian Joaquim R Santos, the damage to this arch made the Portuguese colonial administration acknowledge the problems of keeping the Basilica unplastered and they had begun the process of fixing it in the 1960s. However, before the Portuguese colonial government could execute the work, Goa was annexed by the Indian Union. In the post-Portuguese period, the ASI became the state agency responsible for the monument. They, along with the Church, appear reluctant to repair the colonial-era politically motivated mistake that has led to further ruination of Bom Jesus.

The monument’s brown look has become its trap, because most of the current generation of Goan people have only ever seen the Basilica with an unplastered surface. This is also the image that is now commonly replicated in various representations of Goa, further cementing the notion that this is the way this structure is supposed to look.

Discussing the deteriorating condition of the Basilica in 2021, the Rector of the Basilica, Fr Patricio Fernandes, is on record stating that “[w]ithin a span of ten years of my tenure at the Basilica, I have seen the worst ever soaking of the inside walls of the Basilica. The laterite stones get saturated with the torrential rainwater, and the walls are soaked so much that the water starts dripping through the inside walls.” Despite this, nothing is done to replaster the Basilica.

A proper understanding of the visual history of this monument would definitely help for common sense to prevail, and it is precisely this kind of chronicle my book attempts to offer. Knowing the Basilica’s past would also aid understanding that the monument should be returned to its original aesthetics, that is lime-plastered and whitewashed. This should ensure that many more generations would be able to experience this wonderful structure from the early modern period.

As climate change and increased monsoonal rainfall in Goa continue to affect Bom Jesus, what needs to be done to ensure that this legendary Goan icon “weathers” such epochal developments?

Over the last century, monsoons in Goa have become more intense, with an increase of over 68% in rainfall. Facing the brunt of increasingly severe rainfall and stronger tropical storms each passing year, the threat to Goa’s built heritage serves as yet another example of how climate change has affected monsoonal South Asia.

The ruination of Indo-Portuguese architectural heritage, however, is seldom seen as a part of the imagery that informs the climate change discourse. That is, although the tropics are doubly affected by climate change – sea-level rise in addition to locally produced effects such as stronger tropical storms – the global discourse on climate change continues to be dominated by visuals which reference the Global North.

Furthermore, the emphasis on environmental devastation, as important as it is, tends to veil the potential demise of material culture – including architectural elements that have world heritage value. Such effects of climate change are devastating to architectural heritage, especially those structures built using weaker materials like laterite, a stone which is vulnerable to deterioration – particularly when it is left exposed to the environment.

In April 2020, a gaping hole appeared in the Basilica’s roof. This caused damage to the church, as unseasonal rain soaked the walls and wood of the structure. The aforementioned Rector of the Basilica, Fr Patricio Fernandes, raised the alarm, accusing the ASI of “utter neglect…leading to the deterioration of the Basilica and the Shrine of ‘Goencho Saib’, St. Francis Xavier”.

Given its long historical and religious importance, and nearly 40 years of world heritage significance, the question that arises is why the ASI and the Church have been compromising the safety of the building. Essentially, as I suggest in the book, the rain entering the Basilica is symptomatic of a larger issue – it points to climate change which has breached the boundaries of the monument.

Last but not least, the ongoing use of Bom Jesus indicates that, even as a monument, it is not a museum that is distanced from people. To emphasise once more, the Basilica should not be perceived “just” as a monument. Its current status is not distinct from its past, as it continues to function as a church, serving the needs of the local community. Therefore, with culturally unique places like Goa, the built and ecological heritage have to be imagined together with its people, creating a system of regional entanglement.

Thinking regionally would in turn help in dealing with the challenges of climate change on a planetary level. Harming any one of the elements – the monument, ecology, local people – would mean inviting disasters at a global level, as has already been witnessed with ongoing climate change. In short, even as the severe issue of environmental change requires action, it also needs recognition of the intertwining of Goan people and culture as part of the solution.

From Scroll. See also: "A Short Visual History of the Long Life of Goa's Basilica of Bom Jesus" by Vishvesh Prabhakar Kandolkar and R. Benedito Ferrão