When a legend passes away the land that he has nurtured indeed grieves deeply for him. It grieves for the inspiration that will no longer flow, for the reprimand it will no longer receive, for the memory of its founding ideals that are beginning to fade, for the passing of an age. It grieves for the man and what he represented. It grieves for itself. A people, and a land, need a constant reminder of what they could have been. Lambert was that reminder. He has gone. Who will guide us now?
This may sound melodramatic but when I pause to think about his life of 106 years, about all the events I have read about, and some of which I have experiencedin the five decades I knew him, I realise how very true is that statement. Lambert loved Goa. It is a love whose depth and breadth we will only know when we reflect on the many facets of his life. Here are some random thoughts. Just think of his pledge to marry only when Goa was liberated. Recall the excitement that accompanied his annual visit to his ancestral home for the Colva Fama. Remember the extra bounce in his gait after a classical Western Music concert at Kala Academy. He loved music. He was always humming a tune. I remember when I was showing him around the city square in Brighton and we sat down on a bench to hear a saxophonist playing, Lambert, his felt hat on his lap, head bowed, eyes closed, listened to the music. When the tune ended he got up to put some money in the upturned hat. The saxophonist said ‘thank you’ to which Lambert movingly replied ‘I must in fact thank you’. Both seemed to understand. No more needed to be said. That was Lambert. He was a man of many parts. He was, at the same time, Goan, Western, Indian, freedom fighter, father, husband, neighbour, friend, musician, journalist, and writer. These many facets of this personality can be discovered in the characters in his novel ‘Sorrowing lies my Land’, in his short stories ‘In the Womb of Saudade’, in his articles in the ‘Goa Tribune’ and even in the delightful, playful, teasing monthly column in the ‘Goa Today’ about his aunt Artimezia. She was everyone’s favourite aunt but was also sometimes irritating as favourite aunts can also be.
Lambert was my neighbour of 40 years but he was more, a family friend of over half a century. He was truly generous in spirit befriending us in both dark times and in good times. He sobbed loudly when my mother passed away. How can I forget? Our community at La-Marvel looked up to him for his advice on gardening and greening the colony. Like the good Goan curious neighbour I noted, from my verandah, the many who came to visit him from all over the world, of all age groups and all communities. He reminded us of the best in all of us. They came bearing tributes. He got Urrak from admirers, fish from the village, jackfruit from friends, gossip from the neighbours, and chocolates from Switzerland. And many wedding invitations. He was much admired and much loved.
Lambert was blessed with a great family. Dr Jolly adored him, admonished him, and indulged him. Theirs was a relationship to be enjoyed and envied. His children Nayantara, Ameeta, Jude and Anjali, (Kububabebin short, like a Google password) cared for him in ways that can only be described as blessed. They sang for him when he asked them to, at festa lunches, and collectively ignored him when he got too unreasonable. But this was rare. His elder son-in-law Noel pampered him with holidays to exotic places while his younger son-in-law Stefan enthralled him with stories of another world. His grandchildren just loved their grandad as did his great grandchildren. In the evening of his life Jolly and his children looked after him is ways one can only recount with a lump in one’s throat. His was a veritable Tolstoyian life, a grand Goan saga spanning several time zones and many ages. A legend has gone. Sorrowing lies my land.