It was a lovely Saturday in early February. Four King Momo aspirants were seated in the lobby of the Goa Tourism office in Panaji a week before the Goa Carnival waiting to audition for the post. Most aspirants seemed nervous and fidgety, except Rocque Francisco Tome Fernandes.
The 65-year-old had a ‘been there-done that’ look on his face. Tome is famous as King Momo in Goa and beyond. He’s a friendly man with an easy smile. “Hello, I am Tome. Everybody knows me as King Momo,” he said, shaking my hand. The results were soon declared and Tome was crowned King for the fifth time. He was modest about it. “God has been kind.”
Playing King Momo has become second nature for Tome. He dons the royal outfit with practised ease and greets tourists with panache each time a cruise liner docks into Mormugao Port. That evening, Tome invited me for an event in South Goa. When we reached, he scorned all help and walked briskly from the car park to the beachside venue with two large bags and his royal mace.
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Seated on a small chair, Tome began his make-up and finished in precisely 15 minutes. “How do I look,” he asked with a wide grin, and went on to meticulously get into his royal robes with help from his brass band members.
Eat, drink and be merry
The end of February is the beginning of Goa’s four-day Carnival and Panaji, the capital, was all agog. As the late afternoon sun beat down on King Momo’s float, Tome was all smiles.
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Popular Fado singer Sonia Sirsat broke into song beside him. King Momo read out the carnival decree, urging people to ‘eat, drink and make merry, responsibly!’ The decree was welcomed with loud cheers.
Wikipedia will tell you that King Momo or King Momos (Rei Momo in Portuguese or Rey Momo in Spanish) has traditionally been the king of carnivals in various Latin American festivities. Momo or Momos derives from the Greek god Momus, the personification of mockery and satire, but is now mostly a figure of harmless fun whose appearance basically signals the start of the festivities.
Each carnival elects its own King Momo, often a different one each year. Traditionally, a tall, fat man is chosen to play the role, and Tome fits the bill, his bearded, Bud Spencer face adding to the ebullient image.
Tome presented me with a small laminated image of Mother Mary. “Keep this in your wallet. The Mother will always protect you,” he said. Tome worked in the government printing press at Panaji for 40 years and retired five years ago as a senior supervisor. He used to also be an ace percussionist in his heydays, having played with local bands like the Companeros and Sparks.
A couple of days later, I met Tome again, this time outside a popular Panaji café. People greeted him affectionately. Some old-timers came and hugged him, while others shouted “Congrats King!” as they whizzed past on scooters. An old friend invited us both in for a cup of tea. Tome said, “This is why I love becoming King Momo. I get so much love and affection.”
“Till 2000, there were no fees for King Momo. Later, they began to pay an honorarium of ₹3,000 per day,” Tome said. This year, Tome expects ₹30,000 from Goa Tourism. They also hire an event management company to organise costumes and choreograph the show, but this year Tome made his own crown and mace.
Playing King Momo has become almost a family tradition for the Fernandeses. Tome’s older brother Timoteo, now 80, was Goa’s very first King Momo in 1967; in fact, Timoteo kick-started independent Goa’s carnival tradition in 1965. And King Momo’s queen this year was Tome’s youngest daughter, Achielia Fernandes. A final year history major at Margao’s Chowgule College, Achielia wants to become a teacher and was all excited about playing Queen. “The colours, the energy… It’s an awesome experience to travel on the float and see so many people waving at you,” she said.
Visual treat
The King’s float was impressive, modelled after a fish. Eight dancers accompanied it as it inched its way along the leafy Mandovi riverside promenade. A foreign tourist, with a small drum slung across her shoulders, danced alongside. Other floats came by, celebrating belly dancers, garbage management, ecology and more. One caught my eye—a village float eulogising the pig, complete with song, dance and a large effigy of the animal.
- Timoteo Fernandes happened to see an article on the Rio Carnival in a Brazilian magazine many decades ago and decided to start the carnival tradition in a Goa newly independent of Portuguese rule in 1965.
- Seated on a sofa in his pretty bungalow in Carambolim, Fernandes explained how the magic began. “I dressed up as King Momo, hired a bullock cart for ₹5, decorated it for ₹1, got 15 friends to accompany me with guitars and bongos, and we had a mini carnival,” he said, rubbing his hands with glee.
- The merry band travelled 1 km from Patto Bridge to Panaji’s Garcia de Orta park with two rebellious bullocks. They repeated the feat the next year. Then, in 1967, under Dayanand Bandodkar, Goa’s first Chief Minister, the carnival became a state-supported affair, and Timoteo Fernandes was duly honoured as the first King Momo. He has since been on the carnival committee for the last 50 years.
Tough call
The next evening, I followed the King to Margao, Goa’s commercial capital. A shorter parade, it was clearly a relief to Tome, who appeared to wilt under his heavy costume and jewellery. The Vasco Da Gama and Mapusa parades were yet to come. Being King is a job that clearly requires a great deal of stamina.
On day three, I decided to leave the big towns and drive to Shiroda, a small village in south Goa. It was worth the effort. It was 4:00 p.m., the sun still quite hot, and I found Saby Fernandes tightening the belt of his costume in a makeshift car park. The tall and thickset 42-year-old karate teacher and shopkeeper was playing King for the first time. “The deputy collector invited my wife and me a few days ago; we are both excited,” Fernandes said. His wife, Quiteria, looking stately, could not hide her nervousness. “We have never been in front of the public like this,” she said. Their daughter Roselda and her three friends made up the entourage and were busy shooting selfies.
The Shiroda floats were homely. Someone had painted his Gypsy jeep in rainbow colours with the words ‘Viva Carnaval’ emblazoned across the body. Two men were getting their faces painted on one float, while another displayed a pair of wooden bullocks. Soon, floats arrived from neighbouring Ponda. As the parade wound through the village, everyone trooped out. The King and his family showered the crowd with toffees and chocolates.
When he is not writing columns and features or shooting pictures, the freelance journalist is training for triathlons.