The D'Souzas Are Everywhere

There are D'Souzas. And then there are DeSouzas.

Some come proudly punctuated with an apostrophe: D'Souza, bold and dramatic. Others arrive with an elegant "e" tucked in between, as though dressing for a wedding. Some insist on a capital S. Others couldn't care less.

They are all part of the same sprawling tribe.

A tribe that has left its fingerprints, recipe books and occasionally unpaid bar tabs across the world.

Start with India. Goa and Mangalore were the cradles. Then came Bombay.

Not the Mumbai of sea links and skyscrapers, but the Bombay of trams, church socials, football grounds and crowded chawls where three generations somehow managed to live peacefully in a room the size of a modern walk-in wardrobe.

The D'Souzas spread themselves across Cavel, Mahim, Dadar, Bandra, Orlem and Vasai. Anywhere within easy reach of a church, a bakery, a fish market and a football field.

Then they packed their bags. The UK? Naturally. Canada? Of course. Australia and New Zealand? Plenty. Tanzania, Pakistan and Portugal? You'll find them there too.

Not tourists. Not visitors. Communities. Entire networks of families who left home generations ago but somehow still know exactly which cousin married whom in Goa in 1987.

Portugal deserves special mention.

For many D'Souzas, it was more than a colonial connection. It was the place from where the surname began its long journey.

Many years ago, I checked into a hotel in Estoril. The young receptionist looked at my passport, saw the surname D'Souza and broke into a smile. Here was a Portuguese D'Souza delighted to discover that an Indian journalist from Dubai was also a D'Souza.

For a few minutes we chatted like distant relatives who had unexpectedly met at a family wedding. We had different histories, different accents and had grown up thousands of kilometres apart. Yet the surname seemed to create an instant connection.

Only a D'Souza would understand.

The cruise industry, meanwhile, appears to run partly on D'Souzas with few Fernandeses and Rodrigueses thrown in for variety.

If your towel has been folded into a swan, there is a fair chance a D'Souza was involved. Your chorizo would have been stirred by another D'Souza while that suited bartender had a look of a person who's stepped into his floating workplace straight from a D'Souza household in Arpora, North Goa.

If the singing during Mass at Sea sounds unusually good, there is an even better chance of a D'Souza slipping in a dash of soprano to a Filipino tenor.

Back in Bombay, the tribe was equally visible.

In 1980, the newsroom of Mid-Day in Tardeo had four D'Souzas sitting within shouting distance of each other.

News. Features. Crime. Sports.

Carol, Glen, Jerry, David

The late Behram 'Busybee' Contractor once looked around and asked, "Only four? Where are the rest? On assignment in Goa?"

It was a fair question.

So who exactly are these D'Souzas?

Journalists. Sailors. Chefs, Teachers. Musicians. Priests. Restaurateurs. Fishermen.

Sometimes all in the same family.

They will feed you fish curry rice and dodhol, lend you a prayer card when things are not going well and then quietly sign you up to help at the next parish fundraiser.

Being a D'Souza comes with certain expectations. You are expected to know at least three people working in the Gulf.

There should be an aunt in Canada.A cousin in Australia is almost compulsory. Somewhere in the family tree there is usually a priest and there is always a musician.

There is nearly always somebody who still talks about a football match played forty years ago as though it happened last week.

Family gatherings can resemble detective investigations. Nobody is entirely sure how everybody is related, but nobody questions it either.

Directions are rarely straightforward. "Bleddy simple, bugger. Go straight past the church. Turn left at Paul's Bar. If you reach the kulfiwala in that rught lane, you've gone too far." This explanation is delivered with complete confidence.

The fact that there are two churches and three bars within a two-kilometre radius is considered your problem.

The surname may have originated near the Sousa River in Portugal, but the modern D'Souza experience is more likely to involve arguing over the price of pomfret at Mumbai's Citylight Bazaar, debating whether football at Cooperage was better in the 1970s, or insisting that your parish feast serves the finest sorpotel known to mankind.

The thing about D'Souzas is that they travel in packs.

Meet one in Pune and within ten minutes he will discover that you know somebody in Bandra, somebody in Goa and somebody in Brampton.

By the end of the conversation, your family histories will have been compared, a connection established and an invitation issued to drop in for lunch whenever you happen to be in the neighbourhood.

Whether it is written D'Souza, DeSouza or Dsouza hardly matters. The recipes are still being passed around. The football arguments are still going strong. The stories are still getting better with every retelling.

And wherever two D'Souzas meet with or without thr apostrophe, there is a very good chance they will discover they know the same people. Dat bugger, man. Same chap.