NT BUZZ
A day before Valentine’s Day, on February 13, son of the soil, Padma Shri Wendell Rodricks was laid to rest in Colvale. As his family, friends and acquaintances come to terms with this untimely death, NT BUZZ digs up from its archives, photographs to bring back memories of this vibrant personality, who straddled the fields of fashion, literature, social activism and more with equal zeal, and along the way inspired many.
Over the Rainbow
The iconic Goan fashion designer, Wendell Rodricks passed away on February 12, 2020, at 59. Here’s an excerpt from his autobiography titled, ‘The Green Room’
Twenty-seven-year-old Greta Rosaline Rodricks was in the final throes of giving birth to her first child. Her tiny frame, sweat-slicked by the rigours of childbirth and early-morning Bombay summer heat, held in it the strength of a healthy body. Outside the grey doors of the room paced a tall, handsome man of same age, waiting anxiously for the arrival of his child. Within minutes, he was cradling the seven-and-a-half-pound infant.
My mother later told me how she was surprised by the ugly baby she had given birth to. ‘When I first saw you, all I saw was a big nose, large forehead and big ears.’ Those words stayed with me and I sincerely believed well into adulthood that I was ugly. It was not a thought that dominated all others – it just stayed there, at the back of my mind, and kept me vanity-free all my life. Mummy is a rare parent, one who never praised her kids. It was a quality I admired because it made us into men who ignored flattery and listened to people who told us the truth.
* * *
Living in Goa, I have also begun to enjoy funerals and month’s minds. Goans need no excuse to pull out the snacks and the drinks. Funerals are as social as weddings. Men dress in suits and women pull out their mantillas. It is all very elegant and theatrical. People arrive with the same breathless anticipation as they would for a fashion show. Everything is up for comment. ‘You saw what Perpetine was wearing?’ ‘That choir is damn good.’ ‘From where they brought the priest? He did not know what to say.’
Seeing an armada of black-and-white dresses pass under my Colvale balcão, I enquire who has passed away. ‘No funeral. Month’s mind for Anton Braganza.’ That immediately conjures up visions of heavenly green chutney sandwiches, beef croquettes and plum cakes that are bound to be served by the culinarily blessed Mrs Braganza. Throwing on a black shirt over my Lulu Lemon gym tracks, I jog to church. Through the ramble of prayers in Konkani, I fixate on the bound-to-be-delicious chutney sandwiches that will follow. When the sonorous blessing is done, I am delirious with joy. I chomp through three sandwiches, ignoring the beef and the cake. I even steal some, wrapping them in a paper napkin. Lucy spots the act and cries out loud for all to hear: ‘What man, Wendell, not taking the croquettes and cake, what? Come, come. Take, take.’ I walk home with my goody bag napkin: four croquettes for the dogs as I don’t eat beef, two slices of cake for the staff and my chutney stash for a truly happy ‘feni hour’!
* * *
Christmas of 2011 was tinged with sorrow. My mother passed away in Dubai. Her death left me miserable. I lost my appetite, and many kilos of weight, with the pain of losing her.
The first song my mother
taught me was from ‘The Wizard of Oz’. A song called ‘Somewhere over the
Rainbow’, sung by Judy Garland. For some reason, the opening and closing lyrics
have stayed with me
all my life.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby…
Most important for me, as a shy child, a gay man and a dreamer, are the closing lines:
If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?
For me, the song became an anthem to strive harder, to do better. And to somehow fly over the rainbow, to that land of dreams.
When my mother passed away, I could not bring myself to sing the song. Even though I knew she realized that I had indeed flown over the rainbow, attaining more than she or I had dreamt of.
It took me a long time to be able to sing that song again. And when I do so today, or even hear it, I am driven to tears. But I sing, for our dreams never die. For every dream realized, we find new ones.
I dream now of one day having a green room that is plush and luxurious. Instead of the cramped make-up area, shoddy racks, dirty floors and black-curtain walls, we will have flowers, champagne, white walls, space… Perhaps that dream will come true someday, and perhaps it will change the very nature of the fashion industry.
What happens in the green room, after all, rarely stays in the green room.
Walking the talk
I first met Wendell Rodricks in 2005. Funnily enough, it had nothing to do with fashion. Jerome’s nephews were in town and he wanted someone fun to show them around Goa. Armed with my tiny French dictionary, we explored Goa from north to south for a few days – and we had a blast. From there on I was in touch with Wendell who gave me, a young naive model just starting out in the fashion industry, a lot of much-needed advice.
I remember calling him once, crying, when I found out a close common friend and coordinator had been cheating me of money over a period of time. Wendell told me: “Don’t worry, Dawn. Just spread your wings and fly, don’t be tied down to anyone, what goes around comes around, and if you ever need anything my doors are always open.”
During the years, I always called him for advice whenever I was unsure in the industry – of who I was working with or a particular brand. As a fashion and ramp model on the shorter side I did and still do face a lot of criticism, but it doesn’t bother me anymore as I will always remember Wendell’s words: “Walk like you’re seven-feet tall and strut like there’s no tomorrow for you have fire within you, little girl. And if they can’t see it than they don’t deserve you! Believe in yourself. Nothing worth having comes easily.”
Having walked for Wendell and Malini Ramani at Blenders Pride together in Goa and various top designers since, was a total dream come true for me as it showed me the power within his words. A friend and mentor to many, fashion guru and activist, the humble man with a big heart who loved animals, who stood up for gay rights when nobody else did, the legend who put Goa and India on the international fashion map, you will always and forever be loved and missed. Rest in peace, my friend and mentor.
To the legend, Wendell Rodricks
Thank you for everything
Until we meet again
Somewhere over the rainbow
Keep dancing among the angels
With Sophia and Tyra!
– Dawn Cj Mortimer
Like a Czar…
It is always difficult to write about the people you have admired and loved especially when they exit suddenly, leaving behind a big black hole. Wendell’s demise is one such. So young, talented, and full of dreams.
We met first at a lecture on Goan Family portraits at The Xavier Centre for Historical Research, a decade and a half ago. Just as I pulled my first slide, a tall man accompanied by a foreigner, tore through the darkness of the aisle and came to the first bench armed with a pad and pencil. He took notes all along and asked the most questions during the Q and A session.
Next morning at the dot of 9 a.m. there was a phone call. It was Wendell asking to use some of the photographs. He spoke warm and friendly, appreciating the talk and asking for the photographs. He was such a charming talker that I felt miserable when I said “no” since my study itself was in a fledgling stage. But somewhere in the conversation he had delivered his famous line: ‘I am just a glorified tailor!’ It was a line that made you ponder on the hidden facets of the man.
In December 2009, he visited my home enroute from the airport. My debut show was due to open that evening. There was a painting he liked and booked immediately. Soon we were to work on a special issue of MARG on Goa. In quick succession he was to bring out three books: ‘Moda Goa’, ‘The Green Room’ and ‘Poskem’.
The last time we met recently at his bungalow at Altinho. He sat surrounded like a czar in the roomy structure crammed with artefacts being curated for his new museum in Colvale. I had gone over to pass on some embroidery samplers from my mother’s collection and a set of photographs from the family portraits which were part of my research.
“The estate in Colvale is too vast for Jerome and me. We are getting on in years,” he said. “The best thing is to convert it into a museum!”
The Museum will live on, Wendell, but you will be missed.
– Savia Viegas