It’s official. Wherever Vishwajit Rane goes, controversy doesn't just follow; it carpools with him. Health Minister? Cue public outrage. TCP Minister? Buckle up, because the circus is in town.
You’d think someone juggling two heavyweight portfolios would be a paragon of discipline, integrity, and maybe — just maybe: a whiff of accountability. But instead, we’ve been gifted a minister who storms into Goa Medical College like he’s starring in an action movie, scolds and humiliates a doctor like he’s running a boot camp, and then wonders why controversy won’t leave him alone.
When you walk like a hammer, everything will look like a nail, including public servants.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The real gem in his crown is the Town and Country Planning department, an institution that now seems to have become a synonym for land conversion confusion, opaque decisions, and, of course, the classic line: “The matter is sub judice.”
Ah yes, the mighty ‘sub judice shield’. Wielded only by the boldest of bureaucrats when the heat turns up in the Legislative Assembly. It’s the equivalent of shouting “no comments!” while standing in front of a bonfire with a can of accelerant. Because nothing says “I’m fearless and transparent” like ducking behind judicial proceedings every time someone asks what your TCP Board is actually doing.
Let’s recap: questions on land conversions? Sub judice. Agricultural land re-zoned to concrete playgrounds? Sub judice. Constitution of the TCP Board; not even remotely in court? Still... silence.
Apparently, even transparency is waiting for court clearance these days.
One might wonder: if you’re truly the fearless lion you market yourself to be, why is every tough question met with the whimper of "it’s in court"? Unless, of course, what we’re looking at is not a lion at all, but a very well-dressed, very loud, very evasive mouse with a megaphone.
Meanwhile, our dear minister continues to accuse the Opposition of "trying to create anarchy." Oh, the irony. Here’s a man who can’t answer who’s on his own Board, but thinks the ones asking questions are the problem. Classic misdirection, like a magician who’s lost his rabbit, so he blames the audience for looking too hard.
Goans aren’t fools. We see the bluster. We see the smoke, mirrors, and strategically timed “sub judice” exits. No one’s falling for the macho routine anymore. The Opposition may be asking the questions, but the public is starting to ask their own: What exactly are you hiding, Mr. Rane? And more importantly, how long do you plan to play the role of righteous warrior while sprinting for cover every time someone rings the accountability bell?
Because right now, Town and Country Planning isn’t looking like a ministry; it’s looking like a bunker.
Thursday, 31 July 2025
Wednesday, 9 July 2025
Emergency then, Undeclared Emergency now: The BJP's Assembly special - By Nisser Dias
Recently, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) pulled out all the stops to mark the 50th anniversary of the 1975 Emergency — yes, that Emergency—imposed by the then Prime Minister late Indira Gandhi.
Across the country, saffron flags fluttered, microphones blared, and BJP leaders went on a national nostalgia tour, warning the youth about how democracy was “murdered” half a century ago.
Of course, this “awareness campaign” wasn’t complete without Goa’s Chief Minister Pramod Sawant — the Maharashtrian helmsman of Goa, jumping aboard. In what he probably considers a visionary idea, his government now wants the 1975 Emergency immortalized in school textbooks, lest students grow up without knowing what dictatorship used to look like.
Here’s the punchline: while they harp on about a 21-month Emergency from 1975, we’ve been suffering an undeclared one for the past 11 years. Yes, the so-called double-engine sarkar has brought a high-speed train of democratic decay. The Constitution is still printed, still quoted, and still worshipped during televised oaths, but in practice? It’s become a little more than a coffee-table accessory.
Let’s talk about Goa. Over the last six years, we’ve seen freedoms that were once sacred slowly shrink into silence. Freedom of speech and expression? Only if it flatters the ruling regime. Right to protest? You can try, but don’t be shocked if your voice gets drowned out by water cannons or legal notices. Assembly sessions? Those are becoming an endangered species. The number of sitting days has been slashed so drastically, we might as well conduct governance via WhatsApp forwards or Zoom calls.
And now, just when you thought it couldn’t get more blatant, the government has decided to curtail the Opposition’s speaking time in the Assembly. Because nothing screams “democracy” like silencing the people elected to question you. We’re told this is about “discipline,” “efficiency,” and of course, “ensuring decorum.” But let’s call a spade a spade, this is the slow suffocation of dissent, the polite throttling of debate.
If the Congress back in the 70s imposed a brute-force lockdown on democracy, today’s BJP prefers the slow-drip version. Naturally, the Opposition is crying foul. Some are even calling it the Murder of Democracy. But why stop there? Let’s give it its proper name: Welcome to India’s Great Undeclared Emergency — trademark pending.
And just when your blood pressure stabilizes, along comes the radio with its nauseating praise: “Under the visionary leadership of CM Pramod Sawant…”, “Under the able guidance of CM Sawant…”—wash, rinse, repeat. If he’s truly so “visionary” and “able,” why does he seem so terrified of a handful of Opposition MLAs asking him a few tough questions?
That brings us to Speaker of the House Ramesh Tawadkar. Remember him? The constitutional custodian of the House? The neutral umpire of our democracy? Turns out he might be playing for one team. The ruling one. The one whose jersey has a lotus on it. By clipping the speaking time of Opposition MLAs, the Speaker has ensured that the Assembly remains a monologue, not a dialogue.
This isn't governance. It’s a stage play. A cruel joke on the people of Goa.
So while the BJP weeps crocodile tears over an Emergency that ended 47 years ago, maybe it should take a long, hard look at the slow-motion emergency it has manufactured today. Because if Indira Gandhi's Emergency was a 21-month nightmare, what we’re living through now is a never-ending democratic coma, dressed up as "good governance."
Of course, this “awareness campaign” wasn’t complete without Goa’s Chief Minister Pramod Sawant — the Maharashtrian helmsman of Goa, jumping aboard. In what he probably considers a visionary idea, his government now wants the 1975 Emergency immortalized in school textbooks, lest students grow up without knowing what dictatorship used to look like.
Here’s the punchline: while they harp on about a 21-month Emergency from 1975, we’ve been suffering an undeclared one for the past 11 years. Yes, the so-called double-engine sarkar has brought a high-speed train of democratic decay. The Constitution is still printed, still quoted, and still worshipped during televised oaths, but in practice? It’s become a little more than a coffee-table accessory.
Let’s talk about Goa. Over the last six years, we’ve seen freedoms that were once sacred slowly shrink into silence. Freedom of speech and expression? Only if it flatters the ruling regime. Right to protest? You can try, but don’t be shocked if your voice gets drowned out by water cannons or legal notices. Assembly sessions? Those are becoming an endangered species. The number of sitting days has been slashed so drastically, we might as well conduct governance via WhatsApp forwards or Zoom calls.
And now, just when you thought it couldn’t get more blatant, the government has decided to curtail the Opposition’s speaking time in the Assembly. Because nothing screams “democracy” like silencing the people elected to question you. We’re told this is about “discipline,” “efficiency,” and of course, “ensuring decorum.” But let’s call a spade a spade, this is the slow suffocation of dissent, the polite throttling of debate.
If the Congress back in the 70s imposed a brute-force lockdown on democracy, today’s BJP prefers the slow-drip version. Naturally, the Opposition is crying foul. Some are even calling it the Murder of Democracy. But why stop there? Let’s give it its proper name: Welcome to India’s Great Undeclared Emergency — trademark pending.
And just when your blood pressure stabilizes, along comes the radio with its nauseating praise: “Under the visionary leadership of CM Pramod Sawant…”, “Under the able guidance of CM Sawant…”—wash, rinse, repeat. If he’s truly so “visionary” and “able,” why does he seem so terrified of a handful of Opposition MLAs asking him a few tough questions?
That brings us to Speaker of the House Ramesh Tawadkar. Remember him? The constitutional custodian of the House? The neutral umpire of our democracy? Turns out he might be playing for one team. The ruling one. The one whose jersey has a lotus on it. By clipping the speaking time of Opposition MLAs, the Speaker has ensured that the Assembly remains a monologue, not a dialogue.
This isn't governance. It’s a stage play. A cruel joke on the people of Goa.
So while the BJP weeps crocodile tears over an Emergency that ended 47 years ago, maybe it should take a long, hard look at the slow-motion emergency it has manufactured today. Because if Indira Gandhi's Emergency was a 21-month nightmare, what we’re living through now is a never-ending democratic coma, dressed up as "good governance."
Thursday, 3 July 2025
Welcome to Goa – Where the Sun has set on Law and Order -- By Nisser Dias
Once upon a time, Goa was synonymous with sunsets, susegad, and sandy shores. Now? It’s making headlines for reasons that would make a crime novelist blush. Murders, rapes, acid attacks, armed robberies, and kidnappings—it’s a crime buffet, and the public is choking on it.
Let’s take a grim walk down recent memory lane.
On June 12, two minor girls were raped in Calangute. By June 22, not to be outdone, a rapist targeted an 80-year-old woman. Apparently, age is no barrier to perversion. As if that's not vile enough, an 18-year-old girl stepped forward to reveal she’s been sexually assaulted since 2021 by a 24-year-old man. Oh, and let’s not forget the private medical practitioner; a title once associated with healing—now charged with raping a nurse. In February this year 4 men raped a mentally challenged 25 years old woman at Cansaulim.
And in a shocking twist that looks more like a scene from Netflix crime series, two men on a bike threw acid on a 17-year-old boy. Goa: come for the beaches, stay for the trauma.
Now, enter our valiant police force—masters of poetic press conferences. "Organized crime", "personal disputes", "crimes of passion"—their vocabulary is worthy of a literature award. And of course, they always end on a comforting note: “We are working tirelessly to bring justice.” Tiring is right, especially for the public waiting for a shred of action while the perpetrators sip tea.
Let’s face it. Justice in Goa (or India) is not only delayed, it’s often denied. Trials drag on longer than Bollywood sequels. Witnesses grow old, memories fade, and evidence—well, if it ever existed—is “under investigation.” Gathering evidence here is still in the “baby’s first steps” phase. You could hand them a confession and they'd still ask for “further verification.”
Of course, it's not just about bodily crimes. We’ve got robberies and kidnappings too! Because why not? In April, a senior couple in their 70s were tied up and terrorized in their Dona Paula home by three armed men. A businessman in Ponda was kidnapped in broad daylight. Sunburn Festival isn’t the only thing happening in daylight anymore.
And how do our men in uniform respond? By doing what they do best—announcing initiatives. “Enhanced patrolling,” “community policing programs”— all the right buzzwords. For a week or two, they’re suddenly everywhere, then poof — back to their cozy status quo.
Try calling the police. Just try. Phones; paid for by you, dear taxpayer, ring endlessly. Calls to stations are answered with classic replies like, “No vehicle,” “Will dispatch someone,” or the ever-reassuring “No officer is around.” Apparently, criminals know better than to commit crimes when cops are actually at work.
Meanwhile, the people of Goa are angry and afraid. Violent crime is on the rise, and the sense of security has evaporated faster than government promises. Political pressure is mounting on the non-Goan Chief Minister of Goa Pramod Sawant, and rightfully so. He is, after all, the Home Minister.
Let’s be blunt: Pramod Sawant has failed. Miserably.
Instead of addressing the crime wave, he’d rather talk about roads, bridges, and statues. Ask him about law and order, and he’ll pivot to a PowerPoint about infrastructure. What’s a few acid attacks and rapes when you’ve got a fancy new sewage treatment plant to show off?
Who could forget his 2021 masterclass in victim blaming? Two 14-year-old girls raped in Benaulim, and Sawant’s response? “They shouldn’t have been out at night.” Truly revolutionary stuff. He even reminded parents it’s their job to keep children safe, as if the government and police are just decorative entities, like Christmas lights.
But if you think that’s bad, remember: Sawant is also fond of blaming the Portuguese. Colonialism, for him they are the root cause of all evil, even crimes that occurred this week. Ironically, people still recall how, during the Portuguese era, one could leave their doors open at night and sleep soundly. Simply because there was this thing called fear of the law.
That fear? It’s dead. Buried. Cremated. Under the BJP regime, law is optional, accountability is a myth, and criminals have better odds than citizens.
So, here we are. A beautiful state drowning in crime and denial, where the police are missing, the government is clueless, and the criminals? They're just getting started.
Truly, the Sun has set on law and order in Goa!
Let’s take a grim walk down recent memory lane.
On June 12, two minor girls were raped in Calangute. By June 22, not to be outdone, a rapist targeted an 80-year-old woman. Apparently, age is no barrier to perversion. As if that's not vile enough, an 18-year-old girl stepped forward to reveal she’s been sexually assaulted since 2021 by a 24-year-old man. Oh, and let’s not forget the private medical practitioner; a title once associated with healing—now charged with raping a nurse. In February this year 4 men raped a mentally challenged 25 years old woman at Cansaulim.
And in a shocking twist that looks more like a scene from Netflix crime series, two men on a bike threw acid on a 17-year-old boy. Goa: come for the beaches, stay for the trauma.
Now, enter our valiant police force—masters of poetic press conferences. "Organized crime", "personal disputes", "crimes of passion"—their vocabulary is worthy of a literature award. And of course, they always end on a comforting note: “We are working tirelessly to bring justice.” Tiring is right, especially for the public waiting for a shred of action while the perpetrators sip tea.
Let’s face it. Justice in Goa (or India) is not only delayed, it’s often denied. Trials drag on longer than Bollywood sequels. Witnesses grow old, memories fade, and evidence—well, if it ever existed—is “under investigation.” Gathering evidence here is still in the “baby’s first steps” phase. You could hand them a confession and they'd still ask for “further verification.”
Of course, it's not just about bodily crimes. We’ve got robberies and kidnappings too! Because why not? In April, a senior couple in their 70s were tied up and terrorized in their Dona Paula home by three armed men. A businessman in Ponda was kidnapped in broad daylight. Sunburn Festival isn’t the only thing happening in daylight anymore.
And how do our men in uniform respond? By doing what they do best—announcing initiatives. “Enhanced patrolling,” “community policing programs”— all the right buzzwords. For a week or two, they’re suddenly everywhere, then poof — back to their cozy status quo.
Try calling the police. Just try. Phones; paid for by you, dear taxpayer, ring endlessly. Calls to stations are answered with classic replies like, “No vehicle,” “Will dispatch someone,” or the ever-reassuring “No officer is around.” Apparently, criminals know better than to commit crimes when cops are actually at work.
Meanwhile, the people of Goa are angry and afraid. Violent crime is on the rise, and the sense of security has evaporated faster than government promises. Political pressure is mounting on the non-Goan Chief Minister of Goa Pramod Sawant, and rightfully so. He is, after all, the Home Minister.
Let’s be blunt: Pramod Sawant has failed. Miserably.
Instead of addressing the crime wave, he’d rather talk about roads, bridges, and statues. Ask him about law and order, and he’ll pivot to a PowerPoint about infrastructure. What’s a few acid attacks and rapes when you’ve got a fancy new sewage treatment plant to show off?
Who could forget his 2021 masterclass in victim blaming? Two 14-year-old girls raped in Benaulim, and Sawant’s response? “They shouldn’t have been out at night.” Truly revolutionary stuff. He even reminded parents it’s their job to keep children safe, as if the government and police are just decorative entities, like Christmas lights.
But if you think that’s bad, remember: Sawant is also fond of blaming the Portuguese. Colonialism, for him they are the root cause of all evil, even crimes that occurred this week. Ironically, people still recall how, during the Portuguese era, one could leave their doors open at night and sleep soundly. Simply because there was this thing called fear of the law.
That fear? It’s dead. Buried. Cremated. Under the BJP regime, law is optional, accountability is a myth, and criminals have better odds than citizens.
So, here we are. A beautiful state drowning in crime and denial, where the police are missing, the government is clueless, and the criminals? They're just getting started.
Truly, the Sun has set on law and order in Goa!
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