From Goa to Chennai: A Political Chess Match Between Two Goans – By Nisser Dias

Guv. Arlekar & AICC Chodankar

In a period when Goa finds itself increasingly dragged into divisive debates over religion, identity and communal polarization, it is ironic that two Goans from the same political and social background are simultaneously shaping political narratives nearly a thousand kilometres away in Tamil Nadu.

One is Rajendra Arlekar, presently occupying the constitutional office of Governor in Tamil Nadu. The other is Girish Chodankar, a senior Congress leader and All India Congress Committee observer involved in Tamil Nadu politics. Both men represent Goa in different ways, but their approaches to democracy, constitutional morality and political conduct could not be more different.

The recent political developments in Tamil Nadu have almost resembled a long-distance chess match between the two Goans. On one side stood Chodankar, attempting to negotiate political arithmetic and alliances in the post-election scenario. On the other stood Governor Arlekar, wielding the immense powers of the Raj Bhavan in deciding who should be invited to form the government.

Tamil Nadu has historically resisted central interference and has fiercely protected regional autonomy. The state’s political culture has always been rooted in anti-authoritarian Dravidian politics. Yet, the controversy following the elections once again brought to the forefront an old national debate — whether Governors appointed by the Centre act as neutral constitutional heads or political agents of the ruling party in Delhi.

Critics argue that Governor Arlekar’s conduct mirrored a larger pattern seen across India, where Governors in opposition-ruled states are often accused of delaying assent to bills, obstructing elected governments or selectively interpreting constitutional procedures. From Maharashtra to West Bengal, from Kerala to Punjab, Raj Bhavans have increasingly become battlegrounds of political confrontation. Tamil Nadu is merely the latest chapter in this ongoing struggle.

For many observers, Arlekar’s actions appeared less like those of an impartial constitutional authority and more like those of a seasoned ideological functionary carrying the political baggage of the RSS and the BJP. Instead of facilitating a smooth democratic transition, the Governor’s office appeared to become an instrument to delay or complicate the process.

Ironically, Goa itself is witnessing a similar atmosphere of polarization. Hate speeches, inflammatory social media posts, and attempts to pit one community against another have become disturbingly common. Fringe elements thrive on manufactured outrage, while political forces exploit identity divisions for electoral gains. Speakers from outside Goa are routinely invited to spread communal rhetoric, poisoning the state’s traditionally harmonious social fabric.

Against this backdrop, it becomes even more painful for many Goans to watch one of their own, Rajendra Arlekar, accused of undermining democratic norms in another state. Goa has always prided itself on moderation, co-existence and civility. Goans travelling outside the state are often respected for their balanced outlook and cosmopolitan temperament. Yet, when a Goan occupying a constitutional office is perceived as partisan, it inevitably reflects upon the image of the state itself.

On the other hand, Girish Chodankar presents an interesting contrast. Within Goa politics, Chodankar has never been without critics. During his tenure as Goa Pradesh

Congress Committee president, he faced rebellion, factionalism and internal sabotage. Many within his own party questioned his strategies and leadership style. However, even detractors concede that he managed to build relationships and maintain relevance in Tamil Nadu’s complex political environment.

While the Congress has often appeared fragmented and directionless, Tamil Nadu politics demands coalition management, ideological clarity and negotiation skills. Chodankar’s role there demonstrated his ability to operate in a politically mature and highly competitive landscape. Whether one agrees with his politics or not, he at least functioned within the democratic framework of electoral politics rather than through constitutional manipulation.

The contrast between the two Goans therefore, becomes symbolic of two very different political cultures emerging in India today.

One represents electoral politics, negotiation, alliance-building and democratic engagement. The other represents the growing centralization of power through institutions that are constitutionally expected to remain neutral.

This is not merely about Tamil Nadu. It is about the future of Indian federalism itself.

Increasingly, opposition parties across India accuse the BJP-led central government of weaponizing institutions — from the Election Commssion to Enforcement Directorate and the CBI to Governors and even constitutional bodies. Whether these accusations are entirely fair or politically exaggerated is open to debate, but the perception itself is becoming deeply entrenched in public discourse.

The BJP’s critics argue that the party’s so-called “double engine government” model often translates into relentless pressure on opposition-ruled states. Supporters, meanwhile, defend such actions as necessary for administrative accountability and national unity. But somewhere in this political battle, constitutional morality risks becoming collateral damage.

For Goans observing these events, the irony remains striking. Far away from Goa, two sons of the soil have ended up standing on opposite sides of India’s democratic fault lines.

One is trying to influence power through political persuasion.

The other is accused of influencing power through constitutional authority.

And that difference may ultimately define how history remembers them.

Vishwajit Rane: Minister by Title, Marauder by Action? – By Nisser Dias

GOA'S MARAUDER

The cracks in Goa’s land governance have split wide open—again. And once again, the spotlight falls squarely on Town and Country Planning Minister Vishwajit Rane and the department he heads.

Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has ordered the revocation of an 80,000 sqm land conversion in Maulinguem, Bicholim, categorizing it as a valley. The speed was startling—within hours, the TCP department moved to withdraw permissions. Efficient? Perhaps. But also deeply revealing.

Because this is not about one land parcel.

This is about a system.

A token action won’t cut it

Let’s be clear: Goans are not appeased by selective reversals. Revoking a single conversion is not reform—it is damage control.

What people are demanding is far more fundamental:

Scrap Section 39A entirely Revoke all conversions cleared under it Annul the final notifications issued through this route

And above all, accountability.

That accountability must begin with Vishwajit Rane. Not just questions—but consequences. Removal from the cabinet. A thorough investigation into alleged kickbacks. A full audit of every approval granted under his watch.

Anything less is cosmetic.

The convenient denial

Rane’s response has only deepened public suspicion. Claiming he was “unaware” whether his own department examined such a massive land parcel is not just implausible—it is insulting.

This is the very mechanism Section 39A was designed to enable. Large-scale land conversions, fast-tracked, often opaque.

And we are expected to believe the minister in charge knew nothing?

That narrative doesn’t hold.

It looks less like ignorance and more like an attempt to distance himself—leaving bureaucrats exposed while he searches for an escape route.

The rot runs deep

Responsibility doesn’t stop at the minister’s office. The chain of approvals—from case registration to inspection to final clearance—involves multiple senior officials.

If there is to be an investigation, it must be systemic:

CRACKS DEEPEN

Secure all files immediately Suspend and probe the officials involved Examine every step of the approval process

But the probe must start at the top. Anything else would be a deliberate diversion.

A warning ignored

This crisis didn’t emerge overnight.

Concerns around Section 39A were raised long ago. Even judicial voices like Ferdino Rebello had flagged the dangers. Citizens approached courts. Protests followed.

Local resistance intensified when MLA Viresh Borkar escalated the issue through a hunger strike , forcing the government to pause conversions in his constituency.

And yet, despite mounting pressure, the recent Assembly session ended without scrapping Section 39A—a move that left many Goans disillusioned.

A moment of reckoning

Now, with Sawant finally acting—whether out of conviction or compulsion—there is a narrow window for real change.

Every file cleared, pending, or processed under Section 39A must be reopened and scrutinized.

But this cannot be left to politicians alone. Public trust in elected representatives is at a low ebb, and not without reason.

It is up to Goans themselves to:

Destruction of Goa, under the BJP

Call out questionable conversions Demand transparency

Push for complete repeal of Section 39A

Public pressure, especially with elections on the horizon, may be the only force strong enough to compel action.


The uncomfortable truth

Here lies the dilemma.

Will Chief Minister Pramod Sawant act decisively against Vishwajit Rane?

Or will political compulsions prevail?

Because any serious action risks exposing deeper issues—not just within the TCP department, but within the broader functioning of the government itself.

That is the truth many suspect.

And that is exactly why half-measures are no longer acceptable.

Goa stands at a crossroads. This is not just about land—it is about trust, governance, and the future of the state.

The question is simple:

Will this moment lead to real accountability?

Or will it become just another chapter in a long history of convenient silence? .

Panjim has voted — But has Goa learned anything? – By Nisser Dias

Victorous father-son duo.

Will this term be different ?

Panjekars have spoken. They have elected their corporators to govern their city in the Corporation of the City of Panaji. The outcome reminds us of the old adage: people eventually get the government they vote for.

Yet many Goans had hoped for something different this time.

Across the state there was a sense that Panjim — the capital city and political nerve centre of Goa — would lead the charge for change. Goans hoped Panjekars would “inhale the future by exhaling the past.” Instead, the voters chose to remain in the same rut, giving the Bharatiya Janata Party-led panel a thumping and absolute majority.

And that is what makes the result so baffling.

For the past five years, Panjekars have been shouting from their rooftops about casinos, the chaos surrounding the Smart City works, pathetic roads, lack of parking, overflowing gutters, flooding during the monsoon, and civic mismanagement that has made everyday life miserable.

The complaints were not whispers. They were loud, angry and relentless.

The situation became so dire that even judges of the Bombay High Court had to step down from their high pedestal and walk the potholed roads and broken streets of Panjim to witness firsthand the suffering of those who live and work in Goa’s capital.

Yet when Deliverance Day arrived at the ballot box, Panjekars chose the known devil over an unknown angel.

What a tragic irony.

A couple of weeks ago, I had written an article titled “Protest Today, Freebie Tomorrow — Will Anger Turn into Votes against BJP?”.

Providence, it seems, has answered that question rather bluntly.

Anger did not translate into votes against the BJP government.

Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has already interpreted the verdict in his own way. According to him, the CCP victory is merely a “trailer for the 2027 Assembly elections.” He claims the result reflects people’s trust in his party and its governance.

Goan dreams shattered

But many Goans see a very different reality.

This government, critics argue, has presided over the steady erosion of Goa — destroying hills, fields, rivers, ponds and mangroves. Along with them disappear fragments of our culture, traditions, ecology and the Goan way of life.

The expectation was simple: Panjim would show courage. Panjekars would lead the way. The capital city would send a clear signal that the people of Goa had had enough.

That signal never came.

Instead, the same forces have been handed another mandate to continue as before.

It feels like a moment of deep disappointment.

But this is not the moment for despair.

All is not lost.

Goans must refuse to sink into resignation. We may have stumbled, but we must rise again. The struggle to protect Goa cannot end at the municipal ballot box.

Stopping the destruction of Goa is not merely about removing the BJP government. Replacing one party with another will achieve little if the same tired faces, the same political culture and the same appetite for power continue to dominate our politics.

A change of government does not automatically mean a change of mindset.

Too often in Goa, elections simply reshuffle the same actors — giving them a fresh stage from which to continue the same old plunder.

For the next five years, Panjekars will have to live with the consequences of their choice. The hardships, the civic chaos and the neglect may very well continue.

But let that be their lesson, not Goa’s destiny.

Babush Monseratte panel

wins CCP election in Panjim

When the next Assembly elections arrive, Goans across the state must resist the temptation to follow the same pattern. We must think differently. Think boldly. Think beyond parties and personalities.

Most importantly, think about saving Goa.

Saving our rolling hills and green fields.

Saving our cascading rivers and monsoon waterfalls.

Saving our mangroves, ponds, roaring seas and white beaches.

Saving the fragile ecology and cultural soul that make Goa what it is.

The next mandate should not merely elect another government.

It should be a mandate to save Goa from the clutches of politicians themselves.