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."
Wednesday, 9 July 2025
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!
Thursday, 26 June 2025
Power, "Shashtang Dandavat" and Political Amnesia: Goa’s greatest hits of hypocrisy - By Nisser Dias
Ah, Goa. Land of beaches, feni, and a political theatre so rich, it makes Bollywood look like an amateur class. On June 22, 2025, the state witnessed yet another blockbuster performance; this time starring ex-Art and Culture Minister Govind Gaude, who decided to end his speech not with a mic drop, but with a partly ‘surya namaskar’.
Yes, you read that right. Gaude, freshly ousted from his ministerial chair, went full "Shashtang Dandavat", prostrating on stage with folded hands, hoping the gods of electoral mercy (read: voters) would bless him with a second chance. A performance worthy of a lifetime achievement award in political melodrama. Of course, he’s not alone in this cringe-worthy quest for public sympathy. Let’s rewind to June 14, 2020, when Goa Forward Party supremo and Fatorda MLA Vijay Sardessai, on his 50th birthday, begged Goans to forgive him for his "political mistake" to support the BJP post-Parrikar. Conveniently, this realization came right after he was dropped as Deputy CM. Timing, as they say, is everything.
And speaking of crocodile tears, let’s not forget our arrogant Vishwajit Rane. The Health Minister, who once begged late CM Manohar Parrikar to accept him into the BJP fold, has become Goa’s poster child for performative penitence. A classic case of “cry when you’re down, roar when you’re up.”
But behind every apology is a history lesson we’d do well to remember. Take Rane, who just this month lashed out at Dr. Rudresh Kuttikar, the Chief Medical Officer at Goa Medical College, proving yet again that arrogance doesn’t retire, it just recalibrates based on power.
Let’s not be fooled, this isn’t character development. It’s a re-run.
Back in 2019, Vijay Sardessai, then Deputy CM, slapped a phone out of a civic officer’s hand. When public pressure reached a boiling point, he switched gears from ‘Hulk’ mode to humble servant, issuing an apology like a kid caught cheating during finals. He’s also lashed out at journalists because asking questions is apparently a cardinal sin in his kingdom.
And remember the time Sardessai, as TCP Minister, lined up bouncers in the Town and Country Planning office like it was a nightclub in Baga? Govind Gaude, too, showed us what "cultural leadership" really means, by hurling abuse at the director of the Tribal Affairs department for allowing an NGO to hold a camp to educate lower section of the society of government schemes and their rights. Lashing out at journalists, activists, and even artists who dared question his Kala Academy renovation project, which, by the way, had more red flags than a Communist rally had become a norm for him.
But here's the kicker: once the chair gets pulled from under them, these very same men suddenly discover the spiritual power of humility. They apologize. They cry. They literally lie on the floor. Not because they’ve changed, but because they want your vote.
So let’s call it what it is: a seasonal shedding of arrogance disguised as repentance. When in power, they strut. When out of power, they crawl. Goa doesn’t need more dramatics. It needs accountability, memory, and voters with long attention spans. Because if we keep rewarding bad actors (read: politicians) with encore performances, they’ll keep rewriting the script to suit their egos, not our futures.
Yes, you read that right. Gaude, freshly ousted from his ministerial chair, went full "Shashtang Dandavat", prostrating on stage with folded hands, hoping the gods of electoral mercy (read: voters) would bless him with a second chance. A performance worthy of a lifetime achievement award in political melodrama. Of course, he’s not alone in this cringe-worthy quest for public sympathy. Let’s rewind to June 14, 2020, when Goa Forward Party supremo and Fatorda MLA Vijay Sardessai, on his 50th birthday, begged Goans to forgive him for his "political mistake" to support the BJP post-Parrikar. Conveniently, this realization came right after he was dropped as Deputy CM. Timing, as they say, is everything.
And speaking of crocodile tears, let’s not forget our arrogant Vishwajit Rane. The Health Minister, who once begged late CM Manohar Parrikar to accept him into the BJP fold, has become Goa’s poster child for performative penitence. A classic case of “cry when you’re down, roar when you’re up.”
But behind every apology is a history lesson we’d do well to remember. Take Rane, who just this month lashed out at Dr. Rudresh Kuttikar, the Chief Medical Officer at Goa Medical College, proving yet again that arrogance doesn’t retire, it just recalibrates based on power.
Let’s not be fooled, this isn’t character development. It’s a re-run.
Back in 2019, Vijay Sardessai, then Deputy CM, slapped a phone out of a civic officer’s hand. When public pressure reached a boiling point, he switched gears from ‘Hulk’ mode to humble servant, issuing an apology like a kid caught cheating during finals. He’s also lashed out at journalists because asking questions is apparently a cardinal sin in his kingdom.
And remember the time Sardessai, as TCP Minister, lined up bouncers in the Town and Country Planning office like it was a nightclub in Baga? Govind Gaude, too, showed us what "cultural leadership" really means, by hurling abuse at the director of the Tribal Affairs department for allowing an NGO to hold a camp to educate lower section of the society of government schemes and their rights. Lashing out at journalists, activists, and even artists who dared question his Kala Academy renovation project, which, by the way, had more red flags than a Communist rally had become a norm for him.
But here's the kicker: once the chair gets pulled from under them, these very same men suddenly discover the spiritual power of humility. They apologize. They cry. They literally lie on the floor. Not because they’ve changed, but because they want your vote.
So let’s call it what it is: a seasonal shedding of arrogance disguised as repentance. When in power, they strut. When out of power, they crawl. Goa doesn’t need more dramatics. It needs accountability, memory, and voters with long attention spans. Because if we keep rewarding bad actors (read: politicians) with encore performances, they’ll keep rewriting the script to suit their egos, not our futures.
Thursday, 19 June 2025
Govind Gaude's ouster: A smokescreen for Goa's corrupt regime -- By Nisser Dias
The recent removal of Goa's infamous Art and Culture Minister Govind Gaude from the BJP-led government has sparked a storm of discussion across the state. On the surface, it appears to be a routine reshuffle, well within the constitutional prerogative of Chief Minister Pramod Sawant. But a closer look reveals a far more sinister reality—one that exposes the rot festering deep within the corridors of Goa's BJP regime.
For months, citizens and artists clamoured for Gaude's dismissal following the scandalous, shoddy renovation of the iconic Kala Academy. But Chief Minister Sawant shielded his minister, consistently blaming contractors and deflecting all responsibility. His unwavering support for Gaude raises one uncomfortable question: Why now? What changed?
The answer lies in a bombshell revelation that shook the BJP government to its core: Govind Gaude dared to accuse Chief Minister Sawant of corruption in the Tribal Welfare Department, which Sawant himself heads. When the opposition seized on these explosive allegations, Sawant found himself cornered, his image tarnished and his moral authority crumbling. And yet, instead of immediately sacking Gaude to assert his innocence, Sawant resorted to his usual tactic, outsourcing his discretion to instructions from his political masters in New Delhi.
This cowardly delay only proves one thing: Govind Gaude wasn’t fired for his incompetence or failures as a minister—he was axed for breaking the unspoken code of silence and daring to challenge the Chief Minister’s corruption.
But this is not an isolated incident. The rot in Goa's governance runs far deeper. Former Governor Satya Pal Malik, the very constitutional head of the state, publicly accused Chief Minister Sawant of direct corruption. Malik even brought his concerns to Prime Minister Narendra Modi, expecting accountability. Instead of confronting these grave charges, Sawant used his influence in Delhi to oust Malik—a blatant abuse of power that underscores the BJP’s willingness to suppress truth to preserve its stranglehold on Goa.
Pramod Sawant, a non-Goan parachuted into power by late Manohar Parrikar and the RSS, had the audacity to promise 'strict action' against corruption in 2024. But every passing scandal exposes his hollow rhetoric. If Sawant truly stands for clean governance, why not begin by investigating the allegations against himself? The cash-for-jobs scandal stands as one of the most damning indictments of Sawant's leadership. This explosive controversy revealed the systemic rot within government hiring practices, leaving the administration humiliated and discredited. Under Sawant, governance in Goa has degenerated into organized looting—a brazen mockery of democratic principles.
The unlawful demolition of a house in Assagao, reportedly facilitated by collusion between politicians, police, and land sharks, further unmasked the nexus of corruption choking Goa. Former Director General of Police Jaspal Singh acting as an enforcer for powerful vested interests, laid bare just how compromised the state's institutions have become. When the heat started building he was packed to Delhi.
And then there is the murky case of former Chief Secretary Puneet Goel, hurriedly transferred to Delhi after revelations that he allegedly manipulated land-use designations to purchase prime property in Aldona. His swift transfer speaks volumes about the BJP government's desperation to sweep its corruption under the rug. The pattern is undeniable: under Pramod Sawant's leadership, corruption has become institutionalized. Goa today is not governed; it is plundered.
Govind Gaude's ouster is not a victory for accountability—it is a warning. A warning that in Sawant's Goa, the real crime isn’t corruption—it’s exposing it. The Chief Minister has long since forfeited any moral right to continue in office. For the sake of Goa’s dignity and its democratic future, Pramod Sawant and his tainted cabinet must resign immediately.
For months, citizens and artists clamoured for Gaude's dismissal following the scandalous, shoddy renovation of the iconic Kala Academy. But Chief Minister Sawant shielded his minister, consistently blaming contractors and deflecting all responsibility. His unwavering support for Gaude raises one uncomfortable question: Why now? What changed?
The answer lies in a bombshell revelation that shook the BJP government to its core: Govind Gaude dared to accuse Chief Minister Sawant of corruption in the Tribal Welfare Department, which Sawant himself heads. When the opposition seized on these explosive allegations, Sawant found himself cornered, his image tarnished and his moral authority crumbling. And yet, instead of immediately sacking Gaude to assert his innocence, Sawant resorted to his usual tactic, outsourcing his discretion to instructions from his political masters in New Delhi.
This cowardly delay only proves one thing: Govind Gaude wasn’t fired for his incompetence or failures as a minister—he was axed for breaking the unspoken code of silence and daring to challenge the Chief Minister’s corruption.
But this is not an isolated incident. The rot in Goa's governance runs far deeper. Former Governor Satya Pal Malik, the very constitutional head of the state, publicly accused Chief Minister Sawant of direct corruption. Malik even brought his concerns to Prime Minister Narendra Modi, expecting accountability. Instead of confronting these grave charges, Sawant used his influence in Delhi to oust Malik—a blatant abuse of power that underscores the BJP’s willingness to suppress truth to preserve its stranglehold on Goa.
Pramod Sawant, a non-Goan parachuted into power by late Manohar Parrikar and the RSS, had the audacity to promise 'strict action' against corruption in 2024. But every passing scandal exposes his hollow rhetoric. If Sawant truly stands for clean governance, why not begin by investigating the allegations against himself? The cash-for-jobs scandal stands as one of the most damning indictments of Sawant's leadership. This explosive controversy revealed the systemic rot within government hiring practices, leaving the administration humiliated and discredited. Under Sawant, governance in Goa has degenerated into organized looting—a brazen mockery of democratic principles.
The unlawful demolition of a house in Assagao, reportedly facilitated by collusion between politicians, police, and land sharks, further unmasked the nexus of corruption choking Goa. Former Director General of Police Jaspal Singh acting as an enforcer for powerful vested interests, laid bare just how compromised the state's institutions have become. When the heat started building he was packed to Delhi.
And then there is the murky case of former Chief Secretary Puneet Goel, hurriedly transferred to Delhi after revelations that he allegedly manipulated land-use designations to purchase prime property in Aldona. His swift transfer speaks volumes about the BJP government's desperation to sweep its corruption under the rug. The pattern is undeniable: under Pramod Sawant's leadership, corruption has become institutionalized. Goa today is not governed; it is plundered.
Govind Gaude's ouster is not a victory for accountability—it is a warning. A warning that in Sawant's Goa, the real crime isn’t corruption—it’s exposing it. The Chief Minister has long since forfeited any moral right to continue in office. For the sake of Goa’s dignity and its democratic future, Pramod Sawant and his tainted cabinet must resign immediately.
Tuesday, 10 June 2025
White Coats, Black Hearts: Goa’s government doctors must be held accountable. – By Nisser Dias
Since June 7, Health Minister Vishwajit Rane has been rightly slammed for his autocratic dressing down of Dr. Rudresh Kuttikar, the Chief Medical Officer at Goa Medical College (GMC). But while the spotlight has remained fixed on Rane’s conduct, it's high time we shift our focus to the other side of the story — the unchecked arrogance and systemic apathy displayed by government doctors, nurses, and medical staff at GMC and other state-run facilities.
Let’s not pretend any longer that these doctors are saints in white coats. On a daily basis, patients and their families are subjected to the same kind of high-handedness and rudeness from medical staff that Rane is being condemned for. The only difference? Doctors do it behind closed doors, under the guise of service, and often without witnesses.
Speak to anyone who has stepped into GMC or any government hospital in Goa — their stories are not of care and compassion but of distress, humiliation, and dehumanization. Patients are often treated like a burden, families like intruders. The government healthcare system, meant to be a safety net, instead feels like a battleground where dignity is the first casualty.
If one does not know a politician, a doctor or a nurse working in GMC or uses external influence, the patients and the relatives are treated like dirt by the same doctors. Take the most recent example: the Bicholim Health Centre has a board that reads “No Entry for Media Persons.” Who gave them the authority to shut out the press? This brazen display of overreach shows how emboldened government doctors have become. With Rane momentarily cornered, doctors now seem to think they are a law unto themselves.
And now, as if irony had a sense of humour, the Indian Medical Association (IMA) and the Goa Association of Resident Doctors (GARD) are up in arms, demanding a public apology from the minister himself — right inside the casualty ward. Not only that, they’re pushing for a slew of unreasonable demands designed to shield them from scrutiny and responsibility.
One of the demands is no VIP culture, ironically they bowed down to the requests of the CM who also is VIP.
Let’s not forget: these very same doctors, whether at GMC, urban clinics, or rural health centres, were educated and are salaried through public money — taxpayer money. Every Goan has contributed to their degrees and continues to fund their monthly salaries and perks. Their service is not a favour; it is a duty.
But what we’re seeing is a disturbing trend: an elite class of government doctors acting with the same entitlement and impunity as Goa’s notorious tourist taxi operators. Like the cabbies who bully tourists and refuse competition, these doctors want to control healthcare on their own terms — no questions asked, no answers given.
We made a mistake once by allowing the taxi mafia to fester unchecked due to political cowardice and vote-bank politics. Let us not repeat that blunder with the healthcare system. We cannot let a privileged few hijack an entire public service.
Accountability is not optional — it is non-negotiable. Government doctors are public servants. That title comes with responsibility, not immunity. If they expect respect, they must earn it through service, not demand it through threats, strikes, and entitlement.
To be absolutely clear: Goans are not asking for miracles. We are demanding humane treatment, transparency, and professionalism; the bare minimum any taxpayer deserves. It’s time government doctors come down from their pedestal and remember who they truly work for.
Let’s not pretend any longer that these doctors are saints in white coats. On a daily basis, patients and their families are subjected to the same kind of high-handedness and rudeness from medical staff that Rane is being condemned for. The only difference? Doctors do it behind closed doors, under the guise of service, and often without witnesses.
Speak to anyone who has stepped into GMC or any government hospital in Goa — their stories are not of care and compassion but of distress, humiliation, and dehumanization. Patients are often treated like a burden, families like intruders. The government healthcare system, meant to be a safety net, instead feels like a battleground where dignity is the first casualty.
If one does not know a politician, a doctor or a nurse working in GMC or uses external influence, the patients and the relatives are treated like dirt by the same doctors. Take the most recent example: the Bicholim Health Centre has a board that reads “No Entry for Media Persons.” Who gave them the authority to shut out the press? This brazen display of overreach shows how emboldened government doctors have become. With Rane momentarily cornered, doctors now seem to think they are a law unto themselves.
And now, as if irony had a sense of humour, the Indian Medical Association (IMA) and the Goa Association of Resident Doctors (GARD) are up in arms, demanding a public apology from the minister himself — right inside the casualty ward. Not only that, they’re pushing for a slew of unreasonable demands designed to shield them from scrutiny and responsibility.
One of the demands is no VIP culture, ironically they bowed down to the requests of the CM who also is VIP.
Let’s not forget: these very same doctors, whether at GMC, urban clinics, or rural health centres, were educated and are salaried through public money — taxpayer money. Every Goan has contributed to their degrees and continues to fund their monthly salaries and perks. Their service is not a favour; it is a duty.
But what we’re seeing is a disturbing trend: an elite class of government doctors acting with the same entitlement and impunity as Goa’s notorious tourist taxi operators. Like the cabbies who bully tourists and refuse competition, these doctors want to control healthcare on their own terms — no questions asked, no answers given.
We made a mistake once by allowing the taxi mafia to fester unchecked due to political cowardice and vote-bank politics. Let us not repeat that blunder with the healthcare system. We cannot let a privileged few hijack an entire public service.
Accountability is not optional — it is non-negotiable. Government doctors are public servants. That title comes with responsibility, not immunity. If they expect respect, they must earn it through service, not demand it through threats, strikes, and entitlement.
To be absolutely clear: Goans are not asking for miracles. We are demanding humane treatment, transparency, and professionalism; the bare minimum any taxpayer deserves. It’s time government doctors come down from their pedestal and remember who they truly work for.
Sunday, 8 June 2025
Rane’s authority crumbles: When arrogance meets its Master. – By Nisser Dias
The self-styled strongman of Goa’s health ministry had boasted of a two-year suspension. But when the dust settled, his bravado evaporated faster than the ink on the suspension order. What was meant to be a demonstration of power ended up as a spectacular self-goal, exposing Rane’s inflated ego and authoritarian impulse. After all the tough talk no apologies, no reconsiderations — Rane was forced to eat humble pie. He apologized to Dr. Kuttikar and his family. But let’s be clear: his apology wasn’t born from remorse. It was wrenched out of him by a tide of public outrage and stiff resistance from the medical fraternity. This was no change of heart — he was forced to retreat, an act of political survival, not contrition.
Is this the mark of a leader or the confession of a coward?
If Rane retains even a shred of self-respect, the only honourable path left is resignation. But that would require courage — something he has consistently failed to show. He’s good at throwing his weight around against government employees, but he folds like a house of cards when faced with the people of Goa or the authority of the Chief Minister in this particular case. Let’s not forget — this isn’t the first time Vishwajit Rane has backed down under public pressure. Flashback to 2019: Rane bulldozed a plan to bring an IIT to Shel-Melauli, grabbing 10 lakh square meters of land in his own constituency. When locals rose in protest, he unleashed police force. But the people didn’t flinch. Rane, seeing his plan fall apart, made a U-turn and claimed, “I am with the public.”
Sounds familiar?
The same script repeated with Pernem’s draft zoning plan — an outrageous attempt to turn 21% of the region’s green cover into concrete in the name of “development.” Again, the people stood up. Again, Rane ran. And again, he mouthed the same tired line: “I am with the public.”
Now, in a fresh episode of political theatre, he says he is “with the patients.” Today, he has apologized to Dr. Kuttikar. Tomorrow, he may issue another suspension. This isn’t leadership. It’s opportunism wearing the mask of public service.
But revoking the doctor’s suspension is just the surface. The deeper issue is the absolute unsuitability of Vishwajit Rane to continue holding the health portfolio — or any ministry, for that matter. His track record screams of overreach, arrogance, and repeated policy fiascos.
So why isn’t Chief Minister Pramod Sawant sacking him?
Because he can’t. Sawant, a CM in title but not in authority, has outsourced real power to Delhi. Everyone in Goa knows this. Despite holding constitutional discretion to drop ministers, Sawant is handcuffed by political compulsions and central diktats. He didn’t remove Cultural Minister Govind Gaude despite public allegations of corruption. Can he even dream of removing Rane? Highly unlikely.
What makes this more farcical is the open, simmering cold war between the two. Rane has never hidden his ambition to occupy the Chief Minister’s chair. At every turn, he attempts to undercut Sawant — painting him as weak, ineffective, and out of touch.
But in this latest episode, it’s Sawant who played the masterstroke. By reversing Rane’s rash suspension order, he not only reined in an unruly minister but also exposed the hollowness behind Rane’s chest-thumping.
Let this be a lesson to every leader who mistakes arrogance for strength and intimidation for governance: Power is not about ordering suspensions — it’s about earning respect.
And that, Minister Rane, is something you’ve lost.
Saturday, 7 June 2025
Injection Denied, Dignity Lost: Vishwajit Rane’s tirade unmasked GMC’s culture of arrogance. – By Nisser Dias
The veil shielding the conduct of doctors, nurses, and staff at Goa’s premier medical institution — Goa Medical College (GMC) — has been ruthlessly torn down. And ironically, the man who pulled it down, Health Minister Vishwajit Rane, exposed his own authoritarian underbelly in the same breath.
In an appalling public spectacle, Rane demanded the immediate suspension of Dr. Rudresh Kuttikar, Chief Medical Officer of the casualty block throwing the rule book out of the window. But it wasn’t just the demand — it was the crude, aggressive language Rane used that laid bare the rot at the top: “Get out,” “Shut up,” “Kick him out of here,” “Go home.” This wasn’t a minister reprimanding a subordinate — it was a man drunk on power, playing to the cameras in a staged display of might.
If the Health Minister hoped to shine light on the dysfunctional state of GMC, he also managed to shine a spotlight on his own abrasive, undemocratic methods. The incident was sparked by a journalist who, on being turned away from a closed Urban Health Centre, took his elderly parents to the GMC casualty ward for an injection, upon a senior medic’s advice. Dr. Rudresh, however, refused to administer the shot. The senior medic intervened again, asked the ward staff to proceed, and the injections were finally given. But that wasn’t the end.
The journalist, understandably disturbed, escalated the issue to none other than the Health Minister. What followed was an orchestrated descent into chaos — Rane stormed into GMC with a convoy of media personnel, unleashed a tirade on Dr. Kuttikar, and ordered his removal in front of staff, patients, and cameras.
Let’s be clear: neither party came out looking good. Dr. Rudresh's behavior was inhumane and unacceptable. But Rane’s response — public humiliation, profanity, and a total disregard for procedural decorum — was equally reprehensible.
Two wrongs never make a right, and in this case, they exposed a systemic failure. The buck, as always, stops somewhere — and this time, it stops squarely at the feet of Vishwajit Rane. This is not a one-off incident. It is a damning indictment of the culture he has cultivated over the 13 years he’s helmed the health ministry — first under Congress (2007–2012), and then BJP (2017–2025). If GMC doctors and staff reek of arrogance and apathy, it’s because the rot starts at the top.
The minister had a golden opportunity — in that very moment — to lead by example. To urge his medical staff to show humility, to reinforce compassion and humanity. Instead, he chose to perform. And in doing so, revealed that he too lacks the very qualities he sought to demand.
Sure, Rane may have modernized facilities at GMC. But what use are next-gen machines if a patient has to beg for a basic injection? What does it say about our healthcare system if the elderly must wait on personal influence and phone calls to receive routine care?
This time, it was a journalist — someone with access to power. But what about the common man? The daily wage earner? The migrant worker? If this is how the system treats the informed, what hope does the voiceless have?
The legendary arrogance of GMC’s staff isn’t new. But Rane’s display only reinforced the culture. A health minister cannot lead by screaming, nor can he fire people like he’s running a personal estate. Goa Medical College is not your paichem bhens — your father’s land — Mr. Rane. It is a public institution governed by law, not by the whims of an entitled minister on a power trip. And if this is how he rules a ministry, God help Goa if he ever rules the state.
In an appalling public spectacle, Rane demanded the immediate suspension of Dr. Rudresh Kuttikar, Chief Medical Officer of the casualty block throwing the rule book out of the window. But it wasn’t just the demand — it was the crude, aggressive language Rane used that laid bare the rot at the top: “Get out,” “Shut up,” “Kick him out of here,” “Go home.” This wasn’t a minister reprimanding a subordinate — it was a man drunk on power, playing to the cameras in a staged display of might.
If the Health Minister hoped to shine light on the dysfunctional state of GMC, he also managed to shine a spotlight on his own abrasive, undemocratic methods. The incident was sparked by a journalist who, on being turned away from a closed Urban Health Centre, took his elderly parents to the GMC casualty ward for an injection, upon a senior medic’s advice. Dr. Rudresh, however, refused to administer the shot. The senior medic intervened again, asked the ward staff to proceed, and the injections were finally given. But that wasn’t the end.
The journalist, understandably disturbed, escalated the issue to none other than the Health Minister. What followed was an orchestrated descent into chaos — Rane stormed into GMC with a convoy of media personnel, unleashed a tirade on Dr. Kuttikar, and ordered his removal in front of staff, patients, and cameras.
Let’s be clear: neither party came out looking good. Dr. Rudresh's behavior was inhumane and unacceptable. But Rane’s response — public humiliation, profanity, and a total disregard for procedural decorum — was equally reprehensible.
Two wrongs never make a right, and in this case, they exposed a systemic failure. The buck, as always, stops somewhere — and this time, it stops squarely at the feet of Vishwajit Rane. This is not a one-off incident. It is a damning indictment of the culture he has cultivated over the 13 years he’s helmed the health ministry — first under Congress (2007–2012), and then BJP (2017–2025). If GMC doctors and staff reek of arrogance and apathy, it’s because the rot starts at the top.
The minister had a golden opportunity — in that very moment — to lead by example. To urge his medical staff to show humility, to reinforce compassion and humanity. Instead, he chose to perform. And in doing so, revealed that he too lacks the very qualities he sought to demand.
Sure, Rane may have modernized facilities at GMC. But what use are next-gen machines if a patient has to beg for a basic injection? What does it say about our healthcare system if the elderly must wait on personal influence and phone calls to receive routine care?
This time, it was a journalist — someone with access to power. But what about the common man? The daily wage earner? The migrant worker? If this is how the system treats the informed, what hope does the voiceless have?
The legendary arrogance of GMC’s staff isn’t new. But Rane’s display only reinforced the culture. A health minister cannot lead by screaming, nor can he fire people like he’s running a personal estate. Goa Medical College is not your paichem bhens — your father’s land — Mr. Rane. It is a public institution governed by law, not by the whims of an entitled minister on a power trip. And if this is how he rules a ministry, God help Goa if he ever rules the state.
Tuesday, 8 April 2025
Classroom Heat, Assembly Chill: Goa’s New Education Mantra -- BY Nisser Dias
Let’s not be ungrateful. The same government that can’t commit to a full Assembly session without breaking into hives has gallantly committed children to an additional month of schooling. Where sunscreen turns to soup and ceiling fans develop inferiority complexes. It’s part of NEP’s noble vision to prepare children for “national and global challenges”— starting with surviving climate change indoors, without air conditioning.
Chief Minister Pramod Sawant, the man of many ministries and even more microphones, has shown true leadership — by skipping full discussion on NEP in the House and fast-tracking it into classrooms like a syllabus on Red Bull.
Infrastructure? Ah, mere details! After all, NEP is about developing higher-order thinking, not basic necessities like buildings or trained teachers. If kids can learn perseverance, surely they can also learn to ignore sweating through their uniforms in classrooms designed during the Jurassic period.
And if you think the NEP was debated properly before being enforced, think again. The Assembly session that tried to raise the issue ended faster than a Goan monsoon. Perhaps the Chief Minister feared that the Opposition would expose the grand disconnect between policy ambition and reality—or worse, force him to answer questions. Critical thinking is encouraged in students, not in elected officials. They prefer their sessions brief and their egos long.
Now, the NEP says we need to teach empathy, leadership, communication. Beautiful! Maybe someday that can be extended to MLAs—especially the ones who rely on bureaucrats to explain basic governance, or those whose only experience in communication is forwarding WhatsApp messages with typos.
Let us also appreciate how the government, while advocating curriculum transformation, has decided to transform history instead. Out with uncomfortable facts, in with the fantasy edition of the past — where apparently no one ever disagreed, and everyone wore saffron.
Of course, many parents are asking: what happens to the two-month vacation where kids usually pursue music, sports, or the age-old art of doing nothing with great enthusiasm? Why is it now being hijacked by policy experiments designed in Delhi and executed in Goa like a surprise math test? Because, dear readers, unlike Assembly sessions, child development can’t be postponed. The Goa government simply cares too much.
Let’s take a moment to imagine an NEP-inspired Assembly session—longer hours, skill development, teamwork, soft skills. Perhaps MLAs could be given role-plays: one plays an angry citizen, one a confused CM, and one, of course, plays Delhi. But alas, no such luck. Our legislators prefer soft cushions to soft skills.<
In conclusion, while students learn to debate, collaborate, and adapt under the NEP, the political class leads by inverse example: avoiding questions, abbreviating responsibility, and sweating only when the microphones are on.
Maybe that’s the real lesson: Do as we say, not as we legislate.
Monday, 27 January 2025
"From reverence to disregard — If this is how Divinity is treated, what about the people? -- By Nisser Dias
MLA Venzy Viegas, is this how you show respect to Divinity? Your actions reflect a deeper attitude: Use. Misuse. Abuse. Discard."
With much pomp and gaiety, the Benaulim MLA had erected a crib in a pond at Tolleaband-Pulwaddo in Benaulim greeting his constituents ‘Christmas and a New Year 2025.
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