The dacoits have done it again—and no, the shock isn’t just that they struck Baina. The real embarrassment is that they once again made the Goa Police look like toy soldiers marching to someone else’s tune.
This year alone, Goa has witnessed a troubling pattern.
April: Dacoits hit an elderly couple’s home in Dona Paula.
October: Another gang looted the residence of a medical doctor in Mapusa.
November: Yet another strike in Baina, Vasco.
Three major crimes. Three clean getaways. And one police force still fumbling in the dark.
But instead of answers, the top brass is busy congratulating itself for “identifying” suspects in the first two cases—followed by the stunning claim that the culprits have conveniently fled to Bangladesh. At this rate, maybe Goa should propose a diplomatic exchange programme: trade a few dacoits for the political refugee former premier of Bangladesh currently living in India. Genius, right?
It’s almost comical how creative the police become when covering up their failures.
Time for Accountability? Absolutely.
Goa’s Home Ministry deserves nothing less than a full audit—starting right from the top. The Chief Minister Pramod Sawant, the Director General of Police Alok Kumar, and his fleet of IPS officers have presided over an alarming surge in crime, a collapse of public security, and a police force that seems directionless except when it comes to protecting powerful interests.
Because when it comes to white-collar crime, suddenly the police find renewed vigour.
The cash-for-job scam: A masterclass in selective blindness
Take the cash-for-job scam. The prime accused, Pooja Naik, has named big players—Power Minister Sudin Dhavlikar, PWD Principal Chief Engineer Uttam Parsekar, and IAS officer Nikhil Dessai—as recipients of the ₹17 crore she allegedly collected from desperate job seekers.
The police response? “We need corroborative evidence.”
The Chief Minister’s response? “She’s lying.”
Has everyone suddenly forgotten what an ‘Approver’ is? The law literally defines an approver as someone who confesses and agrees to testify for the prosecution. But the police aren’t interested—because the trail clearly leads towards political power.
It’s obvious where this investigation is heading: a dead end. And Pooja, right now, looks less like a mastermind and more like a pawn being cornered to protect the king and his court.
The message to the other accused is loud and clear: Speak up and you’ll be next.
Frankly, the public is more inclined to believe Pooja than the institutions questioning her.
The Rama Kankonkar Case: An express charge-sheet.
The recent thousand-page charge-sheet filed in the Rama Kankonkar case. Everyone knows how this story will end: an acquittal born out of half-baked investigation.
Rama reportedly named the mastermind—but the police, once again, chose not to believe the victim. The pattern is unmistakable. The moment a trail hints at political involvement, the police clamp up, redirect, and bury the core of the case.
Adding to the suspicion, the charge-sheet was filed in a record 60 days—despite the law allowing 90 when the accused are in custody. Why the hurry? What’s the rush? The pressure to wrap things up quickly feels less like efficiency and more like facilitating bail, smoothing exits, and ensuring nothing truly incriminating survives scrutiny.
A state where crime thrives and accountability dies
Across all these incidents—dacoities, scams, and high-profile cases—the common denominator is painfully clear: a compromised, poorly led police force that appears more committed to managing political fallout than protecting Goa’s citizens.
Goa deserves leadership rooted in responsibility, not excuses. A police force driven by integrity, not convenience. And a government that understands that public trust isn’t a hereditary right—it’s earned.
Until then, Goa’s law and order machinery will remain what it has unfortunately become: a farce operating under an administration that has lost the plot.
Wednesday, 19 November 2025
Tuesday, 4 November 2025
The Circle of Irony: When the “Ghantis” Want Their Pound of Flesh -- By Nisser Dias
The late Mike Mehta once produced and directed a tiatr titled “Goem Vinklem Ghanttar” — Goa Sold to Outsiders.
How prophetic that title sounds today. Because even as Goans laid Mehta to rest, a Kannadiga migrant — whom we call a ‘ghanti’ — was demanding an Assembly ticket for Cortalim.
Let’s be blunt:
For us Goans, ‘ghanti’ was never meant to be an insult. It simply meant someone from across the ghats. But over time, that meaning has twisted — not because we changed it, but because the reality around us did.
Today, the ‘ghanti’ population has multiplied, and with it, the power they wield. Siddhanna Meti, president of the All Goa Kannada Mahasangh, has boldly asked his mentor — Panchayat Minister Mauvin Godinho — to grant a ticket to a Kannadiga candidate for Cortalim Assembly constituency. His reasoning? The migrant majority now decides who wins there. How poetic — and tragic.
There’s an old saying: “A rose plant often bites the hand that weeds it.” Godinho, who represents Cortalim, nurtured this very population — settling them in Sancoale and the neighbouring villages, ensuring their loyalty at the polls. And now, the creation turns on the creator.
Let’s not kid ourselves: Goan politicians have always thrived on migrant votes. From Margao to St. Cruz, Taleigao to Mapusa — this pattern repeats. Politicians like Digambar Kamat and Mauvin Godinho built their empires on this migrant vote bank.
Now those same migrants are demanding their pound of flesh. We Goans saw the threat coming — but we chose denial over action.
Sancoale’s panchayat has long had migrant representatives. It even elected a sarpanch from the migrant community. There was a flicker of outrage online — and then silence. Just like always.
Meanwhile, Meti, the ‘ghanti’, is openly asking for a ticket. Why not? When we already have Ranes, Sawants, and Parabs — none of them truly Goan — ruling the roost?
Let’s call a spade a spade.
Pratapsing Rane, a non-Goan, held the Chief Minister’s chair for 19 years. Pramod Sawant, current CM another non-Goan, carries the late Parrikar’s legacy. Manoj Parab? Yet another outsider vying for Goan legitimacy.
Sawant says living here for 15 years makes one a Goan. Parab claims anyone born post-1961 is automatically Goan. Both are wrong. Being Goan isn’t about residency or paperwork. It’s in our DNA — our culture, our humility, our identity, our Goenkarponn.
Remember “Farar Far,” the Konkani classic by Lorna and Anthony San? It recalls the Ranes — mercenaries imported by the Portuguese who later rebelled. History has a cruel way of repeating itself. Today, the same pattern emerges. The ‘ghantis’ we allowed in, the ones our politicians cultivated, are now demanding their share of power.
This isn’t just politics. It’s the beginning of an identity crisis — the slow erosion of everything that makes Goa Goa.
So let’s be clear: You can settle here. You can live here. You can even run for office. But for Goans, a ‘ghanti’ will always be a ‘ghanti.’ And if we don’t wake up soon, Goem vinklem ghanttar won’t just be the name of a tiatr. It’ll be our reality.
Let’s be blunt:
For us Goans, ‘ghanti’ was never meant to be an insult. It simply meant someone from across the ghats. But over time, that meaning has twisted — not because we changed it, but because the reality around us did.
Today, the ‘ghanti’ population has multiplied, and with it, the power they wield. Siddhanna Meti, president of the All Goa Kannada Mahasangh, has boldly asked his mentor — Panchayat Minister Mauvin Godinho — to grant a ticket to a Kannadiga candidate for Cortalim Assembly constituency. His reasoning? The migrant majority now decides who wins there. How poetic — and tragic.
There’s an old saying: “A rose plant often bites the hand that weeds it.” Godinho, who represents Cortalim, nurtured this very population — settling them in Sancoale and the neighbouring villages, ensuring their loyalty at the polls. And now, the creation turns on the creator.
Let’s not kid ourselves: Goan politicians have always thrived on migrant votes. From Margao to St. Cruz, Taleigao to Mapusa — this pattern repeats. Politicians like Digambar Kamat and Mauvin Godinho built their empires on this migrant vote bank.
Now those same migrants are demanding their pound of flesh. We Goans saw the threat coming — but we chose denial over action.
Sancoale’s panchayat has long had migrant representatives. It even elected a sarpanch from the migrant community. There was a flicker of outrage online — and then silence. Just like always.
Meanwhile, Meti, the ‘ghanti’, is openly asking for a ticket. Why not? When we already have Ranes, Sawants, and Parabs — none of them truly Goan — ruling the roost?
Let’s call a spade a spade.
Pratapsing Rane, a non-Goan, held the Chief Minister’s chair for 19 years. Pramod Sawant, current CM another non-Goan, carries the late Parrikar’s legacy. Manoj Parab? Yet another outsider vying for Goan legitimacy.
Sawant says living here for 15 years makes one a Goan. Parab claims anyone born post-1961 is automatically Goan. Both are wrong. Being Goan isn’t about residency or paperwork. It’s in our DNA — our culture, our humility, our identity, our Goenkarponn.
Remember “Farar Far,” the Konkani classic by Lorna and Anthony San? It recalls the Ranes — mercenaries imported by the Portuguese who later rebelled. History has a cruel way of repeating itself. Today, the same pattern emerges. The ‘ghantis’ we allowed in, the ones our politicians cultivated, are now demanding their share of power.
This isn’t just politics. It’s the beginning of an identity crisis — the slow erosion of everything that makes Goa Goa.
So let’s be clear: You can settle here. You can live here. You can even run for office. But for Goans, a ‘ghanti’ will always be a ‘ghanti.’ And if we don’t wake up soon, Goem vinklem ghanttar won’t just be the name of a tiatr. It’ll be our reality.
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