There was a time when Goa was known not just for its sun-kissed beaches, vibrant susegad lifestyle, and Indo-Portuguese charm, but for something far more intangible — its soul. That soul was a blend of harmony, humility, rootedness, and resilience. It pulsed through our old Latin quarters, echoed in our tiatr plays, and shimmered gently in our evening aartis and Sunday masses. But today, if one walks through the commercial chaos of Calangute or the sterile steel of Panjim’s new high-rises, a question lingers — where did that soul go?
Goa began to lose its soul the moment it tried to mimic Delhi’s swagger, with dreams sold to us by those who neither understood Goa nor respected it. We were told we could become the Singapore of India — clean, smart, digitized. Some fantasized about turning Goa into a second Macau — casinos, high-rolling tourism, and 24×7 excitement. But the harsh truth is, we are veering dangerously close to becoming a version of Thailand — not the land of smiles and Buddhist serenity, but the Thailand of sex tourism, soulless resorts, and commodified culture.
Let’s pause and ask — when did we trade our authenticity for artificiality? When did Goa become a destination rather than a home?
It started slowly. First came the bureaucrats and businessmen from Delhi — bringing with them not just investments but arrogance. Suddenly, land wasn’t about family inheritance or village ties — it was real estate. People who couldn’t pronounce Mapusa correctly were buying properties near Siolim and Aldona, marketing it to other clueless buyers as “authentic Goan life.” And the locals? Many sold land because they needed the money, or because the next generation didn’t care for coconut trees and ancestral homes. That’s when the cracks began.
Then came the political mimicry. Goa, once known for its unique political identity and often unpredictable electorate, began to echo the central power structures of Delhi. Politics here turned from local to national, and MLAs from representatives to businessmen. Every policy seemed less about Goans and more about pleasing those sitting in power corridors elsewhere. Land-use policies, tourism strategies, even cultural celebrations were rebranded for optics and revenue, not heritage and pride.
Casinos became a metaphor for our decline. We were told they would generate employment and drive tourism. Instead, they anchored Goa’s image to gambling, excess, and moral erosion. What was once a place for spiritual retreat and family vacations became synonymous with vice. Our rivers, once worshipped, are now floating with neon-lit sins.
And then the Singapore dream — Smart Cities, mega infrastructure projects, malls, and malls inside malls. But here’s the irony: we don’t even have a proper garbage segregation system in many villages, but we want bullet trains? We can’t protect our hills from illegal construction but want to be a global startup hub? We call ourselves “sustainable” while chopping down forests and mangroves in the name of development?
This is not progress. This is delusion.
Meanwhile, what are we fast becoming? A cheap, party capital — like Thailand’s Pattaya in its worst moments. Drugs are normalized. Prostitution is no longer whispered about, it’s an open business. Our beach shacks, once known for Goan curry and local music, now pump out trance music for tourists too high to notice the difference between Goa and Ibiza. Women feel less safe, locals feel less welcome, and the Goan youth — many disillusioned — either leave or give up.
Tourism isn’t the problem. The kind of tourism we’re attracting is. We allowed Goa to be marketed as an “anything-goes” playground. Come, get drunk, get stoned, get laid. That’s not a tourism model, that’s cultural suicide.
What about the people? Ask any elderly Goan in a village like Loutolim, Saligao, or Chandor, and they will tell you — we don’t recognize Goa anymore. The language is vanishing, the songs are fading, the feasts are commercialized. Even our tiatrs have to compete with Instagram influencers and YouTubers who have reduced Goan culture to caricatures and hashtags.
We wanted to become Singapore, but we didn’t study their discipline, their civic sense, or their cultural preservation. We wanted to become Macau, but without its accountability and law enforcement. Instead, we got Delhi’s political culture — corrupt, transactional, and toxic — and we’re walking Thailand’s worn path of cultural commodification and cheap thrills.
Goa didn’t need to become anyone else. Goa, in its true essence, was already enough. We had a model that worked — a balance of East and West, a lifestyle that blended leisure with dignity, and a people who prided themselves on tolerance and simplicity.
What we need now is not more five-star hotels or foreign investors or Bollywood beach parties. We need a cultural reawakening. We need to teach our children that Goa is not for sale — not its land, not its values, not its soul. We need leaders who will stop playing Delhi’s political games and start listening to the whispers of Goan villages.
Otherwise, we will wake up one day with our beaches full and our hearts empty — a tourist destination without a homegrown identity. And the saddest part? We will have no one to blame but ourselves.
Because somewhere along the way, we stopped being Goans and started pretending to be someone else.
And in that pretense, we lost our soul.
