What defines a peculiar sensation? Peculiar for many is different, but for me it is the culture shock I am experiencing in my own homeland. The dread of stumbling upon familiar places that have become unrecognisable— transformed by the very forces meant to protect them — is truly a sobering feeling.
Goa, once a peaceful haven, wasn't always overtly focused on culture or tradition. Yet, there was a certain way of life, a rhythm to our existence that defined us. Now, we find ourselves scrambling to articulate and preserve this heritage, as if it were a treasure we'd only just discovered.
Goa Tourism, which should act as one of the custodians of this invaluable heritage, is commercialising local events in a bid to showcase Goa beyond its beaches. However, the unintended consequences are becoming increasingly apparent.
Festivals once enjoyed by locals in peace are now overrun by tourists, diluting the Goa experience. Instead of simply throwing prizes to attract social media buzz, the best the tourism department could do is invest in documenting and researching these traditions, supporting locals financially to preserve our heritage.
By focusing solely on commercialisation, Goa risks losing the very essence of its culture. It's like putting all the eggs in one basket.
Let's leave something for the locals to enjoy as well. While Goa is striving to promote its culture and heritage, the challenges faced by locals are also evident.
One of the most popular restaurants in South Goa, overlooking the Sal River, used to be a gem. Its service was impeccable, and the food was to die for. But recently, I ordered a sausage pulao and was served a bizarre concoction of biryani with sausage toppings and a side of extra spice.
The fish fingers were about the size of a child's pinky finger, while the carrot and cucumber slices were so large, they could have doubled as frisbees. And guess what? You guessed it. The restaurant had been rented out to an outsider.
Similarly, a very trivial experience made me realise that we Goans are slowly becoming strangers in our own land. The story of this realisation lay in a little corner store, a regular fixture in our neighbourhood for as far back as my memory serves. The friendly Goan uncle who ran the store would always greet us warmly. However, on my recent visit for a packet of oil, I encountered a man who appeared so confused with my "ek tela poti di" (give me a packet of oil) in a typical Saxtti Konkani accent.
The man replied from behind the counter, "kya chahiye madam?" (what do you want madam). Turns out the Goan shopkeeper has rented out the shop to an outsider. It's just one of the many stories of businesses changing hands.
Being a native of Goa, where there is a strong effort to protect the Konkani language, I often find myself questioning my language choices. At times, it seems like I have to be cautious, aware that I may have to repeat myself or clarify things in Hindi in order to communicate effectively.
Migration happens everywhere, but the changes happening in Goa are affecting people's lives. While development and opportunities are knocking on Goa's door, many talented locals are being left behind. While there are talented and skilled artists in Goa, they are often overlooked. A policy of prioritising Goans in local development seems like a mere thought, not a reality. The state seems to be losing its identity as a place for Goans, by Goans, and for Goans.
Goa seems to be succumbing to the same pressures that have reshaped cities like Delhi, Mumbai, and Gurgaon. The pervasive spread of commercialisation, the steady erosion of local traditions, and the gradual displacement of its inhabitants are all too apparent.
Anjuna, a popular tourist hub, is a prime example of this. Hotels, homes, and bungalows are popping up like mushrooms, displacing locals and straining resources. The government, seemingly oblivious to the rapid development, is slow to act. And, the locals, desperate to make a living, are forced to sell their land, contributing to the problem.
Development in Goa is unchecked, and those in power seem incapable or unwilling to do anything about it. It's as if we are being taken for granted. Those cashing in on our culture aren't giving much back.
It's a tragic irony. Goa, once a refuge from the chaos we see in India, is now being consumed by the very forces it once resisted. As a Goan, it's a painful realisation that the place I call home is slowly losing its soul.