Susegad Memories: The Goa of My Childhood

After living in Goa for about thirty years, I feel I can share what I’ve seen, felt, and witnessed here. Back in the 1990s and early 2000s, until maybe 2010, Goa was truly a wonderful place to live. Life moved at an easy pace, surrounded by fields, plantations, and endless greenery.

Most houses stood in their own compounds, with small gardens in front and trees all around. Coconut palms swayed alongside guava, cashew nut, chikoo, jackfruit, banana, and mango trees, offering shade and fruit through the seasons. Not all Goan houses were Portuguese, as many people imagine that’s a myth. There were mud houses, laterite houses, tiled houses, and many other simple, beautiful styles that reflected the lives of the families living in them.

The climate was humid but pleasant, and the roads were still simple mud paths where bullock carts often passed. I still remember how we used to collect coconuts and palm leaves from the fields nearby, nothing ever went to waste. My mother worked in the fields, and as a family we often helped with the paddy. During the monsoons, the entire landscape would transform; rain poured for weeks, filling the fields with water, while rows of coconut trees and lush paddy swayed in the breeze. That was the susegad Goa slow, peaceful, and content.

Evenings carried their own charm. We played cricket and football in the open fields until it grew dark, our laughter carrying across the village. Sometimes, the whole family would gather in the fields after a day’s work, sitting together, relaxing, and talking while the dogs ran around and played nearby. Those were moments of simple joy and togetherness that defined everyday life.

Festivals gave another rhythm to the year. During Ganesh Chaturthi, we had seven days of school holidays, and neighbors shared different food items and sweets with each other. I still remember going to my Hindu friends’ homes, where we sat together and ate on banana leaves delicious Goan dishes served one after another, each bite full of warmth and tradition. In December, the Christmas season brought its own excitement. Families prepared homemade sweets like neureos, dodol, and kulkuls, which were lovingly packed and shared with neighbors, no matter their faith. These festivals bound us together, celebrating both diversity and unity in a very Goan way.

Summers brought their own rhythm. As a family, we would spend our holidays at the beach, Taking food when there was nothing much there except a stretch of sand lined with coconut trees. The beaches were calm, quiet, and truly relaxing.

Life itself felt just as simple, afternoons were always about fish curry with rice, and in the evenings, fresh bread from the poder’s basket would arrive, filling the house with its warm aroma. Throughout the year, there was always a sense of community, tradition, and susegad contentment.That was the Goa I grew up in: quiet, green, festive, and unhurried.

The Goa of Today: A Paradise Lost

The Goa of today feels far removed from the susegad life of my childhood. What was once quiet, green, and content has been overtaken by the pressures of tourism, greed, and unchecked development.

The Rise of Tourism and Greed

It all began with the coastal belt, particularly in North Goa. Families discovered that renting rooms to foreign tourists brought in quick and easy money. Slowly, this became an obsession. Entire houses were given out on rent, while families squeezed themselves into tiny rooms just to maximize earnings. What started as a side income turned into a booming industry guesthouses and small hotels mushroomed across villages, fueled by the lure of effortless profit.

The government and elected representatives were no different. They too saw tourism as a money making machine, building hotels or running businesses that catered to the steady inflow of visitors. With every tourist season, land prices shot up. Greed became the order of the day.

The Cost of Development

As investors and big capitalists from across India bought land, vast tracts of coconut groves, orchards, and fields disappeared under concrete. Coastal areas like Calangute, Baga, Candolim, Anjuna, and Siolim became hotspots for villas, resorts, and clubs. Nature — the very essence that drew people to Goa — was sacrificed. Beaches lost their charm, littered with plastic and dominated by shacks that extended their chairs into the water. Loud music blared through the night, disturbing village life and erasing the peace that once defined Goan evenings.

Scams and Exploitation

With mass tourism came a darker side, scams that prey on visitors. Clubs lure people with promises of glamour, only to overcharge them once inside. Restaurants and bars employ women to pose as customers, drawing in men and inflating bills with fake items. What was once a culture of hospitality has turned into exploitation, where profit trumps respect.

Tourism brought crowds, but not the infrastructure to support them. Today, Goa resembles a congested metro city, endless traffic jams, ditches in roads, and a broken public transport system dominated by taxi and bus mafias. Villages too are changing, with panchayats filling lush green paddy fields to construct villas and buildings. Corruption runs deep, as elected representatives hand out illegal permissions, take bribes, and buy loyalty with groceries and small favors during festivals.

Safety and Crime

The Goa that was once known for its safety and serenity is no longer the same. Rising crime rates, robberies, drunken driving accidents, and even murders now make headlines. Women no longer feel secure, and families live with an underlying sense of unease.

A Land of Scams and Dirt

Everywhere you look, beaches, fields, roadsides, garbage piles up. Clean, open spaces have vanished. Buying property has become a dangerous gamble, with scams so rampant that even Goans hesitate to invest in their own land. Flats are overpriced, and illegal practices dominate the real estate market.

A Lost Identity

What saddens me most is that Goa’s soul, its greenery, its hospitality, its simplicity has been eroded. Greed, corruption, and over tourism have turned it into a noisy, dirty, and risky place.The susegad spirit has been buried under concrete, scams, and chaos.