For two consecutive days, Goa has been caught in the grip of a natural disaster so intense it defies comprehension. From Canacona to Pernem, landslides have scarred the land, vehicles have been swept away in full view of helpless onlookers, homes have drowned, and trees have collapsed like matchsticks.
And this, shockingly, is just the beginning. The rains aren’t even in full swing yet. These are only pre-monsoon showers. Yet the damage is so widespread, so ruthless, that it has exposed the complete unpreparedness of our disaster management systems and the dangerous complacency of those in power. Trees have fallen in Pernem, Morjim, Sattari, Ponda, and Bicholim; homes lie in ruin in Ponda and Reis Magos. Roads have vanished under murky waters. Goa, once a symbol of calm and natural beauty, now finds itself gasping under nature’s fury.
But before we point fingers at the skies, we must look inward. This is not nature gone rogue. It is nature retaliating.
The truth is stark and undeniable: we have wounded nature. And now, nature is showing us what happens when we break the delicate balance. The excessive concretisation, unchecked land conversions, unplanned urban sprawl, and rampant deforestation have turned Goa into a tinderbox of ecological instability.
Khazan lands, once natural buffers against flooding, are being filled up in the name of development. Even local officials stand accused of aiding this destruction. When the natural pathways of water are obstructed, is it any wonder that floods follow?
Tuesday’s rainfall was not an act of God. It was a mirror held up to our own recklessness. Drainage systems failed not because the rains were heavy, but because they were ignored. Water entered buildings because the land could no longer absorb what was once welcome. Roads were flooded not by nature’s design, but by man's disruption.
We speak often of “development,” but what kind of progress turns rain into a source of destruction?
Even now, there is no clarity, no accountability. Pre-monsoon works, which should have been completed by mid-May, are still dragging on, incomplete in several regions. Engineers prohibit road-digging one day and forget about it the next. Disaster preparedness meetings are held only after the waters rise.
But the most tragic irony is this: those who suffer most are the ones least responsible. The common citizen, already burdened by inflation and daily hardships, must now also bear the brunt of poor planning and environmental mismanagement. It is not the builders or the policymakers wading through knee-deep water in flooded lanes. It is the daily wage worker, the small shopkeeper, the family in a one-room home whose dreams have been washed away.
This culture of procrastination, denial, and blame-shifting must end.
The rains did not come suddenly. Nature has been warning us for years. With rising temperatures, failing crops, and erratic weather patterns. But every time, we chose to look away. Every tree cut, every hill flattened, every wetland filled was a warning ignored. And now, even a mild pre-monsoon downpour is enough to paralyze an entire state.
It’s not too late to change course, but time is slipping. Our disaster management plans need a complete overhaul. Pre-monsoon work must start on time and finish before the first drop falls. Urban planning must prioritise sustainability, not profit. Encroachments must be removed. Drainage systems must be restored, and our forests must be protected like the life-giving shields they are.
Above all, we must begin to respect the natural world; not as something to conquer, but as something to live in harmony with.
The rain once brought with it the earthy perfume of fresh soil and the promise of new life. Today, it carries the stench of open drains and broken promises. It floods streets, not fields. It brings sorrow, not
celebration.
But the rain has not changed. We have. Let this disaster be a wake-up call. Let it rain awareness, rain accountability, and rain action. If we continue to exploit nature, the downpour we fear today will seem like a drizzle compared to the storms of tomorrow.
The time to act is not tomorrow. It is now.