Raghav Gadgil
Goa earned its reputation as a serene coastal paradise where time flows gently and carefree laughter lingers on sunlit shores. Tourists flock here to escape urban chaos, while locals pride themselves on a unique, laid-back culture. But beneath this postcard image, lurks an escalating crisis that leaves passengers, both outsiders and Goans alike, feeling cornered and helpless when dealing with taxis that seem to operate under their own rules.
I first sensed the gravity of this problem around five years ago when I arrived at Karmali Railway Station with my wife and young son. We wanted to go to our home in Marcel, but it was too far for a reasonable fare. Outside the station, I approached a rickshaw driver who quoted me a steep sum of Rs 400. It felt unjust, so I attempted to bargain. But every other driver I came across silently agreed with the first man. Dejected, I returned to him, hoping he might reconsider. Instead, he turned smug, declaring the new, non-negotiable price of Rs 600. In a matter of minutes, the inflation was 50%. “The 400-rupee offer is no longer valid,” he said dismissively. It felt like a heist in broad daylight, leaving me with a taste of humiliation.
In that moment of helplessness, I trudged some 50 meters to the main road and managed to strike a deal with another driver for Rs 300. The harshness, the arrogance — it all lingered far longer than the actual journey. Such instances of rickshaw or taxi extortion are not isolated. They’re woven into a daily narrative where visitors and locals alike are forced to pay beyond reason.
Fast forward to recent times, and the hostility has grown bolder. I’ve witnessed a shocking scenario where taxi drivers from one taluka decided to scold and threaten a driver from another who dared pick up passengers “outside his jurisdiction.” Moreover, there are accounts of local drivers flat-out urging app-based taxis not to pick people from certain prime locations like airports, railway stations, or even major hotels. I wonder how this approach has become normalised. Is there a secret rulebook that grants them the monopoly rights? Or do these ideas simply take birth in the small minds of those who wield misplaced authority?
We might imagine that in a democracy, citizens can choose the service that suits them best. But on Goan roads, a handful of operators have elected themselves gatekeepers, restricting who can operate where and pushing away any sense of healthy competition. We are still stuck in a feudal era, where landowners control the territory while commoners pay tribute. Ironically, we see the government encouraging app-based services to modernise transport, yet on the ground, these same services are blocked by intimidation tactics at key transport hubs.
The saddest part is that such intimidation tarnishes the image of Goa as a warm, hospitable land. It inconveniences tourists seeking solace and embarrasses locals who witness these brash displays of territorial power. We are torn between empathy for the many drivers who genuinely struggle to make ends meet and frustration towards those who revel in bullying, uncompetitive pricing, and subtle threats of violence.
App-based taxi services are not a panacea but offer features that benefit everyone: transparent pricing, digital payments, real-time tracking, and accountability. They could help standardise fares and put an end to arbitrary hikes. We all deserve an honest fare, a safe ride, and a reminder that Goa remains a haven of tranquility, not a battleground where taxi drivers act like tyrants with impunity.
One can only hope that, in the coming days, voices demanding fairness, rationality, and dignity in Goa’s transport system will resonate loud enough to overshadow the din of intimidation. Until then, we remain caught in a struggle — arms full of luggage, hearts heavy with disappointment, and minds laden with questions no one seems eager to answer.