Team Herald
MARGAO: Water—just the sight of it has a calming effect on humans, research has found. It’s no wonder we flock to beach resorts and riverside getaways, trek to waterfalls and camp out near lakes, hoping this miraculous liquid will wash away life’s stresses.
Filmmaker and writer Rehaan Diaz has long been fascinated by wells. While traveling across Goa, photographing traditional wells in Goan homes, he decided to be a part of Goa Water Stories—in a bid to delve deeper into the relationship between humans and groundwater in his
home state.
His interactive project, featuring photographs, videos, drone footage and interviews, follows the journey of groundwater—from how rainfall percolates through porous laterite and red soil, recharging underground springs and aquifers, to how these aquifers feed our wells.
Diaz’s research took him to wells of all shapes and sizes across Goa. He spent a day with well-diggers in Saligao, witnessing the creation of an agricultural well. On a rainy day, he joined São João revellers jumping into wells in Siolim, visited aquifers used for Ganesh Visarjan, trailed water tankers supplying hotels and homes without piped water, and tagged along with a team of traditional well-cleaners to document their pre-monsoon desilting, lime-coating, and potassium permanganate treatment of wells.
But his work also highlights the darker side of water consumption in Goa—tourism’s insatiable thirst, the commodification of what should be freely available, and the people who suffer as a result.
“Human activities, particularly in coastal, mining, and industrial areas like Calangute, Quepem, and Verna, have taken a toll on groundwater,” says Diaz. “Mining operations cut through the laterite topsoil, reducing rainwater recharge areas and causing springs, wells, and streams to dry up—a trend evident in Goa’s falling water levels.”
His time in Assagao was an eye-opener. “The sudden influx of well-off migrants during the pandemic triggered a real estate boom. Market forces have turbocharged a quiet village into a quasi-westernised suburbia,” he rues.
“Urbanisation over the last 20 to 30 years has changed Goa’s water consumption patterns. Surface water from lakes and rivers now contributes significantly to the piped water supply, reducing the importance of wells,” Diaz points out.
The government claims Goa is the first State to provide piped water to every household through one of its nine water supply schemes. But Diaz’s research in 2024 found both Panjim and rural Sanguem grappling with erratic water supply. “Demand keeps rising, drying up wells faster than before. Borewells are then drilled to compensate, further depleting underground reserves and manufacturing a crisis. Goa faces a shortfall of 85 million litres of water per day,” he says, quoting news reports.
When taps run dry, people turn back to their wells—so many of which are derelict or contaminated by industrial effluents. Their only recourse? Water peddlers—enterprising locals who own or have access to wells, extracting and selling groundwater by the tanker.
“Some locals take loans to dig wells under the guise of agricultural use. Once the wells start yielding water, it isn’t used for irrigation but sold at a profit, filling swimming pools in gated communities and luxury hotels,” Diaz explains.
“The natural bounty of Goa is disproportionate to its size—we cannot take its beauty, nature, and culture for granted,” he says. “Goa Water Stories is designed as an immersive experience to sensitise people—especially millennials and Gen Z—about what’s at stake.”
“This isn’t something that can be schooled or force-fed. It must be experienced to be cherished as Goan heritage,” Diaz says. “I hope this project fosters appreciation for what we have and the realisation of what we need to protect. It is incumbent upon our generation not to let Goa down.”
Goa Water Stories is a collaboration with the Living Waters Museum, the Centre for Public Policy and Governance at the Goa Institute of Management, the Goa University and the Sunaparanta Goa Centre for the Arts.