https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/goa/sewage-crisis-in-goas-very-own-smart-city/articleshow/62301337.cms

Take a wrong turn in the casuarina groves lining Miramar beach early
in the morning, or during peak tourist hours near sunset, and you
could be surprised with a rude twenty-one bum salute. In the past few
years, the vegetation has sunk to serving as public toilet and
all-purpose garbage dump. Long stretches reek of waste, despite the
steady cleansing breezes from the waterfront. In the evenings, when
the tourist boats unload raucous hordes of domestic tourists directly
onto the sands, many disembark to head directly towards the greenery
to urinate in plain view of passers-by.
Try to make enquiries as to who is to blame for the trashing of
Miramar, and the result is an endless circle jerk of finger-pointing.
The CCP says it is not responsible for the beach, as it is the tourism
department's problem. The tourism department says the Captain of Ports
is the one who gave permission for the shockingly unregulated
excursion boats to ply from Miramar, despite there being no oversight
and zero infrastructure to handle the crowds.

The Captain of Ports says its job is merely to grant access via the
river to the operators, not to consider mundane matters like adequate
toilets or even adherence to safety procedures. And so the blame-game
continues pointlessly, even as disaster and chaos unfolds anew each
day. The mismanagement of Miramar is only one small part of the
paradoxical tragedy of Panaji, even as the tiny riverside city
prepares to celebrate its 175th anniversary in 2018.

By any statistical measure, the state capital is extraordinarily
blessed with extremely high GDP, education, and life expectancy by
Indian standards. But on the other hand, its residents have seen their
quality of life decline in the new millennium, particularly
accelerating after 2010. Even while the city has risen to national and
international significance as a cultural capital, it has become ever
dirtier, more congested and increasingly unhealthy. Last year, at
exactly this time, the Goa State Pollution Control Board (GSPCB)
warned that highly destructive particulate matter in the air regularly
crosses four times the permissible national limits in December.


Recently, the GSPCB was again the bearer of bad news when it confirmed
the iconic Mandovi river is now befouled with especially alarming
levels of faecal coliform caused by raw sewage. Whereas the Central
Pollution Control Board considers 100 MPN (most probable number) per
100ml, the readings from the Mandovi skyrocketed to 13,200MPN. This is
so unsafe that you are advised not to enter the water under any
circumstances. Yet, city authorities are blithely unconcerned. When
danger signs appeared in 2014, long-time city MLA Manohar Parrikar
said, "Mandovi water is safe for drinking," and promised, "within 1-2
years, most areas will be connected to an operational sewerage
system." Fast-forward to 2017, and the only new sewer in Panaji is the
sands of Miramar.


Deeply entrenched city problems are not exclusive to Goa, or even
India. While it is true the subcontinent handles urbanism unusually
badly, there are some exceptions. The great irony amid today's Smart
City hype is that Panaji was always one of these exceptions. Just like
Chandigarh in the 1950's, much of the endlessly charming and pleasant
'Nova Goa' was rigorously planned and engineered with best
contemporary practices by newly assertive native elites a full century
earlier. It was the first city in the subcontinent built on a grid,
with broad pavements, and well-planned drainage and sanitation. These
are the fundamentals of intelligent city design and execution, not
hairbrained schemes to blanket the safest city in India with
unbelievably expensive surveillance cameras.


What good is space age technology and thousands of crores of scam
infrastructure, when the most basic human needs remain glaringly
unaddressed in Goa? Along with the GSPCB findings on the Mandovi,
there was even more depressing news about the state that came this
week in response to a question in the Lok Sabha. The government said
there were only three states in the entire country that did not have a
single open defecation-free village: Bihar, Manipur and Goa (there
were three Union Territories as well). This is part of an abysmal
national landscape, but the figures for India's smallest state stand
out as particularly shameful, because there is no reason at all this
situation persists, except for lack of political will and terribly
misplaced priorities

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