“Even projects undertaken by the Housing Board itself have become unaffordable. Flats and plots that should have been priced to match local incomes are instead pegged at rates that cater comfortably to buyers from outside Goa. A double-bedroom flat costing ₹65 lakh is now being presented as normal. The question that needs to be asked honestly is simple. For whom is this normal? For many Goans, this is an impossible figure. For buyers from Delhi, Mumbai or other metropolitan cities, it is often seen as a bargain.
This mismatch has consequences. There have been repeated instances where Housing Board plots and flats have ended up in the hands of non-Goans, legally but questionably.”
The Chief Minister, Dr Pramod Sawant, recently inaugurated the new office of the Goa Housing Board. It is a plush, modern building. Photographs show clean lines, fresh paint, and the promise of efficiency. Yet outside its walls lies an uncomfortable question that the state seems unwilling to confront. If the Housing Board has found itself a new home, what about the people of Goa for whom it was created?
The Goa Housing Board was established with a clear social purpose. It was intended to provide affordable housing for Goans, particularly middle-class and lower-income families, in a state where land is scarce and demand is high. That purpose today stands diluted, if not entirely defeated. Housing, instead of becoming more accessible, has steadily slipped out of the hands of Goans.
Across Goa, land prices and apartment rates have soared beyond the reach of local families. This is not an abstract complaint but a lived reality. Young Goans with stable jobs are unable to buy homes in their own villages or towns. Families that once dreamt of settling their children close by now see them pushed to the fringes or out of the state altogether. The irony is painful when this crisis is unfolding under the watch of an institution meant to prevent precisely this outcome.
Even projects undertaken by the Housing Board itself have become unaffordable. Flats and plots that should have been priced to match local incomes are instead pegged at rates that cater comfortably to buyers from outside Goa. A double-bedroom flat costing ₹65 lakh is now being presented as normal. The question that needs to be asked honestly is simple. For whom is this normal? For many Goans, this is an impossible figure. For buyers from Delhi, Mumbai or other metropolitan cities, it is often seen as a bargain.
This mismatch has consequences. There have been repeated instances where Housing Board plots and flats have ended up in the hands of non-Goans, legally but questionably. Meanwhile, Goans watch their applications rejected, their savings fall short and their hopes collapse. Dreams of owning a modest home turn into long-term debt or permanent displacement.
The deeper problem lies not only in pricing but in policy intent. The Housing Board appears to have drifted from its original mandate. Instead of acting as a protective institution for Goans, it increasingly mirrors the open market, where purchasing power alone decides access. When state-backed housing becomes indistinguishable from private real estate, the social contract is broken.
This trend feeds into a larger fear simmering across Goa. Slowly but steadily, Goans feel pushed out of their own land. Coastal villages, urban centres, and even hinterland areas are witnessing a demographic shift driven by speculative buying and external capital. Housing becomes an investment asset rather than a basic need. In such a climate, celebrating a new office building rings hollow.
What Goa needs is not better offices, but better outcomes. The government must revisit the Housing Board’s role with urgency. Are there strict eligibility criteria that genuinely prioritise Goans? Are there price caps linked to local income levels? Are resale restrictions enforced to prevent speculative flipping? These are not radical ideas. They are standard tools used by governments that take affordable housing seriously.
There is also a moral dimension that cannot be ignored. Housing is not just about shelter. It is about belonging, continuity, and dignity. When Goans are forced to leave because they cannot afford to live here, the social fabric of the state weakens. Culture, language, and community life suffer quiet erosion.
The inauguration of a plush office should have been an occasion to recommit to the Housing Board’s founding purpose. Instead, it risks becoming a symbol of misplaced priorities. Infrastructure without intent serves little purpose. Goa does not need grand buildings to administer policies that fail its people.
If the Housing Board is to remain relevant, it must answer the most pressing question facing Goans today. Not where its officials sit, but where Goans will live.
