SPOTLIGHT | GOA’S NIGHTLIFE: NOISE, NEON & NEGLECT

MAPUSA
From the brightly lit beachfront of Candolim to the rave-scarred cliffs of Vagator and all the way up to the tranquil shores of Morjim, North Goa’s nightlife has morphed into a parallel industry – one that thrives not merely in spite of State regulation but often because of the loopholes within it.
A series of incidents – the deadly inferno at Birch By Romeo Lane being the most recent, official admissions and ground reporting have revealed an uncomfortable truth: a significant section of Goa’s booming party economy operates outside the ambit of basic law, safety norms and environmental protection.
What has emerged is not a collection of isolated violations but a pattern of systemic failure, where panchayats, the Goa Coastal Zone Management Authority (GCZMA), tourism and health departments, fire officials and even the police occupy ambiguous roles in a landscape that allows illegal clubs and restaurants to not just survive – but flourish.
A coastline dotted with illegal clubs
For years, the Candolim–Calangute–Baga belt has been the heart of Goa’s nightlife. But what began as a concentration of legitimate tourism businesses has gradually given way to a shadow network of hilltop bars, basement clubs, shacks-turned-nightspots and soundproofed “restaurants” running on restaurant cum bar licences.
In Anjuna and Vagator, the problem is even sharper. Hill slopes once thick with laterite and thick tree cover have been shaved into plateaus hosting mega-clubs with capacities of 500 to 1,000 people – many built without occupancy certificates, fire NOCs, CRZ clearance or at times valid trade licences.
In Vagator alone, two major nightlife hotspots – previously reported by this newspaper – Romeo Lane and Curlies were found to be operating illegally despite directions from the courts.
Two massive structures at Survey Nos 213/6 and 225/3 in Anjuna, despite holding provisional GCZMA licences, were discovered to have built units inside the High Tide Line, brazenly breaching coastal protection norms.
A former GCZMA official, speaking on condition of anonymity, admitted that “several structures classified as ‘temporary’ were in fact permanent concrete/steel edifices, cleverly declared as seasonal businesses only to bypass the CRZ process.”
Northward, the pattern repeats. In Morjim and Ashvem, once pristine nesting grounds for the Olive Ridley turtle, several restaurants and beachside clubs have extended wooden decks onto the sand, installed elevated DJ booths and carried out construction beyond permissible limits.
Local activist Devansh Naik, who has repeatedly petitioned the Forest Department, puts it bluntly: “If a club can play music for 500 people metres from a turtle nesting site, it means the licences were never meant to be checked – only issued.”
Licences that don’t exist
The most common illegalities across these establishments fall into four categories:
NO FIRE NOC: A senior Fire Services officer confirmed that “at least 40 percent of nightlife venues in the coastal belt are operating without valid fire clearances.”
In several cases, clubs continue operating despite repeated notices. One fire official admitted that action often stalls because panchayats issue trade licences even when fire approvals are pending, undermining the safety verification process.
The recent fatal fire incident at Birch by Romeo Lane also exposed the scale of such lapses.
In at least two clubs investigated over the past year, emergency exits were blocked to create additional seating and kitchens ran on repurposed commercial cylinders without compliance.
NO HEALTH, FDA CLEARANCES: Sanitation licences are frequently ignored. One restaurant in Anjuna – previously sealed – was later found to be serving 400–500 patrons nightly without a health inspector’s approval. FDA teams have often discovered expired stock, unlabelled alcohol and kitchen extensions built atop septic tanks and storm drains.
A former FDA inspector describes the situation starkly:
“The problem in coastal Goa is not the number of restaurants – it is the number of restaurants functioning without ever being inspected.”
RUN ON BAR LICENCES: Most “nightclubs” are technically restaurants.
They hold only a bar licence, which legally allows them to serve alcohol with food – but not operate as an entertainment venue or dance club.
Yet, with clever interior redesigns and elevated DJ stations, with or without soundproofing – these restaurants function as full-scale nightclubs. Panchayats rarely verify the nature of operations before granting annual renewals.
CRZ AND PANCHAYAT VIOLATIONS: From Anjuna cliff tops to Morjim dunes, CRZ norms are the most frequently and creatively bypassed.
Some popular clubs have declared major permanent structures as “temporary seasonal sheds”. Others have obtained permission for a “café” but built multi-level entertainment spaces.
The panchayat loophole
Panchayats play an outsized role in licensing nightlife venues. A trade licence from a panchayat can, in effect, override concerns raised by other agencies. In many cases, panchayats approve licences without cross-verifying other department permits, including fire NOCs, pollution clearance and health licences.
Calangute Sarpanch Joseph Sequeira said that his panchayat issues licences only to run restaurants but also admits that many of these units double up as nightclubs.
A former sarpanch from the coastal belt said: “The panchayat secretary might flag objections, but elected bodies are under enormous pressure. Approvals are pushed through – sometimes overnight – because tourism lobbies and money power are too strong.”
These instances point to gaps that appear to be intentionally preserved, enabling the systematic collection of illegal payments.
GCZMA’s grey zone
The Goa Coastal Zone Management Authority (GCZMA) sits at the centre of the most contentious approvals. Its dual role – granting clearances and conducting enforcement – often creates ambiguity.
A recent controversy involved allegations that a powerful politician received permission to develop in a beachside property which is a No Development Zone (NDZ) in Anjuna, a site identified as a turtle nesting habitat and allegedly located barely 50 metres from the HTL. The permission, while officially issued on technical grounds, triggered outrage among locals who argued that ordinary applicants are denied similar relaxations.
A retired senior GCZMA official said: “NDZ violations increase when political interventions override the CRZ maps. Some projects get ‘clarified approvals’, a term that does not exist in the CRZ notification.”
The political economy of nightlife
One former Calangute MLA recently levelled serious allegations that clubs in the coastal belt pay monthly “haftas” to various levels of the government machinery. While these claims remain unverified, they echo long-standing local sentiment that informal payments ensure uninterrupted operations, regardless of legality.
Locals in Vagator and Anjuna describe a “protection economy” that determines which clubs can host late-night events, who can play electronic music past midnight, and which establishments remain untouched during enforcement drives.
A resident of Ozran, requesting anonymity, said:
“When a club has 20 security guards and a fleet of luxury vehicles at the gate, you know they don’t fear the police. They fear only their competition.”
Environmental cost
Beyond licensing violations, the ecological damage is stark.
In Vagator, entire hill slopes have been cut to create flat platforms for clubs. Villagers allege that runoff from these sites flows directly into natural springs, polluting wells downstream.
“It won’t be long before Goa witnesses a Wayanad-like disaster,” warned Ramesh Naik, Chairman of the Anjuna Biodiversity Committee, referring to last year’s catastrophic landslides in the Kerala district that buried homes and claimed numerous lives after extreme rainfall.
In Morjim, nightly lights and vibrations have reportedly disturbed turtle nesting behaviour. Even though the Forest Department periodically issues notices, many establishments continue with high-intensity lighting well past midnight.
A senior forest official told this newspaper: “We are fighting clubs that earn more in one night than the fines we can legally impose. Unless enforcement powers increase, turtle protection will remain symbolic.”
How illegal clubs stay open: A playbook
A typical illegal coastal club uses the following pattern:
1. Obtain a panchayat trade licence for a ‘restaurant’ or ‘café’.
2. Begin construction – usually semi-permanent – on CRZ land under the pretext of a temporary shack.
3. Install sound systems and create a nightclub layout, still claiming to be a restaurant.
4. Start operations before securing NOCs, banking on political or financial backing.
5. Use legal appeals and stay orders to delay demolition for years.
A senior tourism official summed it up chillingly:
“By the time demolition orders are passed, the club has already earned enough to set up a new illegal venture elsewhere.”
Silence and suffering of locals
While tourists enjoy the nightlife, residents live with the consequences: sleepless nights, drunken brawls, traffic snarls and encroachment on community roads.
A resident of Anjuna shared: “We call the police at 2 or 3 am but nobody comes. These places continue with impunity because the system wants them to.”
A senior fire official recently admitted that the coastal belt’s explosive growth has far outpaced regulatory capacity: “We’re powerless. We lack the authority to act against those who flout fire-safety protocols,” a fire officer admitted.
Police officials echo a similar challenge.
A former senior police officer who served in North Goa, speaking on background, said the pattern is well-known within enforcement agencies:
“We would conduct raids, file cases, issue stop orders – but the next morning everything would be back to normal. The political pressure is enormous. Many officers simply stopped taking action because they knew it would not stand.”
Yet, despite these revelations, closures remain rare and short-lived.
A parallel system
The coastal nightlife scene is not merely “unchecked” – it is structurally enabled by weak enforcement, conflicting jurisdictions and the political economy of tourism.
The result is a landscape where: Illegal clubs operate for years with minimal fear, CRZ norms are negotiated, not enforced, panchayat licences are treated as all-clearing passes, Fire, health and FDA norms remain optional and Environmental protection becomes collateral damage.
And above all, public safety and ecological balance are sacrificed at the altar of nightlife prosperity.
Goa’s coastal belt stands at a crossroads. Whether it becomes a regulated, sustainable tourism haven – or continues its slide into an ungoverned party corridor – will depend on whether the State finally chooses to confront the system it helped create.