₹72 Crore is Rotting in Files While Goa’s Kids Sit in Crumbling Classrooms
You've watch CJP expose poor school infrastructure in the rest of India. Let us take a closer look in Goa and decode the government's data on school repairs, digital labs, and higher education funds. The numbers are infuriating.
INVESTIGATIONS
8/23/20268 min read
Most Goan parents will never admit this: they are afraid to speak up.
Not of the rain. Not of the leaking roofs. They are afraid of what happens if they complain. Will their child be targeted? Will the teacher hold a grudge? Will their kid become "that student" whose parent is always causing trouble?
So they stay quiet. They pack an extra plastic sheet. They tell their child to sit away from the damp patch. They convince themselves it's not that bad.
And here is the cruelest part: parents in one school have no idea that parents three kilometres away are having the exact same conversation.
t isn't. It is systemic. And it is by design.
Because when parents suffer in silence, the system gets exactly what it wants: peaceful neglect. No protests. No angry letters. Just quiet acceptance of a status quo that benefits no one except the bureaucrats who never have to answer for rotting infrastructure.
Meanwhile, the children pay the price. They sit in classrooms that smell of mould. They attend schools where the "computer lab" has been locked for years. They learn to normalize dysfunction because no one—not their parents, not their politicians—has shown them they deserve better.
This is not a story about a lack of money. This is a story about a system that announces grandly and delivers poorly. And if you are a parent, a student, or just a Goan who pays taxes, this should make you furious.
Part 1: The ₹72 Crore Repair Backlog
Let’s start with the most basic right of any child: a safe building to sit in.
Goa’s own government data, filed in response to the Legislative Assembly in March 2026, lists a staggering 284 repair and infrastructure works across government schools. We are not talking about painting the walls or fixing a loose doorknob. We are talking about structural collapses, roof replacements, complete electrical rewiring, and even total school reconstructions.
The estimated cost for just these identified works? At least ₹72.1 crore. And that is a conservative figure—many entries in the list don’t even have estimates attached yet.
Let’s make that number real for a second. ₹72 crore could build several new schools from scratch. It could equip every government high school in the state with a fully functional digital lab. It could ensure that no child in Goa ever has to sit in a classroom with a leaking ceiling again.
Instead, here is what that ₹72 crore is actually buying us: files moving from one desk to another.
Consider just a few entries from that very list:
Government Secondary & Higher Secondary School, Baina: Major repair and renovation – ₹2.83 crore. Status? Stuck in administrative approvals.
GPS Sulabhat–Agassaim: Complete reconstruction of the school building – ₹2.49 crore. Status? Pending codal formalities.
GPS Nanus, Sattari: Extensive wall, flooring, toilet, and compound-wall repairs – ₹3.23 crore. Status? Work in progress (for how long, no one knows).
GHS Vaddem, Sanguem: Roof replacement alone – around ₹1 crore. Status? Under sanction.
GPS Bomdamol Fatorpa, Quepem: Roofing and renovation – ₹1.10 crore. Status? You guessed it—under process.
And it’s not just the roofs. The government has listed large-scale electrical rewiring programmes covering schools across Sattari, Bardez, Pernem, Bicholim, Ponda, Quepem, Canacona, and Sanguem. Several of these are still shown as "under sanction" or "work in progress."
Now, here is the kicker: when you dig into the status column of these approved works, the same phrases keep repeating like a broken record:
“Under process for accord of AA/ES/TS” (that’s bureaucratese for we haven’t signed the cheques yet).
“Pending codal formalities” (that means the paperwork isn't finished).
“Work in progress” (which, in Goa’s context, often means we started digging and then stopped).
We have normalized treating school maintenance like an emergency exercise that only gets attention when the first monsoon storm hits. But a child’s education doesn’t pause for the rains. Their future doesn’t wait for "codal formalities."
What we need is simple: a mandatory annual structural, electrical, roofing, sanitation, and safety audit for every government school, with a publicly trackable maintenance schedule and binding deadlines. Not another list of approved repairs that gathers digital dust.
Part 2: The Digital Divide – Where is the Internet?
If you thought the physical infrastructure was bad, wait till you look at the digital numbers.
We are living in the era of NEP 2020, AI tools, and hybrid learning. The government loves to talk about "Digital Goa" and "Smart Classrooms." But the expenditure data tells a completely different story.
Take the Wired Internet Scheme for School ICT Labs. This was a fund specifically allocated to guarantee reliable, high-speed wired internet connectivity—at ₹2,000 per month per school—for regular pedagogical and digital learning use.
In 2024–25, the government allocated ₹1 crore for this scheme.
You want to know how much they spent? Zero. ₹0.00.
As of January 2025–26, out of that same ₹1 crore pool, they had utilized a grand total of ₹1.9 lakhs. That’s less than 2% of the allocation.
Let that sink in. We are telling our kids to compete in a globalized, tech-driven world, but we can’t even pay the monthly broadband bill for their schools.
The story is similar for the CM-CARES fund (Demand No. 36-2203-103 - 12), which is supposed to be the core budgetary vehicle for school infrastructure and upgradation. In 2021–22, out of ₹2,500 lakhs allocated, only ₹29.02 lakhs was actually utilized. That is a utilization rate of just over 1%.
Yes, the spending improved in subsequent years—₹1,175.85 lakhs utilized out of ₹2,199.00 lakhs in 2023–24, and ₹1,001.63 lakhs out of ₹1,601.00 lakhs in 2024–25. But the fact that we are celebrating "improved" spending while significant portions of vital capital still lapse or stall tells you everything about how low the bar has been set.
Then there are the Tinkering Labs under the Samagra Shiksha component, meant to foster hands-on experiential learning and technical creativity. In 2021–22, ₹32 lakhs was released, and ₹31.80 lakhs was actually spent—a rare success story. But since then, the scheme has either disappeared or shifted into fluctuating programmatic rollouts that lack consistency.
And what about Digital Hardware & Software for Smart Classrooms? Allocations like ₹1.5 Crore in 2025–26 and ₹13.40 lakhs in 2023–24 have faced severe implementation bottlenecks. Money is set aside, but the smart boards don’t arrive, the software isn’t installed, and the teachers aren’t trained.
We are paying for a digital future on paper, but delivering a 1990s reality in practice.
Part 3: Higher Education – The PM-USHA Money Maze
If you think this dysfunction is limited to primary and secondary schools, think again. The government data reveal exact same pattern—sanction big, release slow, spend even slower—plays out in Goa’s higher education sector.
Under the Pradhan Mantri Uchchatar Shiksha Abhiyan (PM-USHA), the Government of India sanctioned ₹105 crore for two institutional components in Goa:
₹100 crore for Goa University under the Multidisciplinary Education & Research University (MERU) component.
₹5 crore for Vidya Prabodhini College of Commerce, Education, Computer and Management, Parvari, under the Grants to Strengthen Colleges component.
Sounds like a massive boost for higher education, right?
Now look at the ground reality. As of 17 February 2026, only ₹27.99 crore had actually been released against that ₹105 crore sanction. And of that released amount, only ₹16 crore had been utilized.
Let’s do the math on that:
Only 26.7% of the sanctioned amount had even been released by the government.
Actual utilization stood at a dismal 15.2% of the total sanctioned amount.
Here is the year-wise breakdown that should concern every Goan college student and parent:
Financial YearReleasedUtilisedUtilisation of Released Funds2024–25₹2.49 cr₹0.60 cr24.1%2025–26*₹25.50 cr₹15.40 cr60.4%Total₹27.99 cr₹16.00 cr57.2%
*Figures available up to 17 February 2026.
Yes, the utilization improved in 2025–26—60.4% of released funds were spent, which is respectable. But the improvement does not erase the larger, glaring concern: nearly ₹89 crore of the sanctioned ₹105 crore had still not been released as of the date of that reply.
That is nearly ₹89 crore sitting in a government account, not reaching the university campus, not funding research, not upgrading laboratories, and not improving student facilities.
A sanction is not an infrastructure project. An allocation is not a laboratory. A released grant is not a classroom upgrade.
The final measure must be actual utilization and actual improvement on the ground. By that measure, Goa’s higher education system is operating on life support while the paperwork claims it’s thriving.
The Bureaucratic Bottleneck: Why the Money Never Moves
Why does this keep happening?
It's not a lack of funds. Goa has no shortage of schemes, announcements, or budgetary provisions for education. The problem is simpler and more infuriating: institutional paralysis.
The money moves through a labyrinth of administrative approvals, expenditure sanctions, and tender procedures so slow and convoluted that by the time the cheque is finally signed, the monsoon has already destroyed the roof again.
This is a reactive system. School deteriorates? Prepare a repair proposal. Proposal moves through "codal formalities"? Wait six months. Tender gets floated? Wait another three months. Work finally begins? The academic year is almost over.
Meanwhile, the children sit in stuffy, unsafe, outdated classrooms while files shuffle from one table to another.
This is not a maintenance backlog. This is a systemic failure to prioritize the basic dignity of our students. And it is a choice.
Enough. Here is what needs to change.
One: Move from an allocation-based model to an outcome-based model. Every education project—repairs, smart classrooms, university grants—must be tracked on a public dashboard with four columns: Amount Sanctioned, Amount Released, Amount Spent, Date of Completion. No more hiding behind "under process." Parents deserve to see exactly where their children's money got stuck.
Two: Mandatory annual audits for every government school. Structural, electrical, roofing, sanitation, safety—all of it. With binding deadlines for repairs. Replacing a roof should not take 18 months of paperwork. Monsoon comes every year. We know it. Plan for it.
Three: Stop treating higher education funds as "optional" spending. The PM-USHA money is not a gift. It is a public investment in Goa's youth. ₹89 crore unutilized is not a bureaucratic detail. It is a betrayal of every student who dreams of a world-class education in their home state.
Sanctions are not schools. Allocations are not classrooms. Released grants are not upgrades.
The only thing that counts is what reaches the ground. And by that measure, Goa is failing.
The Bottom Line
Goa’s children should not have to study under leaking roofs while repair proposals remain in files.
Students should not be promised modern laboratories while sanctioned grants remain unutilized.
Parents should not be asked to accept deteriorating infrastructure simply because the government can point to a budget allocation.
Education infrastructure is not an accounting exercise. It is a public service. It is the foundation upon which our children build their futures. And right now, that foundation is cracking.
The question is no longer whether Goa has money for education. The data is clear: we do.
The real question is: Where is the money, and when will our students actually see it?
Because a sanction is not a school. An allocation is not a classroom. And a released grant is not an education.
The only thing that counts is what reaches the ground. And by that measure, Goa has a long, long way to go.
If you are a parent, a student, or a taxpayer, share this. Ask your MLA. Ask your CM. Demand to see where the money went. Because if we don't ask, it will stay right where it is—locked in a file, while our kids wait.
