What is with us Indians and our litter happy ways? It is
disgusting. Repulsive. Shudder worthy. Plop, thump, whoosh, phusshs….we drop,
chuck, flick garbage with impunity, there is nothing like too close for
comfort.
Is this gene for shabbiness hereditary? Did we inherit the
litter chromosome or was it imported by our various occupiers? Between nurture
and nature, what is responsible for our completely casual disregard for our
environment while all the time clearing our throats, washing our hands, sweeping
out our homes. There is no end to the Indian fastidiousness as far as personal
and domestic space is concerned but an inch beyond and watch us loosen up the
belt and exhale.
I replay my growing up years, looking for that culprit moment
that taught me to carry a mess wherever I went. I fail to pinpoint where and how this
daredevilry with trash starts. All I can recall are some terribly embarrassing moments.
On a Continental flight from Newark to New Delhi, I can never forget that cringing
shame filled walk, along the aisle, on way to the exit door….there was muck and
mayhem all around. Sloth and slob writ large on the cabin, blankets strewn in
ugly heaps, plastic covers plundered to jagged remains, earphones hanging over
arm rests, half eaten sandwiches and cartons kissing the floor, newspapers
lying in untidy stacks. I also have a crystal clear memory of the ground crew lady who stood shaking her
head at the boarding counter, rolling her eyes, “This flight….this flight…”,
she kept muttering under her breath.
At a children’s’ function I attended today, there was no
dearth of dustbins but the acceptance of filth is so deep rooted and
conditioned, everyone walked over the throwaway plastic, no wincing, no
commenting, no exclaiming.
We have got to de-clutter our surroundings. Perhaps then we
can move on to debugging the minds.
Note: Puppets by Chhaya Pandey and Bhawana Ahuja
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