trash

One of the first impressions of Chennai is the extreme amount of trash everywhere. I live in an upscale neighborhood and there is no trash pick-up so everyone just throws it in empty lots. There is trash galore in the fishing village. People sweep their yards and in front of their houses—but there is no where to put it—so they put it on the beach. Plastic bags are a plague—but less than 1/3 the cost of paper, and sturdier. India has a disorganized system of trash pickers. They begin by 6 a.m. and have different specialties. Some search for plastic, some for paper, some rags, and some glass. You see them picking through the trash lots with big bags to their head and a pointed stick stirring the mess. Children are often the workers. They sell the trash to recyclers for less than a dollar a day. Some NGO (non government officials) have organized some of them to cut out the middle man, but we are still talking pennies. Some areas have dumpsters, but where to put it? There was a scheme to burn it at a wet land, but it has caused so much air pollution and infected the waters of neighboring villages. The population of Chennai has doubled to 9 million people and they just can’t keep up. The idea that trash is a problem is a new one, apparently. The rag pickers are part of the culture. There is the added difficulty of the cows, dogs, and goats that roam the streets. They depend on the waste. Things have changed over night here—except the habits. It was not long ago that people bought food on banana leaves which they threw into the streets and the cows ate. Very little came in packaging. Now plastic packaging is common, and the old habits haven’t changed. Everything still goes into the streets. I separate my trash and set out plastic bottles, food for the animals, and they collect the newspapers. My guard keeps them, and turns them in for ½ the cost of the original subscription. Every night when I come home, the food and plastic are gone. I take the bits, and odds and ends to school with me. What they do with it all, I have no idea.

Deplorable. Desperate. But, when you really think about it, it is a low priority for most people here. There is still not clean water to drink, rare sewage systems. In the villages it runs in trenches down the side of the streets. This to me and to them is a far higher priority. Americans are aghast at the trast as are Europeans, but the Indians take it in stride. They didn’t give up with TV blaring slogans of “Don’t be a litter bug,” and later, “Give a hoot—don’t pollute!” Those ditties don’t play in the conscious of people here.

It must be said that the people here are fastidiously clean. Their clothing, no matte how tatty, are clean and usually pressed. People are proud of their hair, and keep it clean and brushed. Their houses and even huts are clean swept and their yards or stoops are swept with fresh blessing made of rice flour daily. It is the government that must be too overwhelmed to do anything. I read an editorial that suggested organizing the rag pickers, and paying them reasonable wages for their services and elevating their status—but that was just an idea, not an action.

I had an interesting conversation with a construction engineer who is overseeing the building of our school. He said that this is ”Misplaced impatience—“ hence the incessant horn blowing and desire to jump into the the 21^nd century while many people still live in the 20^th—or even 19^th.

I have arranged for a dumpster to arrive at our trash lot. I have dreams of several—some for paper, plastic, glass. I dream of a neighborhood clean-up followed by a block party, but. . .