The great garbage dump

AS I walked up the slope from the clean, silver sandy beach, bare feet and distinctly sunburnt, the sudden gust of the warm, Mauritian sea breeze made my tendrils fly without a care, blurred my vision, albeit a few seconds, and caused a few scattered leaves to swirl around. I clutched all the litter that I had collected post a happy, picnic lunch on the seaside, hoping that nothing loose would fly off as I made my way to the gigantic garbage cans located on the side road.

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A few cars, vans and buses were parked on the flank with the usual noisy holidayers and foreign tourists making merry and picnicking in small groups. As I walked on, I noticed an old man strumming away on his guitar, and what appeared like his grandchildren singing by his side. He smiled at me when I stopped to hear his music. A few tourists were getting ready for a swim and bottles of suntan lotion were being splashed on rather lavishly. Bonnets of cars were being used as makeshift tables and delicious smells wafted through. 

Walking past a minivan, the distinct smell of puri-aloo and mango pickle hit me, and I knew for certain, my countrymen were having a feast. No matter which part of the world you may be in, some familiar smells never go away. Just as I was approaching the bins, I heard a sharp thump of something being thrown against a wall. As I turned around, I noticed all the used plastic plates and cutlery, Styrofoam cups, plastic bags and leftover food from the puri-aloo group lying in an ugly heap near the wall.

I reckon I must have glared the pants off the group, for one of them called out to the other: “This is not India my friend. You cannot litter here!” Apparently, that was supposed to be an amusing repartee, for the whole lot of them broke out in laughter. But that was enough to set off the wrath in me, and so I quickly and efficiently got rid of my garbage and strode back to the group. 

“And so it is perfectly all right to litter in your country but not here, on foreign shores, is it?” I roared. “It’s people like you who make my country a huge, filthy garbage dump.” I could see the guys getting a trifle embarrassed and their better halves staring back very miffed with my outburst. But none of them were going to make a scene as onlookers were already watching the whole show and so they,  unobtrusively, picked up all their trash and made their way to the garbage dump. I could hear them swearing at me under their breath, without a hint of being sorry, but I couldn’t be bothered. 

 It distresses me when I see people roll down their windows and throw out trash from their cars, spit on footpaths, piss on any and every wall they find, and treat our country as one huge wastebasket. I know many of us are doing our best to stop all the littering, but the clean-up can only happen if we collectively put our heads together. It is indeed a shame that our beautiful country is most often than not called a “filth pot” by not only outsiders, but also people living here. It is time mucky streets and dirty cities become a thing of the past.