Martyr of the Trash Can

 

Martyr of the Trash Can

I never aspired  to become a Civic Culture Motivator. I just wanted my neighbors, to stop Dumping  their garbage  bang in front of our Gates. But in my heritage locality in old Mysore, trying to change public behavior is like trying to convince a filter-coffee purist to drink latte  . You don’t just get compliance; you get a stern  lecture on the philosophy of waste. Here is the unfiltered truth from the front lines of my foray into the realms of  civic  motivation..

My first official campaign was to get citizens of my locality  "Segregate at Source." Armed with colourful brochures,bins & Banners  I and a volunteer group of “Lets do it Mysore” marched up every cross Road and Lane in the neighborhood. We approached the house of Kamalamma. the alpha  matriarch of a narrow by lane ,  She has lived on this street since 1958. Assuming us  to be  the entire municipality sanitary  squad she regarded u  as  uninvited guests.

 "Kamalamma “Avare”, green bin for wet waste, blue bin for plastic instructed our enthusiastic young member.

: “Do I have to pay for the Buckets?”  " Listen, child my grandfather planted that tamarind  tree. It eats everything. Plastic ? “I wash milk packets and use them to store Betel leaf & nuts. So Don’t teach me 'recycle !"

On subsequent rounds, we found that she uses the blue bin—which she accepted from us with much trepidation—as a footstool for her veranda gossip sessions.

The Footpath Face-Off: we tackled the footpaths. In old Mysore (Bandi keri in this case) .i a  footpath is rarely for walking. It is an extension of the living room, a garage for a 1979 TVS 50, or a grazing ground for Kempi, the neighborhood cow. We tried to convince the local youth to stop parking their scooters on the pavement.: "Sir, if we park on the road, the city buses scrape the paint. If we park on the footpath, the vehicle is safe under the shade of the sacred neem tree. It’s practical spirituality.” Was their stubborn defence.

 The gang  offered a  Compromise; They didn't move the scooters. Instead, they   treated us to   tender coconut to " cool  hot heads." Sheepishly we drank the coconut. The scooters remained.

Next  we tried to stop residents from throwing small plastic bags of leftover /spoiled food  into the  corner of the  park at midnight.  We set up a vigil with flashlights, catching Mr.Chandru in the act at 11:40 PM. The Volunteer whispered, "Sir, the CCTV is watching”. Mr. Chandru adjusted his trousers and hissed back, "My ancestors fed the stray dogs at this exact hour. I am just continuing the tradition. Besides, if I walk all the way to the  municipal bin, my knee acts up. Better Consider this my midnight charity ” .Having failed to stop him we placed a discreet terracotta pot right where he liked to aim, and now he drops the waste….. around it. The dogs are still happy.

The Rangoli Rebellion

My greatest trial was the "Plastic-Free Campaign "  of “Lets do it Mysore” during  Dasara festival.  The moment we suggested using organic colors instead of synthetic powders for the street rangolis competition  the local aunties formed a unified front. They claimed organic colors lacked the "high-voltage brightness" & failed to reflect true “Heritage”  required to intimidate the next street’s rangoli committee.

 We spent three hours demonstrating how to make yellow dye from turmeric and ended up staining our own hands bright yellow, looking like we had a severe case of jaundice, while the aunties scoffed secretly & used neon pink glitter because "the Gods” like shine

The Ultimate Realization:  Being a civic motivator here means accepting a different perspective of life. You cannot change  centuries-old mindset with a PowerPoint presentation or Emotional (Read Patriotic) plea. You change it over sessions of Juicy Gossip & cups of sweet  tea, by admiring people's “aesthetic” sense, and by gently nudging them until they think your civic idea was actually their ancestral tradition.

 Months later, I saw Mahesha spreading his Vegetable & papaya peels directly around the bottom of Tamarind tree and a few  “Inspired” aunties showering the   flowerbed on the Traffic island. Progress is slow, but at least the bushes  in the Traffic Triangle   are thriving.