Having spent considerable time in the United States and traveled extensively across various nations, including during my service in the Indian Navy, a persistent question has always lingered: “Why Is India So Dirty?” Like many, I initially believed it was a temporary phase, assuming that economic progress and increased prosperity would naturally lead to improved cleanliness, mirroring the pristine environments of European countries, Singapore, or Japan.
However, a recent trip to India, juxtaposed with a subsequent visit to Singapore, has brought this question back into sharp focus. The pervasive nature of dirt in India is striking. This isn’t solely a problem confined to impoverished slums or neglected ghettos; even modern infrastructure like the new Bengaluru airport isn’t immune. A simple walk around reveals visible filth, perhaps less pronounced than in other areas, but undeniably present. Despite significant investment in maintaining a semblance of cleanliness at the airport, one can’t help but wonder if it would quickly descend into a state of disrepair without constant upkeep. This raises fundamental questions: Why is this issue so deeply ingrained? What impact has initiatives like Swachh Bharat truly had? Are population density or education levels the primary culprits? If so, why do densely populated nations like Singapore or Japan maintain remarkable cleanliness? Furthermore, the growing Indian diaspora in developed countries actively contributes to keeping their adopted cities clean. Why can’t the same people replicate this civic responsibility in their own homeland?
I believe the answer lies in addressing three core issues. Firstly, the prevailing attitude that ‘cleaning is somebody else’s job’ is deeply entrenched. This primarily refers to the cleaning of toilets and communal spaces, but often extends to other areas as well. This mindset is arguably rooted in the historical class and caste system, officially outlawed but still subtly pervasive. Cleaning tasks are often relegated to specific groups – ‘Safaiwalas,’ sweepers, maids, or servants. A significant portion of the middle class relies on domestic help for cleaning, often viewing and treating them as belonging to a lower social stratum. I recall instances from my own upbringing, such as separate utensils for servants and the expectation that they sit on the floor. Even today, in supposedly progressive apartment complexes, debates arise about restricting servants’ access to main elevators or designating separate toilets for their use. Reflecting on historical parallels, the treatment of African-American maids in the 1950s US, as depicted in the book and movie ‘Help’, bears an uncomfortable resemblance to how domestic help is often treated in India well into the 21st century. This attitude even permeates seemingly egalitarian institutions like the military. In the Indian Navy, for example, toilet cleaning is the exclusive responsibility of the ‘Topass’ branch. I once witnessed a naval officer reprimanding a young recruit for joining the Topass branch simply because he was perceived to be from a higher social class, while implicitly accepting the same task for other recruits within that branch.
Secondly, this issue is further compounded by the widespread prevalence of patriarchy within Indian society. Alarmingly, only about 10% of working-age Indian women are employed, with the majority functioning as stay-at-home mothers or housewives.[^1] Traditional gender roles assign them the primary responsibility for cooking, cleaning, and household upkeep. Consider for a moment: in your own home, your parents’ home, or your grandparents’ home, whose responsibility is it to clean and cook? Invariably, it falls upon the women. While they have diligently maintained the cleanliness of their individual homes, this has inadvertently disserved the nation by not fostering a shared sense of responsibility for cleanliness among men and children. Men often grow up without learning basic cleaning skills, perpetuating a cycle where they expect a wife to assume all cleaning duties.
Thirdly, a crucial factor is the lack of a strong sense of ‘Belonging to the Community’. Visiting Indian homes, one is often struck by their interior cleanliness and upkeep. We take considerable pride in maintaining our personal spaces. However, the stark contrast is immediately apparent when stepping outside into the neighborhood. Trash disposal on roads and public spaces is commonplace, a behavior rarely exhibited within our homes. The moment we step outside, the rules of engagement seem to shift dramatically. This behavior, I hypothesize, points towards an underlying ‘selfish’ disposition. We are fiercely protective of what we consider “mine” but fail to perceive public assets as belonging to us collectively. The willingness to openly defecate in public spaces while meticulously maintaining home cleanliness exemplifies this dichotomy. Where does this disconnect originate? Are we inadvertently teaching this disregard for public spaces to our children and in our educational institutions? For a long time, I attributed this behavior to resource scarcity, suggesting that focusing on broader environmental concerns was a luxury we couldn’t afford. However, the cleanliness of densely populated countries like Singapore and Japan challenges this notion. We seem to have failed to instill in ourselves and our children the concept of ‘community belonging’. We often prioritize individualistic success and self-interest over collective well-being, fostering a mindset that prioritizes “what is best for me” over “what is best for all.” This individualistic approach is also reflected in driving habits, where optimizing personal convenience often overrides consideration for the collective flow of traffic.
Having served in the military, I initially believed that stricter laws and rigorous enforcement were the keys to achieving societal change. However, I’ve come to realize the limitations of enforcement mechanisms as long-term solutions. There is, however, a reason for optimism. When individuals raised in this environment are placed within communities that operate under different norms, they demonstrate a remarkable capacity to adapt and often thrive. The millions of Indians living in Europe and the US who contribute positively to their adopted communities serve as compelling evidence. To truly break this cycle and build a cleaner future for India, we must begin by instilling values of equality and community responsibility in our children.
[^1]: CMIE data for 2022
