Monday, August 31, 2015
Thursday, July 3, 2014
The Trash (Part 2)
Maybe I can understand leaving biodegradables to blow and rot. I've seen enough dogs and cows and goats rooting around in the piles to know that perhaps coconuts and banana peels and the ends of vegetables can be sustenance for other needy creatures. And what is not eaten by those lower in the food chain, can then degrade and fertilize the soil. OK, I can go there.
But what about the newspapers, and the plastic bags, and the plastic bottles?
And what about all the sad, dead sandals laying tossed aside at the temples and the tourist attractions?
Perhaps instead of the little slogans painted onto the cans by the well-meaning tourist site managers, there needs to be an all-encompassing nationwide campaign, like the Keep America Beautiful effort from the 70s, and the Don't be a Litterbug campaign from the 60s.
Maybe some good old fashioned programming of school children is called for, turning the kids not into Hitler Youth but instead into Pick Up The Trash Nazis. Maybe one hour a month schools could forgo the math and science, and talk about ecology and pride and community service and how beautiful India could be. Maybe colleges could give special consideration for kids who participate in Pick Up The Trash community service programs.
But who am I to make these suggestions?
But what about the newspapers, and the plastic bags, and the plastic bottles?
And what about all the sad, dead sandals laying tossed aside at the temples and the tourist attractions?
Perhaps instead of the little slogans painted onto the cans by the well-meaning tourist site managers, there needs to be an all-encompassing nationwide campaign, like the Keep America Beautiful effort from the 70s, and the Don't be a Litterbug campaign from the 60s.
Maybe some good old fashioned programming of school children is called for, turning the kids not into Hitler Youth but instead into Pick Up The Trash Nazis. Maybe one hour a month schools could forgo the math and science, and talk about ecology and pride and community service and how beautiful India could be. Maybe colleges could give special consideration for kids who participate in Pick Up The Trash community service programs.
But who am I to make these suggestions?
The Trash (Part 1)
And always.. The trash… the garbage.
(Warning: Links are to youtube.)
Everywhere you look, unless you've turned off a public street into carefully contained environments - like the Westin or Sheraton or the large modern hospital campus where we dropped someone off - trash blows in whatever breeze there is and lays in piles against buildings, in the gutters along the roads, against anything that stops it blowing. And no one picks it up.
In front of nice stores, against the high outer walls of the huge villas. In empty lots with slum dandelions, in a group of houses at the edge of a rural village. In the streets around the IT office parks. Folks eat an ice cream or a bag of chips, and drop the container on the ground. Ticket stubs, receipts, plastic bottles -- on the ground. A large grassy field against the blue bay becomes unbearable to photograph because of the garbage all around. Sometimes there are large piles on corners -- clearly gathered by someone and piled up there for who knows what reason.
Visually it reminds me of the Keep America Beautiful crying Indian ad from the 1970s.
It's bad in the cities -- and it's worse in the villages and rural areas.
(This is not just the don't-care attitude of impoverish people everywhere -- I've seen similar piled garbage in Appalachia and in inner city lots in NYC. We could spend days theorizing the reasons why poor people take no pride in their surroundings.)
This, instead, seems systemic. No matter how many plastic trash cans are placed around, people don't seem to use them. It doesn't occur to them. They just drop it on the ground without a thought, and move on.
And why does no one pick it up??
(Warning: Links are to youtube.)
Everywhere you look, unless you've turned off a public street into carefully contained environments - like the Westin or Sheraton or the large modern hospital campus where we dropped someone off - trash blows in whatever breeze there is and lays in piles against buildings, in the gutters along the roads, against anything that stops it blowing. And no one picks it up.
In front of nice stores, against the high outer walls of the huge villas. In empty lots with slum dandelions, in a group of houses at the edge of a rural village. In the streets around the IT office parks. Folks eat an ice cream or a bag of chips, and drop the container on the ground. Ticket stubs, receipts, plastic bottles -- on the ground. A large grassy field against the blue bay becomes unbearable to photograph because of the garbage all around. Sometimes there are large piles on corners -- clearly gathered by someone and piled up there for who knows what reason.
Visually it reminds me of the Keep America Beautiful crying Indian ad from the 1970s.
It's bad in the cities -- and it's worse in the villages and rural areas.
(This is not just the don't-care attitude of impoverish people everywhere -- I've seen similar piled garbage in Appalachia and in inner city lots in NYC. We could spend days theorizing the reasons why poor people take no pride in their surroundings.)
This, instead, seems systemic. No matter how many plastic trash cans are placed around, people don't seem to use them. It doesn't occur to them. They just drop it on the ground without a thought, and move on.
And why does no one pick it up??
Chennai to Pondy (Part 5)
As we get closer to Pondy the sides of the roads begin to be filled with higher concentrations of people and dwellings.
Sometimes I catch sight of a little home in a shady clearing whose sweetness just takes my breath away -- a lovingly cared for little pastel place with prominent stairs leading to the walled rooftop terrace. Beautiful flowered plantings about the yard. Maybe someone sitting on the main steps. It just looks so welcoming.
And then a mile down the road is a new four story apartment building which had been built and plastered and painted and roofed, and then abandoned. Open holes where the windows were to go, skinny ladies of indeterminate age squatting in the window openings, obviously moved in for the duration.
A thought flashes -- when the owner comes back to finish the building, when his financial future improves, will he be able to remove or cover the smells of humans -- of living and cooking and peeing and babies and goats -- from the concrete of the structure? Or will his profits be reduced because he had to abandon construction for a while?
Bad girl! Always the Capitalist!
Sometimes I catch sight of a little home in a shady clearing whose sweetness just takes my breath away -- a lovingly cared for little pastel place with prominent stairs leading to the walled rooftop terrace. Beautiful flowered plantings about the yard. Maybe someone sitting on the main steps. It just looks so welcoming.
And then a mile down the road is a new four story apartment building which had been built and plastered and painted and roofed, and then abandoned. Open holes where the windows were to go, skinny ladies of indeterminate age squatting in the window openings, obviously moved in for the duration.
A thought flashes -- when the owner comes back to finish the building, when his financial future improves, will he be able to remove or cover the smells of humans -- of living and cooking and peeing and babies and goats -- from the concrete of the structure? Or will his profits be reduced because he had to abandon construction for a while?
Bad girl! Always the Capitalist!
Chennai to Pondy (Part 4)
The drive reminded me somewhat of my childhood in the US South of the 1960's, where the heat and humidity were visible in the air, and trees spread their arms across the road, and people moved slowly.
Driving through those dusty backroads you would be met with billboards painted on barnwalls for Purina animal feeds or local wholesale tobacco markets.
The rural area between Chennai and Pondy is also papered edge to edge with advertisements. And for products I'd never think to advertise. Huge ads for plywood fight for space with electrical cable ads and concrete and cement ads. These were also in Hyderabad and Chennai, so I guess they came with the IT boom.
Every small shop in the villages we pass has a poster on its exterior wall for Airtel and / or Vodaphone mobile phone companies. Airtel and Vodaphone plaster farm buildings and other structures with sign after sign after sign. It seems that even people who have no wired electricity or running water, have a cell phone.
The political signs also carry out into the countryside. While the signs in Hyderabad are predominantly pink, in this state the ruling party prefers yellow-tan. The signs are tall, vertical, showing the politician standing and garlanded, and smiling right at you. Sometimes it's just a big head with that serious yet smiling person - hoping to exude competence, fairness, and concern for YOU and YOUR LIFE. These ads are actually quite creepy to an outsider, and give me a sense of Big Brother. The pink and the yellow and the garlands (which are often draped around gods in temples) make me wonder if the underlying intent is to deify the politicians.
Hmmmm.
Driving through those dusty backroads you would be met with billboards painted on barnwalls for Purina animal feeds or local wholesale tobacco markets.
The rural area between Chennai and Pondy is also papered edge to edge with advertisements. And for products I'd never think to advertise. Huge ads for plywood fight for space with electrical cable ads and concrete and cement ads. These were also in Hyderabad and Chennai, so I guess they came with the IT boom.
Every small shop in the villages we pass has a poster on its exterior wall for Airtel and / or Vodaphone mobile phone companies. Airtel and Vodaphone plaster farm buildings and other structures with sign after sign after sign. It seems that even people who have no wired electricity or running water, have a cell phone.
The political signs also carry out into the countryside. While the signs in Hyderabad are predominantly pink, in this state the ruling party prefers yellow-tan. The signs are tall, vertical, showing the politician standing and garlanded, and smiling right at you. Sometimes it's just a big head with that serious yet smiling person - hoping to exude competence, fairness, and concern for YOU and YOUR LIFE. These ads are actually quite creepy to an outsider, and give me a sense of Big Brother. The pink and the yellow and the garlands (which are often draped around gods in temples) make me wonder if the underlying intent is to deify the politicians.
Hmmmm.
Chennai to Pondy (Part 3)
We sped past Christian churches -- many Catholic, many Pentecostal -- topped with a cross and done up in Indian-style decorations and colors.
If speeding is what it's called -- it felt like speeding, though I think it was only 90 kph -- beep, beep and passing the auto-ricks and the motorcycles and the crowded ECR buses.
As a means of speed control, the authorities have placed 'gates' across the road. A wall will be across the lane(s) on our side and then another wall will be across the oncoming lane(s) in thirty more feet, which requires us to slow down to an almost-stop and zig zag (gulp!) around the walls into oncoming lanes and back, taking order following some road courtesy algorithm that I haven't been able to decipher yet.
We sped through areas where tidal marshes crossed under the road and shallow water spread out on the right, and white sea birds soared, where traditional salt-making operations were in full swing, ladies in saris the color of tropical flowers bending over the ground as far as the eye can see, doing what they do to extract salt from water.
We sped past bus stops under large shade trees, seemingly in the middle of no where, where dozens of people stood waiting for their ride.
We sped past walled planned developments laid out in Western style grids, streets paved, central front gates locks, weeds growing up through the groundwork of someone's failed Big Idea.
If speeding is what it's called -- it felt like speeding, though I think it was only 90 kph -- beep, beep and passing the auto-ricks and the motorcycles and the crowded ECR buses.
As a means of speed control, the authorities have placed 'gates' across the road. A wall will be across the lane(s) on our side and then another wall will be across the oncoming lane(s) in thirty more feet, which requires us to slow down to an almost-stop and zig zag (gulp!) around the walls into oncoming lanes and back, taking order following some road courtesy algorithm that I haven't been able to decipher yet.
We sped through areas where tidal marshes crossed under the road and shallow water spread out on the right, and white sea birds soared, where traditional salt-making operations were in full swing, ladies in saris the color of tropical flowers bending over the ground as far as the eye can see, doing what they do to extract salt from water.
We sped past bus stops under large shade trees, seemingly in the middle of no where, where dozens of people stood waiting for their ride.
We sped past walled planned developments laid out in Western style grids, streets paved, central front gates locks, weeds growing up through the groundwork of someone's failed Big Idea.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Chennai to Pondy (Part 2)
The two-lane ECR road was in sight of the bay for almost the entire drive from Chennai to Pondy -- about 2.5 hours. There were indeed some very nice looking resorts sparkling along the waterfront, set far back from the road.
And there were a few nice housing developments -- a single lane perpendicting from ECR straight down a slight incline to the waterfront, new two and three story Indian style concrete houses with carports and rooftop terraces, painted in a cheery mix of pastel colors (mint-green-and-lavender, terra-cotta-and-sky-blue). Some developments had gates -- the resorts had guards in uniforms, manning their tall, white gates surrounding by lush green lawns.
We wove through countless small villages holding a temple, a couple of shops and houses in various levels of affluence and decay, thin, wizened people walking along the road or across a field, or standing in line at the little shops, never a stoplight in view.
Sometimes a large temple would have huge clunky statues, two-story tall gods sitting on Weeble-esque horses. And sometimes the temples were loud, blasting pre-recorded sermons through PA systems so the entire village -- and maybe the next one too -- could hear it in their hot, trying lives, and maybe would think WWKD or WWGD throughout the day.
Sometimes a single dwelling -- could be 6000 square feet with shiny gold tile roof, could be single room concrete house with roof top terrace, could be a blue tarp and bamboo tent -- would be sitting alone on the side of the road.
The majority of the land was simply empty. You might spot some livestock grazing, or some walking trails, or just empty fields of scrub grass.
With the blue of the sparkling water in the distance, stretching off to infinity.
And there were a few nice housing developments -- a single lane perpendicting from ECR straight down a slight incline to the waterfront, new two and three story Indian style concrete houses with carports and rooftop terraces, painted in a cheery mix of pastel colors (mint-green-and-lavender, terra-cotta-and-sky-blue). Some developments had gates -- the resorts had guards in uniforms, manning their tall, white gates surrounding by lush green lawns.
We wove through countless small villages holding a temple, a couple of shops and houses in various levels of affluence and decay, thin, wizened people walking along the road or across a field, or standing in line at the little shops, never a stoplight in view.
Sometimes a large temple would have huge clunky statues, two-story tall gods sitting on Weeble-esque horses. And sometimes the temples were loud, blasting pre-recorded sermons through PA systems so the entire village -- and maybe the next one too -- could hear it in their hot, trying lives, and maybe would think WWKD or WWGD throughout the day.
Sometimes a single dwelling -- could be 6000 square feet with shiny gold tile roof, could be single room concrete house with roof top terrace, could be a blue tarp and bamboo tent -- would be sitting alone on the side of the road.
The majority of the land was simply empty. You might spot some livestock grazing, or some walking trails, or just empty fields of scrub grass.
With the blue of the sparkling water in the distance, stretching off to infinity.
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