God's own garbage

I was brought up to be religious. When I could think for myself, I changed my view. But temples located amid forests still held a fascination for me - it was the journey, rather than the destination, that appealed to me most. 


It's been a long time since I have visited any temple in the capacity of a pilgrim. But, yes, temples do form part of my itinerary whenever I travel. On a travel writing assignment in 2008, I was required to visit the famous Arulmigu Dandayudhapani Swami Devasthanam at Palani. It's an ancient and venerable temple and I suppose it must have remained harmonious with its immediate environment, as temples once used to. 


I had visited Palani as a child (a memory intertwined with one of my first toothache) and I remembered it to be a far prettier place than it is now. Of course, the devout may differ with me on that. Then, the climb of 693 steps to the sanctum was pleasanter, with shady trees to help break your journey in comfort. 


And there was no plastic.


These pictures, taken two years ago, show a different Palani - one that has unfortunately replaced that old childhood idyll in my memory. I doubt it would have changed if you happen to visit it now. If it has, for the better, do let me know.

On one side, the view from the summit

On the other, a mountain of plastic and garbage

En route, a fervent plea falls on deaf ears (or illiterate eyes)

For a plastic-free hair rinse, go Indian

Over at Life Less Plastic, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the best non-plastic hair rinse options are some Indian recipes that have been used for centuries. 

The common ingredients: shikakai (the fruit of Acacia concinna), amla (the fruit of Emblica officinalis, the Indian gooseberry), henna (made from the leaves of Lawsonia inermis), etc. And our very own oils of coconut, sesame and mustard.

So, for those of you who still have hair left to rinse, do try these at home.

And if you don't know by now, the word shampoo draws its roots from India. 

Does God really live in Plastic Palani?

Last week, I was in Palani, covering the destination for a travel publication. Shock and awe are the two words that can best describe how I felt. Add to that sub-tones of revulsion, derision and the urge to get away from there as fast as a Tata Indica with a TN registration could take me. Now, nearly everyone knows that Palani is the seat of Murugan worship in southern India, and a magnet for the faithful. What they tend to forget is that Palani is also the gateway to the Palani Hills, which are a part of the Western Ghats and the Nilgiri Biosphere. In other words, it's an important link in a very critical ecosystem. However, like any religious destination, Palani is being trashed by tourists with a fervour that defies imagination. Plastic is everywhere, despite effete signboards banning its use. Trash forms a parallel mountain very near the shrine of the lord. And driving 13 km away on the Palani-Kodai road, I came across a signboard that told a sad story. And it struck me that the problem is really deep-rooted. It's not one of literacy or the lack of it. It's not the defiance of the rule of law. It's a hopeless apathy that runs agonisingly deep. And what's that someone said about cleanliness and godliness?

Paper and plastic - kicking the habit

Over at Life Less Plastic, Jeanne Haegele writes: And I still buy milk (in a glass container) and meat (wrapped in paper at the deli), and use my own cloth produce and grocery bags. In my three-decade-plus lifetime I have seen my parents do the same. Why, only about 15 years ago I have bought milk in a steel container. And I have shopped veggies in a little cloth bag emblazoned with a kitschy reproduction of a Mughal painting. As for meat and chicken and fish, we got them wrapped in sheets of newspaper - it was morbidly comic to see the 'killed' and 'dead' so ubiquitous in our headlines clinging to the gills of mackerel or slapped to mutton ribs. Somewhere along the way, plastic took over. First, as a fad. Then, as an excuse for convenience. Now, it has become a scourge. Haegele's article in the Dallas Morning Post was honest in that it dissected the quandary that some of our more discerning shoppers face every day - to plastic or not to plastic. Offered no choice by retailers, most go with the first option (no choice = no option, innit?). Ergo, along with the veggies and cartons and the ephemeral guilt come strips of shrink and bubble wrap, and plastic bags of varying micron thickness. Since we don't eat them, where do they go? Into the trash can. And then? Does anyone care? It's not about plastic alone. At Infosys, where I worked until August, green consciousness is afoot among the employees. How deep this runs is debatable but even a move from ecological nihilism to environmental lip-service is undoubtedly a start and deserves a round of applause, however feeble. At Infosys, plastic bags are being phased out - the bookshop and supermarket at the Bangalore campus have been wrapping their ware in brown paper bags for more than a year. Noble. But what of paper itself? An interesting opinion piece by Stanley Fish ran counter to Haegele's. Of course, the Fish eye-view comes across as anti-environmentalist posturing of shaky credibility - he takes on the greens but it's clear soon enough that he is a renegade green himself. What stayed with me was the reference to toilet paper and that oh-so-familiar name among all ye who paper thy behinds. Kimberley-Clark. If you live in a Turd World Country (like moi) and have trouble placing that name, allow me to help. Think of the last time you used a public loo at a hip software company or at any of our new temples of modern India - the newfangled international airports, eco-sensitive hotels, liver-protecting pubs, etc. The brand name that you smeared your poo with was Kimberley-Clark. Toilet paper, or just paper in the form of napkins and face tissue, has become an addiction with us children of the night-soil. And it is the sole reason why I choose to patronise the pain-in-the-butt salesman touting cloth handkerchiefs at Shivaji Nagar bus stand over the waif at traffic signals selling boxes of paper napkins for your car. But what's galling is the sight of people using whole wads of paper to wipe their faces - it leads me to ponder the unsanitary question: How many reams of Kimberley-Clark does it takes to finish up after they take a dump? Do they know that they are wiping their arses with strips of hoary boreal forest? And just one generation ago, these very people barely had water to use after a trip to the john (which was more likely than not of the clean and hygienic Indian-style sit-down-and-go variety). You didn't know?! There's evidence here and here and here. Back to plastic. The only option we are left with, if not for Alka Zadgaonkar's ingenious idea, is to make it edible. As for paper, why wipe when you can wash? It's time the rest of the world tore a leaf out of the toilet roll of the Turd World.