2016, Cheap Travel in India, India and public health, Indian bathrooms and showers, Indian bureaucracy, Indian Press, Lack of toilets, Sanitation in India, Shitting by the road, The poor in India, Travel in India, Travel in Maharashtra

Kolhapur Hurrah! ODF!

I will be here to see it not happen.

Kolhapur will be the first Maharashtran city to “Achieve 100% Target,” the Times of India said yesterday (Tuesday, Jan. 19, 2016), referring to ODF, with funding coming from “corporate social responsibility initiatives” (the city) as well as the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan. It will happen by Republic Day on Jan. 26.

The Times of India, Jan. 19, 2016, p. 2

For those who have been living somewhere unplugged, “ODF” means “open defecation-free,” or, maybe, “open-defecation free.” Kolhapurians, by the end of the month will no longer PIP (Poop in Public).

The good word comes from Vijay Patil, Kolhapur’s chief sanitation inspector, who told the Times that four years ago over 1,150 families in the city of about 400,000 lacked a toilet, a number that has been reduced to 113 by “efforts undertaken through various goverment schemes and sensitising programmes.” He added that SBA (“Swachh Bharat Abhiyan” or “Clean India Mission”) money has been used to build public toilets for “around 27 families.” The story didn’t explain why that number was uncertain.

Public toilet, Kolhapur

SBA was begun by the Prime Minister a year ago and Kolhapur would have already made “the Smart City list,” but couldn’t last year, “owing to the open defecation cases.”

The story adds that 10 toilets for women have also been built on an unexplained BOT (“build operate and transfer”) scheme and plans are afoot for 20 more.

Mr. Patil didn’t detail the exact costs of each toilet, the drain on the city budget, the locations, or the style (Japanese modern? American standard? French pre-war?), and the Times didn’t ask. The story didn’t mention a CRPT (“Clean Reeking Public Toilets”) plan.

 

 

 

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2013, 2014, Cheap Travel in India, Chief Minister (Governor) Selvi J. Jayalalithaa., Indian filth, Indifferent Indian government, Lack of toilets, Shitting by the road, Tiruneveli, Travel in India, Travel in Tamil Nadu

Shit

Shit.

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2013, 2014, Cheap Travel in India, Chief Minister (Governor) Selvi J. Jayalalithaa., Indifferent Indian government, Lack of toilets, Tirunelveli, Travel in India, Travel in Tamil Nadu, Unromanticized travel

Feb. 25, 2014, TIRUNELVELI

Disgust may be a facile response to small, soft, diarrheic piles of human excrement which line Indian streets in lieu of flowers or neatly painted fences, but that is so because the disgust has no certain target.

I walked this morning north along the Thamirabarami River, the narrow, shallow, filthy stream which flows sluggishly north and separates Tirunelveli from  Palayamkottai to the east.

Each morning the families who live in adjoining slums walk sleepily to the riverbanks to bathe and brush their teeth and wash clothes by smacking them, soapless, against river rocks and to shit and piss.

Small boys dive into the water, the women with their wash in plastic buckets that once held paint or solvent stand waist-deep in the water and visit, and a man who has just risen uncleaned from his morning squat beside the river road stops a foreign visitor and urges him to take a photo of his “super” young son. A Westerner’s taught avoidance of social objectivity makes it hard to know whether to recall  the man’s toilet habits or his pride in his son.

Thousands in Tiruneveli use the polluted Thamirabarmai River as their toilet and washroom

Thousands in Tirunelveli use the polluted Thamirabarmai River as their toilet and washroom

India’s is a disingenuous squalor. It is pervasive, but it is unseen and unaddressed.

I have been displeased in my hotel because the wifi is unreliable and the staff talk loudly in the hallway outside my door and the guest in the next room shouts on his mobile with the door open and the TV volume raised to a scream. Still, I have a shower, bottled water, sheets which may have been washed with soap, and a flush toilet. I live in relative luxury. It feels petty when I walk out to fault those who live as they must.

Those shitting beside the roads and tracks and river have no alternative. A toilet can be found in the deluxe waiting room at the train station, but it costs 40 rupees. Some expensive restaurants have a washroom with a toilet, but the great majority here can’t afford the entrance price. Otherwise, public toilets are not to be found and the out-houses I recall from my childhood haven’t been invented.

Road shit

Road shit

The Tirunelveli municipality, as is true of every municipality in India, has provided no toilets (or much of anything else), and in the months I have been wandering through south India, reading The Hindu or the laughably incoherent Indian Express with my morning coffee, I have seen no mention in the papers or on TV of toilets or shit-lined streets or roadside pissers. It’s also fair to note that if toilets were available, porcelain basins in which to defecate, the waste, given the government’s lack of interest, would simply flow out with a flush into the sewage canals and then into the river.

Pissing by a busy street, Tiruneveli

Pissing by a busy street, Tirunelveli

As I picked my way along the broken asphalt of the river road this morning, I made a prissy mental note that aside from the soft brown piles, litter adds to the unsightliness. The city sends out unsupervised workers with barrows, but they miss most streets and most of the trash, and it has become deep over the years—old paper and plastic bags and cigarette packs, a twisted shoe, discarded building materials, a rusted ambulance with flat tires, a radiator hose, or, yesterday, a dead dog with an expression of amused contempt on its maggot-covered face.

A public road, Tireuneveli

A public road, Tirunelveli

I fault the state, but it is countless individuals who routinely throw their trash in the street, and piss there, and spit and shit there. As one who travels nearly as a mute—I have not met a single person in Tamil Nadu who can hold even a simple conversation in English, though English is the country’s lingua franca—I am unable to raise the subject, and I’m doubtful that if I could speak,  my questions would even be understood.

During my weeks on the back roads of Tamil Nadu, I’ve developed a deep contempt for my easy scapegoat, Chief Minister  (Governor) Selvi J. Jayalalithaa. She is a longtime party hack familiarly called “Jaya” by the papers. Her face on peeling posters is ubiquitous. Her government Web page is a chest-thumping list of her accomplishments in winning elections with no mention of toilets.

I presume, maybe wrongly, that if if I made my way through her sycophantic retinue and gained an audience, she would frown at my discourtesy in raising such a stinky subject and tell me that programs are being instituted quite soon now to be dealing with litter and protocol for public health. My guess is  she has a toilet in her mansion.

I hear voices from home saying, “So why go there, if you dislike it so much?” I say that at times to myself. I feel, too, that mere complaint is useless, until I step in a pile.

My impulse is to look away from the mire that is India. Disgust is not easily communicable, as our national inclination to go to war demonstrates. Euphemism is the easy resort of the propagandist.

We turn away from the screams and torn bodies of war or from close observation of predatory financiers and dress up the ugliness with medals, Sousa marches and Chamber of Commerce scrolls, making it all sound rather fine.

India shields itself from the grotesque with ad words like “exotic” or “picturesque” and posters of pretty women in pretty saris. It works. The country draws busloads of uncritical tourists.

Even so, bathing in sewage has an effect on real people. Misery deserves notice.

 Tiruneveli

Tirunelveli

Shit

Aside