Every autumn, vast multitudes offer their love and reverence to Goddess Durga. For days on end, the deity is worshipped by passionate men and women. The prayers go on till the wee hours, as do the celebrations, until it all ends with the idol’s immersion in the Yamuna, an apt act for the river named after the sister of the Lord of Death.
The worshippers all go back home, content the way believers are after a prayer. Life goes on as usual. That is until one comes across a floating idol here, another retrieved by fishermen there. Then the truth strikes: every year hundreds of idols of Durga are immersed in the river, only to add to the river’s sediment quotient.
Every year, new demands are made of the Yamuna, the silently groaning river in danger of being overwhelmed by the city’s waste.
In the city where the term waste management is a misnomer, the river with all its filth and squalor, its toxic effluents, its industrial foam is a perfect example of how Delhi deals with its waste. But why talk of the river alone. Visit any landfill and the sight assails the senses.
For instance, Bhalswa, where a vast open air toxic dump zone stands adjacent to hundreds of urban dwellings. Or go to the infamous e-waste dump in East Delhi where desktops and laptops, motherboards and keyboards all go under the hammer. All without professional supervision, all without caring for any norms of environment management. The children play with them, unskilled workers scrounge around for items of possible re-use.
The local stays oblivious to the danger lurking round the corner. The authorities turn a blind eye, polluted air, filthy water and all failing to nudge them from their slumber. The media wakes up once in a while; symbolically on the World Environment Day or a day or two after Durga’s immersion. Then all is quiet. All is forgotten. Nothing is fine. Nothing jolts the city from its deep indifference to waste management.
