THE SEVEN-DAY PLUMB LINE

Geeta Padmanabhan visits vendors and shopkeepers at Elliot’s Beach a week before the ban on single-use plastic items came into effect, and then revisits them a week after. Here, she is presenting the contrast she found

The Week Before

It was Christmas evening, a week for the plastic ban to come into force. At the Elliot’s beach, I took stock: Really, this plastic-land will become plastic-free?

That would be a wonder. On this beach, the single-use/double-use/forever-use plastic was generated mostly by food vendors. My question about the impending one-time-use plastic ban to some of them elicited interesting answers.

Sundal-sellers K. Sethu and Valarmathi of Odaimanager said they would use “fomex” bowls to serve snacks.

“We’ve placed orders, but erm… spoons are plastic.”

The loss, obviously, would be his. V. Devi was worried about the water-sachet ban. For years, she had earned a rupee on each sachet. “I don’t know how I’ll manage if I can’t sell them.”

She was alarmed the city corporation was building RO plants on the beach.

“It will kill my trade,” she wailed. Dinamani Raayar was preparing furiously for the switch-over.

A veteran of serving boiled peanuts in plastic bags for 20 years, she was waiting to see if the ban was for real.

“When I hear the order, I shall throw away whatever I am not allowed to use,” she sighed. “Hope someone gives me a cheap alternative.” The ice-cream vendors put up a brave front. No problem, said S. Poovarasu, who sells ice creams at the beach entrance.

“I sell on a commission basis. Will close down if asked to do away with plastic wrappers.” He planned to wait for instructions form the company.

“Nature lover” Jayakumar B, at the Aavin cart endorsed the ban fully. Not enough awareness, he complained, asking me to write down his suggestions for alternatives. Ice-cream should be served in mud pots, kulfi was always served in pots, right? Potters would benefit hugely.

For other eatables we have “thaiyal ilai” (leaves of lotus, mandarai, the ubiquitous badam stitched together). Why not ask people to bring “shopping vessels and bags”?

He was confident plastic water-bottles would go if stopped. For chaco-bar wrappers? “Mmm… Need alternatives for bar ice-cream.”

The Week After

On 6th January, I am in for a surprise. Almost everywhere down the promenade vendors are busy making on-the-spot paper cones, filling them with sundal or boiled peanut and handing them to customers.

Plastic spoons are stuck in the cones, but Sethu, Devi and Dinamani assure me they’re the last of the lot.

“People do ask for spoons, but go away eating with fingers,” Dinamani smiled. Her cart, once awash with plastic, now sports bowls of silver foil, cups of thick paper and no water sachet. Sethu reads from the day’s newspaper.

“Raids are on, people have been fined. We have decided to follow the rules.”

Jayakumar repeats his appeal: “Thermocol plates must be replaced by leaf/bark/coconut-shell products. Success depends on implementation, but it should be in phases.”

When C. Kamesh, who runs a vegetable and fruit shop points at his cloth bags and shouts, “Rs. 25 and Rs. 12, bring them back, or buy!” the veggie buyers nod approvingly.

“A small price to pay, what is another 20 bucks to be earth-friendly? We have only one.”

So it’s back to the future, folks. We will carry our “manjapai”, drink tea from “eversilver” tumblers. Shopkeeper “anna” will dip his hand into the glass bottle/cookie jar, pull out biscuits and wrap them in paper. Dals will be delivered in paper cones bound by jute thread. You’ll lug a multi-storeyed tiffin-box to buy a meal. And walk the streets free of the sight of heaped plastic garbage.