When I first got to India, I would daydream about wearing rain boots around town.
Besides the tin-can sized one in our hotel room, trash cans really don't exist in India. There are literally mounds of trash along the sides of the road; it sits and kind of mulches into a heap of half rotted and half plastic materials while it spills into the street. As someone who was raised in a place where trash is well hidden and the concept of recycling has long been in style, the stinking, mulching, festering mounds of trash here really grossed me out at first.
Indians used biodegradable food containers and reusable bags for all of their shopping needs up until quite recently, according to Archana, so for a long time the materials that they would throw into the street disintegrated quite nicely. The habit of tossing rubbish into the street became imbedded in the culture here, and once something finds its way into a culture- it's damn near impossible to get it out.
So people continue to throw all their trash into the street and it just sits there and makes no effort to get out of the way of wherever you are going. One wrong step and you could really easily be knee deep in waste. The waste feeds flies, dogs, cats, birds, cows, goats, pigs, monkeys- people. It's an entity of it's own. It's colorful, even. In fact, on the way to school today I decided to look at it as decoration.
But trash isn't the only type of waste on the streets. I've seen more variety of shit in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life. No, really! Cow pies? More like cow mountains. I could go into detail here, but I'll just say that everything that can poop, does poop on the streets of India. It's become like a guessing game, and it's almost fun. Almost.
The waste situation is tricky enough to navigate around by constantly watching the ground, but then you get to a street crossing. Looking down while crossing the street is a bona-fide death wish. Instead, one must acquire intense determination and a steadfast fixation on the other side and not look down.
Actually- crossing the street in India demands an entry of it's own so I'll leave it like that and get to it when I can.
The ground in India did cause a little anxiety for me when I first arrived. I have one pair of sandals (the pair I wore on the plane) and even if I did bring shoes I think they would just sweat off my feet. Treking to school in the mornings felt brave. I would get to school and just imagine myself stomping around Pondicherry's streets in boots with the same giddy freedom I feel when I walk outside in rain-boots for the first time each year. I would be so carefree!
I've always known that feet are considered to be the most unclean part of the body in India, but it took on a whole new meaning after arriving. They're considered unclean because they're really freaking unclean. The true locals rock bare feet everywhere! If not, they're wearing sandals. I completely understand why Archana said to pack a pumice stone- to scrub your feet raw at the end of the day!
I've gotten over it and don't really care anymore. My feet are grosser than they have ever been and I wash them every night.
Alexa stepped in poop the other day, we're not sure what kind. It was funny and we laughed about it. She got over it. She's never looked at her Birkenstocks the same since. I'm waiting for my turn. Sure as diarrhea after Indian trainfood, it will happen. It will be funny, we will laugh at it, I'll get over it.
Besides the tin-can sized one in our hotel room, trash cans really don't exist in India. There are literally mounds of trash along the sides of the road; it sits and kind of mulches into a heap of half rotted and half plastic materials while it spills into the street. As someone who was raised in a place where trash is well hidden and the concept of recycling has long been in style, the stinking, mulching, festering mounds of trash here really grossed me out at first.
Indians used biodegradable food containers and reusable bags for all of their shopping needs up until quite recently, according to Archana, so for a long time the materials that they would throw into the street disintegrated quite nicely. The habit of tossing rubbish into the street became imbedded in the culture here, and once something finds its way into a culture- it's damn near impossible to get it out.
So people continue to throw all their trash into the street and it just sits there and makes no effort to get out of the way of wherever you are going. One wrong step and you could really easily be knee deep in waste. The waste feeds flies, dogs, cats, birds, cows, goats, pigs, monkeys- people. It's an entity of it's own. It's colorful, even. In fact, on the way to school today I decided to look at it as decoration.
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| We say hi to these guys every day on the way to school as they eat their breakfast. |
But trash isn't the only type of waste on the streets. I've seen more variety of shit in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life. No, really! Cow pies? More like cow mountains. I could go into detail here, but I'll just say that everything that can poop, does poop on the streets of India. It's become like a guessing game, and it's almost fun. Almost.
The waste situation is tricky enough to navigate around by constantly watching the ground, but then you get to a street crossing. Looking down while crossing the street is a bona-fide death wish. Instead, one must acquire intense determination and a steadfast fixation on the other side and not look down.
Actually- crossing the street in India demands an entry of it's own so I'll leave it like that and get to it when I can.
The ground in India did cause a little anxiety for me when I first arrived. I have one pair of sandals (the pair I wore on the plane) and even if I did bring shoes I think they would just sweat off my feet. Treking to school in the mornings felt brave. I would get to school and just imagine myself stomping around Pondicherry's streets in boots with the same giddy freedom I feel when I walk outside in rain-boots for the first time each year. I would be so carefree!
I've always known that feet are considered to be the most unclean part of the body in India, but it took on a whole new meaning after arriving. They're considered unclean because they're really freaking unclean. The true locals rock bare feet everywhere! If not, they're wearing sandals. I completely understand why Archana said to pack a pumice stone- to scrub your feet raw at the end of the day!
I've gotten over it and don't really care anymore. My feet are grosser than they have ever been and I wash them every night.
Alexa stepped in poop the other day, we're not sure what kind. It was funny and we laughed about it. She got over it. She's never looked at her Birkenstocks the same since. I'm waiting for my turn. Sure as diarrhea after Indian trainfood, it will happen. It will be funny, we will laugh at it, I'll get over it.
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