Why is it that we live in spotless houses, yet walk through the streets piled with garbage, clogged drains, and rivers poisoned by industrial waste? Why do we guard the cleanliness of our homes so fiercely, but treat public spaces as dumping grounds? Cleanliness is worthy of worship, but littering in practice is a modern irony, and one of many that we Indians live with. Like us Indians always being in a hurry but never on time, or the fact that we believe in unity in diversity, yet fight over everything that separates us, over things that bind us
Cleanliness, ironically, is celebrated in our culture — but only when it serves us individually, within the fractured sense of what is ours. Beyond our thresholds of individualistic possession, it no longer matters. But when did we forget that India, too, is our home, not just the four walls we inhabit? Our cleanliness benefits only us and us alone, and in the long run, this selfish view corrodes both our environment and our dignity as a nation. Every time you see a garbage pile, you love this country a little bit less. But is it the problem of this nation? Or does the rot run deeper?
The truth is uncomfortable: our neglect comes from colonial-era mental scars and the fractured sense of collective responsibility in modern India.
Cleanliness in Indian Culture
Cleanliness has never been alien to us. It is woven into the very fabric of Indian life, way of living, and sustenance for centuries. We bathe daily, we step into temples in our best and cleanest attire, we pray in spotless mosques and churches, and we celebrate festivals with rituals of purity. But the important essence we must recall and ask is: isn’t India a temple in itself? If we can worship Bharat Mata as a goddess, how can we justify desecrating her rivers, streets, and commons with filth? Somewhere along the way, our mental psyche has forgotten that what we practice within the realm of religion is not separate from daily civic life. Cleanliness was once both cultural and spiritual; today, we’ve shrunk it into a private ritual, forgetting its larger meaning. It is not a coincidence that our drama is called Santana Dharma, the timeless code of life.
Colonial Hangover: Mental Colonialism
And here lies the deeper wound. During colonial rule, Indians were painted as an uncivilized, dirty, backward lot of people. This narrative was hammered into us for over two centuries. In resistance, we clung to our identity, but in doing so, we also rejected practices labelled “Western.” Cleanliness, politeness, and civility were reframed as foreign traits not authentically ours. As Ashis Nandy argues in The Intimate Enemy, colonialism created not just political domination but psychological scars that reframed our understanding of civility, cleanliness, and civilisation. This mental colonialism still lingers. Even today, when we demand public cleanliness, there’s an inner voice mocking the idea of a “clean India” as unrealistic. Have we ever truly imagined spotless avenues, pure rivers, pristine beaches? Or do we instinctively dismiss it as impossible, because somewhere we believe dirtiness defines us, that we were destined and made to be this way? India is not dirty because its people want it that way. India is dirty because we are shackled by a mindset that mistakes civic sense for foreign imitation.
A Resistance to Change
This colonial scar has left us with a reflexive resistance to change, and it extends beyond just saving what is truly ours. Even logical, universal values are met with suspicion. Civic campaigns urging us not to litter are dismissed as impractical or “not our culture.” Or are we simply too busy to care?
And when rules are enforced, we cling to false equivalences. Imagine being fined for throwing garbage on the roadside — our first instinct would be to argue: “Criminals roam free, politicians get away with corruption, yet I must pay for littering?” Do you see the irony? By comparing two unrelated wrongs, we justify our irresponsibility and block all progress. This mindset not only shackles us but also ensures that nothing changes.
The Urban-Rural Divide
A stark contrast lies between clean rural India and our sprawling, littered metropolises. Villages, often with fewer resources and less education, are noticeably cleaner. Streets are swept before festivals, waste is managed collectively, and there is a shared pride in common spaces. Why then do our “educated” cities reek of garbage? Because in villages, there is a collective sense of responsibility: what is ours must be cared for.
This is clearly explained by Robert Putnam’s idea of “social capital,” which helps explain why Indian villages, with stronger community bonds, maintain cleanliness better than anonymous urban centers. Urban India, by contrast, thrives on anonymity. The street belongs to no one, so no one cleans it. The fractured urban identity breeds neglect, where everyone assumes “someone else will do it.” What our villages demonstrate is not ignorance but wisdom — a wisdom cities have abandoned.
Individualism & Loss of Collective Ownership
Modernity has only deepened the fracture. Rising individualism and shrinking community ties mean people now invest only in private spaces. Apartments and gated communities gleam with order, while the streets outside rot. Media and advertising reinforce this divide: a clean home is marketed as a marker of success, but clean streets are no one’s responsibility. The neglect of public space reflects what Garrett Hardin ironically calls “the tragedy of the commons”. When everyone benefits from shared resources, but no one feels responsible for their upkeep. Public space has become invisible, abandoned to decay. In clinging to our cleanliness, we have lost our collective soul and responsibility.
Reclaiming Cleanliness as Our Own
The real tragedy is this: cleanliness is not Western. It is deeply Indian, rooted in ideas of purity, respect, and community. What we have lost is not the concept itself, but the collective spirit that once animated it. Reclaiming public cleanliness is not about copying the West; it is about rediscovering ourselves. India can be clean — but only when we stop hiding behind excuses, break free from colonial scars, and extend the same respect to our public spaces that we reserve for our private homes. Our independence may have freed us politically, but true freedom lies in breaking mental colonialism and reclaiming our collective responsibility. Until then, our homes will shine while our streets rot — a mirror of our fractured national psyche.