Ma(u)lling the planet

The environment ministry has finally banned gutka and tobacco in plastic sachets. Hope it does the same with shampoo sachets. Though the shampoo sachet revolution took place in small towns and villages to attract consumers, the impact it has had on the environment is devastating.
The order also bans provision of free plastic bags by shopkeepers. This looks great on paper. But just how many of us are going to take it seriously?
Whenever I go to buy fruits and vegetables, I have to insist that my purchases are stacked into my cloth bag because the moment I have asked for a kg of peas, like an automated machine, the vegetable vendor’s hand reaches for that horrible, transparent, hazardous, perilous, menacing thing called plastic bag. When I asked my neighbourhood fruit seller why his hand, again like an automated machine, heads for a plastic bag the moment I have asked for half a kg of grapes, he smiled sheepishly. I tried reasoning with him, asking him to stop giving plastic bags, and insist that his customers get their own bags. Before I finished my line, a stylish couple got down from a Pajero and bought a kg each of Washington apples and Nagpur oranges, and a dozen of Kiwis. “Keep the fruits in two separate plastic bags. Do not mix the Kiwis with the other two fruits,” the "madam" ordered as she handed him a 1000-rupee note.
“This is why I keep them, madam,” he answered after handing her the change and ensuring that the couple got into the rear seat of the car and out of his earshot. “I will lose customers if I do not stock plastic.”
“Fair enough,” I sighed. It was obvious that these Pajero and Merc owners, zipping past in their fuel-guzzlers, will certainly not care to choke our planet with plastic.
That was the local shopkeeper. But the endless flow of plastic bags in supermarkets and malls is appalling. First, I have to deposit my jute bag, in which I intend putting my purchases, in the front counter. Fair enough. These malls have to beware of shoplifters, especially during the mad clearance sale rush. But whenever I have gone to the cash counter for payment and then refused those humongous, gory plastic bags with the store names embossed in multi-colour, I am looked at with surprise, even disbelief. And then, when I go to the front counter to collect my jute bag and tuck in my purchases, the entrance security guards look at me as if I am a criminal. So I keep my bill in hand, flaunt it as if assuring them that I am no crook and that I have paid my Rs 499 or Rs 599 for the kurti that I just bought.
It is the same in an upmarket grocery store in Pune called Dorabjee’s. This place has a great brand value for Puneites (sorry Raj Thakeray, for Punekars). It stocks every item under the sun, desi and videsi. There, too, the use of your own bags is discouraged as the baggage counter in very far from the cash counter. I tried telling the cash counter helper to just bill for the items and that I would fill these up in my own bag. He glared at me, and said that I would have to show the bill at the counter and get the number of items I have bought approved by him again. The sheer logistics of having the front counter helper checking all that I have bought all over again just to save the planet from choking a little did not put me off that day. I stopped going to that store after that. But if I did, would I be able to sustain this logistical nightmare?
Why can’t these malls/supermarkets just keep the baggage counter closer to the cash counter and save those concerned about the planet the trouble of being looked at suspiciously? This will save us the trouble of actually feeling apologetic for saying no to plastic. It might, in the long run, save our planet too.

Are we different from Egypt?

So how are we different from Egypt? Is it by just being a democracy?
Our country is a democracy, world’s largest one at that. But we have people’s representatives stashing loads of money in foreign banks. We are a democracy where corruption begins at traffic signals and ends in the highest portals of power.
We are a democracy, but still have to beware of making statements about human rights violations in the garb of Armed Forces Special Power’s Act. We are a democracy, where supporting any group of displaced tribals will invite sedition charges against us. We are a democracy, where social activists have all come under the scanner. We are a democracy, where People’s Union of Civil Liberties has suddenly become a suspicious organisation. We are a democracy where we have to watch our precious land earmarked for Army widows being devoured by land sharks. We are democracy where we have to silently watch our treasury being emptied to fill private coffers in the wake of high-profile sporting events. We are a democracy, where we are helpless seeing tonnes of foodgrains rotting in granaries, while millions are dying of malnutrition and hunger. We are democracy where medical tourism is touted as top revenue grosser, while millions again are denied basic medical facilities. We are a democracy, where the media is gagged by corporate and political vested interests. We are a democracy, where defence deals are struck accompanied by kickbacks. We are a democracy where lush, fertile agricultural land is gifted away almost for free in the name of creating special economic zones. We are a democracy, where high-profile, billion-dollar projects that are certain to rape our environment and displace tribals from their native areas are given go-aheads by a proactive green ministry working under pressure from a government aiming for an investment-friendly climate. We are democracy unshaken by multiple scams.
But when we raise our voices, we are called woolly-headed.
We are a democracy in shackles: corporate shackles, political shackles and real estate shackles.
So are we really different from Egypt?