It was another of those gilded winter evenings. A bunch of people, mostly Europeans, snuggled onto a pile of cushions in a sheltered nook of a lakeside restaurant in Pokhara. Puffs of smoke and thumps of percussion filled the air. I saw them as I passed by the place walking along the lake.
On my way back I saw one of the them searching for something in the muck that lined the edge of the lake. She was actually picking plastic bags and other toxic stuff out of the mucky bank. Dressed in a hippie outfit, her body adorned with piercings and a prominent tattoo, she carried on unfazed by the stares of people around. She was Belgian. I lent her a helping hand. With a broad smile, she gave me a large empty plastic bag to collect the trash in.
I steered away from the northern end of the lake where she was, and discovered a few more tourists dirtying themselves in a bid to clean the lake. Apparently they all knew each other. A guy approached me, thanked me for the help and said, "You should get some more Nepali friends of yours." He was Italian.
"I am not Nepali, I am from India", I said.
"Can you speak Nepali?"
"No, but everyone here can speak and understand Hindi.", I said pointing at a big crowd of locals watching in curiosity.
All attempts to make the by-standers join us failed miserably. A little kid who knew me asked me,"आपको सफाई का पैसा मिल रहा है क्या ?" ("Are you being paid for cleaning the place?"). Most people took a defensive stance, claiming they never threw trash into the lake. But no one joined.
The Italian guy was the mastermind behind the act. Back in Italy he taught environmental sciences as a profession.
"We will clean the lake, buy some dustbins and put them all along the lakeside. I plan to visit the municipality and talk to them. We can print 'Sapara Pokhara' (clean Pokhara) everywhere. Can you come with us and talk with the people in municipality?", he said in a distinctive Italian accent.
"Sure, but let's do it this week. I am going back to India the next week."
He gathered a big crowd and began talking to them, trying to explain how important it was to keep the lake clean and the environment healthy. As corny as it may sound, most people got defensive and began explaining themselves.
A week later, on my way to Sunauli in India I saw him in the bus again. He had probably given up on the people of Pokhara. I lost him at the border but ran into him again in Gorakhpur after a couple of hours. He was haggling with a ticket agent over a ticket to Varanasi. His notion of Varanasi was a haven of spirituality, religious piety and peace.
He left for Varanasi that night. Phewa Lake in Pokhara is A LOT cleaner than the holy river Ganges in Varanasi. I wonder how he reacted to the ground reality of the holy town and its holier river.
On my way back I saw one of the them searching for something in the muck that lined the edge of the lake. She was actually picking plastic bags and other toxic stuff out of the mucky bank. Dressed in a hippie outfit, her body adorned with piercings and a prominent tattoo, she carried on unfazed by the stares of people around. She was Belgian. I lent her a helping hand. With a broad smile, she gave me a large empty plastic bag to collect the trash in.
I steered away from the northern end of the lake where she was, and discovered a few more tourists dirtying themselves in a bid to clean the lake. Apparently they all knew each other. A guy approached me, thanked me for the help and said, "You should get some more Nepali friends of yours." He was Italian.
"I am not Nepali, I am from India", I said.
"Can you speak Nepali?"
"No, but everyone here can speak and understand Hindi.", I said pointing at a big crowd of locals watching in curiosity.
All attempts to make the by-standers join us failed miserably. A little kid who knew me asked me,"आपको सफाई का पैसा मिल रहा है क्या ?" ("Are you being paid for cleaning the place?"). Most people took a defensive stance, claiming they never threw trash into the lake. But no one joined.
The Italian guy was the mastermind behind the act. Back in Italy he taught environmental sciences as a profession.
"We will clean the lake, buy some dustbins and put them all along the lakeside. I plan to visit the municipality and talk to them. We can print 'Sapara Pokhara' (clean Pokhara) everywhere. Can you come with us and talk with the people in municipality?", he said in a distinctive Italian accent.
"Sure, but let's do it this week. I am going back to India the next week."
He gathered a big crowd and began talking to them, trying to explain how important it was to keep the lake clean and the environment healthy. As corny as it may sound, most people got defensive and began explaining themselves.
A week later, on my way to Sunauli in India I saw him in the bus again. He had probably given up on the people of Pokhara. I lost him at the border but ran into him again in Gorakhpur after a couple of hours. He was haggling with a ticket agent over a ticket to Varanasi. His notion of Varanasi was a haven of spirituality, religious piety and peace.
He left for Varanasi that night. Phewa Lake in Pokhara is A LOT cleaner than the holy river Ganges in Varanasi. I wonder how he reacted to the ground reality of the holy town and its holier river.
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