Every evening, as the sun used to dip and the day sighed its last breath, I used to hear little voices singing in chorus at my daughters’ homes: “Clean up! Clean up! Everybody, everywhere!”
It’s a charming scene — toys being gathered, books stacked, dolls gently tucked back into boxes. Tiny hands restoring order after a joyful mess. And as I watched, I wondered — if only our nation could hum that tune once in a while!
Because, dear reader, while our homes gleam like mirrors before Diwali, the world outside those doors looks like Diwali happened after a bomb blast. The same hands that scrub marble floors and wipe chandeliers clean, fling garbage packets outside the compound wall with Olympic precision. We have, it seems, mastered the art of keeping clean within our four walls — and dirtying everything beyond them.
Some years ago, when I was President of the Rotary, I decided enough was enough. “Let’s clean up the area around,” I declared. The local MLA heard about it and landed up in spotless white, beaming for the cameras. He stood beside me for a photo, his smile as wide as the potholes he hadn’t filled for years. He lent us municipal trucks and even a bulldozer for a couple of months.
The area sparkled. For a few months the streets looked like they belonged to Singapore. But early every morning, I nearly choked. In the night the rubbish was back. Plastic, leftovers, bottles — all right where we’d cleaned. Our local residents, with great civic enthusiasm, had decided the newly-cleaned area made an excellent dumping ground. Apparently, they believed in recycling — only of filth.
We realized that one broom could sweep for a day, but awareness could clean for a lifetime. So we started talking — with shopkeepers, slum dwellers, schoolchildren, housewives, everyone. Not scolding, not lecturing — just sharing the idea that cleanliness could lower their medical bills. Slowly, it worked. People began to care, even take pride. And today, when I drive past that patch, it’s relatively clean — and my heart feels lighter than any garbage truck.
Which brings me to the Swachh Bharat kind of spectacles we so love — ministers holding brooms for exactly six minutes, the cameras clicking like paparazzi at Cannes, and then… back to business as usual.
A cleanliness drive is not a photo-op; it’s a mindset movement. Instead of one-day beach cleanups that end with littered snack packets, why not start year-round awareness programmes? Teach children, societies, and offices that cleaning outside your gate is as patriotic as saluting the flag.
So next time you hear your children sing, “Clean up! Clean up!” — don’t just smile indulgently. Join them. Let that tune echo not only through your home but your street, your city, and your conscience.
And maybe, just maybe, someday soon, India won’t need a broom in every hand — because cleanliness will be in every mind.
And who knows we just might clean up corruption too..!
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