What's your reason?

Reading about a new initiative in the UK to install machines to promote bottle recycling in return for cash, had me thinking about the age-old practice of selling junk for cash in India. 

In the era of fast fashion, prepacked convenience food, and bulk discounts we buy, switch and throw without discretion. As consumers we have benefitted from mass-scale commercialization, however, we now face a new problem of plenty. As a result, our generation uses a lot but values little. While our wardrobes are full of unworn clothes from boxing day sales and kitchen cupboards with half-eaten boxes of exotic snacks and teas, it is hard for us to truly appreciate value. No doubt then that for those of us who were born at the cusp of the last millennium, recycling for saving resources is not a natural instinct.

In contrast, for Amma and Babaji everything was dear. We had designated space in our backyard where any empty plastic bottles, tin cans, metal scrap, or old newspapers were stored, organised by Babaji himself. Growing up I could not appreciate why he bothered collecting all this junk instead of simply binning waste, it was time-consuming and made that corner of our house look shabby or was so from my perspective anyway. However, as with everything, there was a good reason for this too.

Once a month or so, all the junk was given away to a 'kabaadiwala' (literally translates to scrap-man) who came to collect any disposables in return for cash. He carried a sack, a 'tarazu' (balance weight), and segregated waste by type as each material carried a different intrinsic value in the recycling market. Even though I hated the sight of piled up junk in our backyard, in the monthly cleanup itself I participated with zeal. The 'kabaadiwala' played his own role in the theatrics with the use of 'tarazu' to weigh items piled high precariously but skillfully. The best bit was in the end when aside from handing out some cash (usually distributed as pocket money) he would pack up everything including reams of old newspapers and large cardboard pieces somehow securing it all on his rickety bicycle.

In the same vein, Amma was the proud owner of a trunk full of old sarees, shirts, and some cherished baby clothes once worn by my father and uncle. The trunk was occasionally opened either to reminisce or for additions from my fast expanding wardrobe. The old clothes were sometimes exchanged for new steel utensils as local traders came to our doorstep. There were much discussion and rounds of negotiations led by Amma before she would agree on the barter to her satisfaction. The beauty of this exchange lay in the passion that both sides felt for the value of their respective goods. 

I doubt that I would be able to display the same belief in the value of my new garments let alone for those worn out should the need arise. Incidentally, I recently used a clothes recycling charity to get rid of clothes for cash but never cared enough to follow-up for the small cash reward. Herein lies the crux of the problem we are facing right now. We recycle to declutter our homes and to make space for new rather than painstakingly conserve to derive value from recycling/upcycling like our ancestors. 

It is this indifference towards resources that has the world down on its knees presently. And it will require grit and perseverance to go through the process of unlearning and relearning to value.