How much do you have to fight for your Water?

We use water in a variety of day-to-day activities. Brushing our teeth, having a bath, washing clothes, preparing food, washing utensils, cleaning cars, scrubbing the floor.... and for drinking. Given that it is such an important part of our daily existence, it's somewhat surprising that we take it for granted. Or perhaps it is precisely those things that are so essential that they have been provided for us (you and me) for over two decades (assuming you're 20-odd, like me when you read this), such as food, clothing and a roof over our heads, that we tend to take for granted.

Anyhow, every summer in our house in Delhi, we have a water crisis. Being in a rented accommodation, we don't have our own water supply connection. We do have pipes, but they run dry over the summer, when Yamuna becomes a black puddle swarming with flies and Delhi sucks up all the potable water it can find thirstily, even when it is from the Yamuna. We have a borewell - tapping ground water is still legal in North Delhi (and I was shocked to know that the government mixes it in the drinking supply over the summer quite openly) - but it dries up over the summer months from April to August every year.

In such a situation, our family has learnt to scrounge on every drop of water we get. And why not, for we have to fetch it ourselves! In the early morning hours, a solitary tap on the ground floor provides a thin trickle of the élixir, which we tap by putting a bucket underneath. We then wait patiently for it to fill up and then fetch it two floors to store for drinking. Every morning, we pour over 10 liters of water into the overhead tank. My mother has all the pots and pans in the kitchen full of water to tide over the kitchen activities for the day. We also recycle water. The water used to rinse vegetables and pulses is reused for watering the plants (which are now being slaughtered, to save ourselves, since they consume so much water) and that used to wash clothes is poured into the WC when needed.

Why am I telling you all this? Because of the incident that took place this morning. It was 6:30 AM. I had been running and had just come back and was walking down the alley at the back of my house, homeward, when I saw these two big black plastic tanks on overflowing with water on a ledge on the first floor overhanging the street. Then I saw him - a young fellow in a banyan perched on the ledge in between the tanks, dipping a large dabba into one of the tanks and throwing precious water onto the road below. He would have thrown about 7-8 dabba-fulls by the time I reached him. He then stopped to allow me to pass. I crossed the place where he was standing above me and he then proceeded to carry on with what he was doing - pouring out water from the tanks onto the street.

I went further ten paces and then stopped. I thought I should ask him what he was up to. Normally I would have muttered to myself and carried on - and now I know why that has always been my better counsel. Anyway, so I stopped and went back. The fellow had kept up his water-expelling drive, but was now hidden somewhere behind the tanks. I called up to him, "Bhaiya!" No response. "Suniye zara!". No response (splash). "Bhaiya ji!" (splash, splash). "zara suniye to!" (splash) "Hello, bhaiya?" Still no response. (splash, splash).

I decided to wait for him to appear. He took a while, throwing water onto the street all the time (splash.... splosh... splash...) , but I can be very patient. The water was somewhat muddy, though it is difficult to tell the colour of water when it is flying through the air, and by the time it landed on the ground, it was brown anyway. I had a watch (I wear one when I go running) - and I stood there for a good 12 minutes. All this time, he was pouring water onto the street, first from one tank and then the other. Finally he popped his head out and I caught his glance. "Bhaiya, zara suniye to!" He looked at me. "Kya main aap se poochh sakta hoon ki aap is tarah pani vyarth kyun jane de rahe hain?" Silence. "Bataiye, jawab deejiye. Aap ke pas koi to wajah hogi?" No answer. He was getting restless. "Pani zyada hai to bacha lijiye, balti mein dal lijiye|" No answer. He turned away. Then I got angry. I said, "yahan se panch ghar door hamein pani peene ko nahin milta hai, or aap is tereh sadak pe baha rahe hain?". No answer. He wasn't even looking at me now, but fiddling with something with his back turned. "Aapki chuppi se main yahi samjhoonga ki aap ke pas koi wajah nahi hai|". No answer. There was someone else behind him whom I couldn't see and they were exchanging some words. I could understand snatches and am quite sure it had nothing to do with me anyway.


So I turned away from there, totally humiliated. When you don't do someone the courtesy of replying when that person is obviously talking to you, it shows the contempt you have for what he is saying. Maybe I didn't start very well. Perhaps I should have asked his name, told him mine, made friends and then asked what he was doing. But I don't think so. Rather, it seems to me that I understood why I was going to pass by without talking to him in the first place - because something told me that he was not going to listen.