Waste Water and Water Waste

Waste Water… and Water Waste

This is blog is inspired by www.BlogAdda.com

But I have not written it over weekend, simply because I was researching and I needed to get my information right.

So lets start at the very beginning.. No we are not going to a place where water was common resource but to this event called the world water day. It’s on 22nd of march, which means this article is almost a week late and most of us are probably already looking at 1st April for the all fools day. this year the UN focuses on waste waters and the ways to reduce and reuse as over 80% of all the waste water from our homes, cities industries and agriculture flows back into nature polluting the environment and losing valuable nutrients and other recoverable materials.

The UN also has a goal 6 which is ensuring availability and sustainable management of water and sanitation for all by 2030. The target of this is is to halve the proportion of untreated waste water and increase water recycling and safe re-use of water.

Some facts from the UN

  • Globally over 50% of the water waste generated by the society flows back into ecosystem without being treated or reused.
  • 8 billion People use a source of drinking water contaminated with faeces, putting them at risk contracting cholera, dysentery, typhoid and polio. Unsafe water, poor sanitation and hygiene cause around 842,000 deaths each year.(data courtesy WHO/UNICEF)

After all this not really relevant data, let’s look at waste water,  how many of you saw sewage, kitchen flow etc. etc. the imagery of cattle bathing in the river, or clothes being washed in the river. Well cattle bathing in the river is their right I do not what gives us the right to deprive them, but that is another war, not the agenda here. clothes being washed at the river side is an issue because the detergents that are marketed so heavily subtly ridiculing the traditional washing aids, contaminate water.  I doubt if the policy makers also thought of the real pollutants from urban sewage, trucks being washed at the water bodies, industrial waste etc. etc. Contamination also occurs right up to the groundwater through septic tanks.

The theme this year is about reusing waste water

The Water Resource Department,(WRD) has come up with a sequential water reactor, the first level of treatment allows the water to be used to flush the toilets and to be used in gardens, while the second level allows the water to become drinkable.  Government provides assistance to bring this into action; somehow housing societies are rather reluctant to pick this one.

The area that WRD is supposed to work on, is creating awareness on rainwater harvesting and assisting people to do so. the government gives a subsidy of 50.000 – 2 lakhs, to individuals or societies to achieve this. Every panchayat has an officer appointed by the government to do this, yet the citizens are totally unaware of this.

Ground water act calls for all wells to be registered, so do the water tankers. – Details are found on the web of WRD, printed copy of this act is not available, and translation to quite a few vernacular language is also required. The job and funds for doing so is available to the information department. The PWD takes on the cleaning of the existing wells,

The government has allotted funds for de-silting, and cleaning existing wells. The wells need to be registered to avail this. The directorate of health, which is in charge of checking the water quality, has required equipment, and a designated officer but is absolutely clueless on how to use the equipment as no one has demanded that it be done, the resources undergo disuse atrophy.

Know the department involved in water saga,

  • Sewage and Infrastructural Development Corporation. Every state has one.       In charge of the waste water treatment.
  • Water resource department — water supply, rainwater harvest education, registration of wells, and water transport trucks.
  • Directorate of Health Services water quality maintenance, and watch dog for waterborne diseases.
  • PWD water cleaning and de-silting and maintenance of ground water

The information I have handed is also incomplete, since time is a constrain. But amazes me is when we buy a television we check out the service etc. etc. we do not take the trouble of seeing where our tax money is going. Nor do we take the responsibility for any of this when we buy our flat.


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


image courtesy google

Nobody knows that I…

She didn’t even want to complete the sentence. After all the best way to keep a secret is to keep it even from your own self. But the truth was she was a nonperson, a shadow, a ghost. She was not really sure that she was a whole person ever… she realized it now, and she was not sure where the damage began.

It struck her only when she toying with the mask, she turned round and asked Vittal,

“Do you think you wear a mask?”

“I’m wearing on right now” Vittal smiled softly. “We both are.”

“It’s a sad thought.”

“Yes” he said, “But sometimes I wonder about the alternative. Imagine if we had no secrets, no respite from the truth. What if everything was laid bear the moment we introduced ourselves?

“Secrets and lies, Vittal aren’t they like the cancer of the soul? They eat away what is good and leave and leave only destruction behind.”

“Don’t you when strangers and friends come to call straighten the cushions, kick the books under the bed and put away the laptop that you were pounding on? How many of us want any of us to see us as we really are? Isn’t the mirror hostile enough?”

She looked, at him again; he had the look of a person who was just going to hand in the punch line…

“And when at last you find someone to who whom you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you for so long.”

She looked at him as he walked away, yes; secrets were of two kinds, one that you want to keep and the other that you dare not let out.   It was transformation time, to dress up, wear the mask and go to the party. Somewhere she took pleasure in her transformations, she looked quiet and consistent, but few knew how many women were trapped in her.

The perfume she realized was first created to keep people from knowing the stench of foul and offensive odors.. Species and bold flavourings were created to keep people from recognizing the taste of putrid and rotting meat.. What about music she wondered what was it created? May be to drown the voices of others, or the voices within ourselves…she didn’t want to know.

She knew she had two lives, one, open seen and known by all who cared to know, full of relative truth and of relative false hood exactly like the lives of her friends and acquaintances, and another life running its course in secret. And through some strange perhaps accidental conjunction of circumstances everything that was essential, of interest and of value to her, everything in which she was sincere and did not deceive herself, everything that made the kernel of her life was hidden from other people.


Nobody knew she had secrets, some guessed that there were spaces, gaps where answers should be, where someone should have sat, where someone used to be. A name that is never uttered, or maybe uttered once and never again…

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


Quest for my Tribe- before internet

Image courtesy google

It is almost 15 years since I discovered cyberspace, a wonder world, were I could travel my economic, family, constrains didn’t exist. About 10yrs back I moved in, and now I am a netizen, its great here, we get to live inside where the weather is always awesome.

Before the internet, I did not fit, in other people’s company was dull, gloomy, unwelcome it was a strange situation of being at once bored and boring. I felt like Dr.Ried   socially handicapped, and didn’t know when to stop being a facto-pedia.

In a world before internet the only escape mechanism I had was reading, so I acquired the habit of reading, it was as if I was constructing this refuge for myself from all miseries of life. Besides the alternate universe offered by books, museums were a great place to go. Nobody actually recognized me for what I was doing escaping the only title I received was a nasty, “show off”.

It was wonderful to yank myself from this world, of ridicule, being treated like an unintelligent duffer to a world that once existed, and still did in my imagination. The result despite of pretending to be a fluffy social creature I was a loner. Let me share this one with you, if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you it is not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before and people continue to disappoint them.

Then opened the beautiful Cyberspace, a consensual hallucinating experience, then discovered by few, but experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts…a graphic representation of data abstracted from banks of every computer in the human system, unthinkable complexity, lines of light ranged in the no space of the mind, clusters and constellation of data, like city lights, receding.

What would people do with their lives today, I am not focusing on only the young like Kurt Vonnegut does, it is society in general, the most daring thing to do is to create stable communities that is what happens in cyberspace communities are built. These are not about being identical; it is about maintaining our individuality and finding comfort in the overlap.

The cyberland has created communities that transcend geographic boundaries, for me it gave a sense of belonging.

Since 1993 every single day, the media chants that internet is changing our lives. It has become an acceptable belief.

If cyberspace has allowed me to find my community, it has also normalized amateur pornography! There is no other justification for the amount of naked people on the World Wide Web. Quite few of them doing it for non-monetary reasons. 15 years ago it would have unimaginable  … a fat and forty matron, doing the belly dancing and someone out there actually watching it…life was about re-runs of here’s Lucy and Buniyaad.

Image courtesy google

Sometimes I wonder if  we refuse to turn off our computers, turn off our phone, log off facebook and just sit in silence because in those moments we might actually have to face up to who we really are!!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


Muse-Image courtesy google.

The muse

Muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.. Like they did today,

Manda stood listening to all the eulogy that the parish had created for Mukesh her estranged husband; it was like they were speaking of another person all together. More she pondered about it, maybe they were right, maybe he had moved on to become another person.

Musing over things, she could recollect the early days when Mukesh a promising surgeon had given her attention. From the little town in the backyard of Manipal, this flamboyant South African paying attention really made her feel great.

Then came their marriage, the birth of Kavya, they were still in India, and Mukesh was with  a hospital in Mumbai doing his masters, she remembered the riots in Mumbai, despite of being a doctor they could not save Kavya who died of aspiration. Then came the birth of Aditya, and Ananya they moved to Durban and something went bad. Mukesh started dabbling with stock market.

No matter how much ruminated over things she could figure where she went wrong. Giving up job, focusing on bring up kids, working her butt out as store and housekeeping in charge in the hospital, times she did the cleaning herself if the staff caused trouble. But slowly he moved away.

“Mrs Duggal” the voice had asked her, when affirmed she was, could you come over to the clinic please?

Manda had rushed down, to her horror the door was closed, and blood streamed out. Mukesh had tried to kill himself. It is was only then she figured, that for the past 7 years that he was drifting from her Mukesh was having an affair with Suraiyya the receptionist. Suraiyya had just decided to quit as she was moving to Cape Town with her boyfriend. And Mukesh was devastated!!

Mukesh and she had parted ways, though returning to India was option, Manda didn’t want it yet. Aditya had a job in a bank, while Ananya was studying and Manda had slowly turned to Ubuntu that opened doors for her.

it was Christmas eve and Manda was at her prayer group, they were to meditate on the year that was. This was the third message, first one from paresh; second from Kaushik now the third from Aditya all asking the same question where Mukesh was.

Alarm bells rang through Manda, at Mukesh’s flat the light were ablaze, the faint rumbling of the TV could be heard. A hint of dead rat came through too. A bit confused Manda asked his land-lady for a key, when she entered, there he lay.

His bag set for departure, clothes neatly laid out like a true OCD person, and Mukesh on the floor, maggots had emerged….

from BlogAdda

Now as Manda was listening to what the parish had to say, she wondered if the Mukesh she married passed away when he tried to commit suicide and another soul took his body over…


  • the words in italics are synonyms for muse.
  • This is written for write over weekend series of blog adda.


It’s nae mah resolution.

image courtesy Google.

“In War: Resolution,
In Defeat: Defiance,
In Victory: Magnanimity
In Peace: Good Will.”
― Winston S. ChurchillThe Second World War

Holy Christ.. if resolution is in war then this is not my resolution…yet if me muse over it then on the opposite lane is provocation!!

Thinking about it, we spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list we ought to walk through the rooms of lives… not looking for flaws but for potential.

Resolved, to endeavor to obtain for myself as much happiness in the other world as I possibly can, with all the power, might, vigor, and vehemence, yea violence, I am capable of.” 
 Jonathan EdwardsJonathan Edwards’ Resolutions: And Advice to Young Converts

Sounds an interesting resolution but wonder what the provocation was.

Maybe if I provoke me, to give myself to me… then everything will fall effortlessly into place and there will resolution of minor conflicts in space. Maybe I need to look into what is this fascination of conflicts and wars.

Somewhere I do like making mistakes, for I make mistakes when I do something new, learning, living, pushing myself, changing myself, changing my world. It means I am doing things I have never done before, more importantly i am Doing Something.

Maybe whatever I am scared of doing, I should do it.

One conflict that I need to resolve is probably dealing with hurt that are dealt to me,  to forgive or not..if I spend my time hoping some will suffer consequences for what they did to my heart , well then I am letting them hurt me a second time in my mind.

The cycle is very simple, if there is no communication, then there is no respect. If there is no respect then then there is no caring. If there is no caring then there is no understanding. If there is no understanding then there is no compassion. If there is no compassion then there is no empathy. If there is no empathy then there is no forgiveness. If there is no forgiveness then there is no kindness. If there is no kindness then there is no honesty. If there is no honesty then there is no love. If there is no love then God does not reside there. if God does reside there then there is no peace. If there is no peace there is no happiness… if there is no happiness then there is conflict because there is no communication… the battle is lost for the want of a horseshoe nail…provocative uh! So the resolution will be communication.

image courtesy Google

So much for new year resolutions, that are mine or not mine, for last year’s words belonged to last years language, next years words await another voice and to make an end is to make a beginning. Lets do as we do every New Year’s Eve… we made ridiculous resolutions, without knowing the battle, and quietly we all wondered what the coming year would hold, each of us praying for our own private miracles. Good health, better health, a marriage for this child, a good job for another. This hopefulness is something hardwifed into our psyche, that a new year might mean something monumental something wonderful could happen to bring us happiness at a level we had never known. A new year is a point to start over. Maybe, just maybe there would peace on earth for one entire day.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Soul Symphony

from BlogAdda

Music to my ears would mean I am hearing exactly what I want to hear. But the art of conversation is the art of hearing as well being heard. As of now what would be music to my ears….something that addresses something that I really wish for in the deep unacknowledged crevices of my mind. it would also be the something that reassures the deep fear within me

That kind of puts me in a dicey space; I really have to delve deep into the uncharted depths of my mind to see what is that I really wish for. When I was growing up, always wanted to be someone, it kind of never occurred that specificity called for. I should have wished to be the best dentist, or probably the greatest leader or whatever. More importantly I had to acknowledge and own that wish without apology, for to wish was to hope and to hope was expect. Know something there is this small voice that says to grant a man’s entire wish is to take away his dreams and ambitions. After all life is worth living only if we have something to strive for to aim at.

Let’s look at the fear, frankly if I were wise there would only three things that I would fear the sea in the storm, a night with no moon and the anger of gentle person.

What I realized was that, we do not fear being inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure, it is or light and not our darkness that frightens us we, ask ourselves,”who am I be brilliant, gorgeous, talented fabulous?” coming to think of it, who are not be so? We are but child of God, when we play small we do not serve the world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And we let our own light shine; we unconsciously give other people to do the same. As we are liberated from own fear our presence automatically liberates others.

Well now what. Epiphany, live in the moment, and I have heard the best music that I could ever, the cardiologist told me, that my mother’s angiogram reports read that she does not require any surgical intervention and she can go Cambodia just as she was planning.

At the end of the day…Music is an agreeable harmony for the honour of God, and the permissible delights of the soul, a language of the spirit that opens the secret of life bringing peace and abolishing strife. One might claim, Beethoven tells you what it’s like to  be Beethoven, while Mozart tells you what it’s like to be human, and Bach tells you what it’s like to be the universe. by the real music has the lyrics and composition to bring peace and harmony within, it is just for us recognize and acknowledge that symphony.


There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.

The Orjit heard that she had left the country, that there was a gift she wanted him to have, but it was lost before it reached him. One night the telephone did ring and a voice that might have been hers said something that Orjit could not interpret. Before the connection crackled and broke up.

Here he was several years later, from a taxi he saw someone in a doorway who looked like her but she was gone by the time persuaded the driver to stop. He reckoned he will never see her again.

But whenever it rained he did and would think of her.

Chitra was nice, Chitra was nice and loving, Chitra had loved him, he slowly repeated this to himself with a growing sadness as he also realised that nothing would ever happen between them again. Life sometimes offers you a chance Orjit thought, but he was too cowardly or indecisive to seize it, life took the cards away; there is a moment for doing things, and entering a possible happiness and this moment lasts a few days, a few weeks or even few months, but it only happens and one time only and if you want to return to it later it’s quite impossible. There’s no more place for enthusiasm, belief and faith and there remains just gentle resignation, a sad and reciprocal pity, the useless but correct sensation that something could have happened, that you just simply showed yourself unworthy of this gift that had been offered.

“Saab, shall we go?” asked Ram Bharose the driver.

Orjit looked up, the taxi with the silhouette of Chitra had stopped ahead alighted the vehicle and walked in. Something egged him, maybe it is her and he could just feel maybe just the echo, or ghost of the bond they had had then.  He tried to figure out what actually went wrong.

“What can I do for you Sir?” the public relation man asked

“The lady who came in just now”

“We don’t share our guest information sir,”  somehow Orjit just wanted a closure, he pulled out his departmental ID, the public relations man, toyed with it, and very reluctantly asked,” Chitra madam Sir?” so it was her thought Orjit.

“Yes, can I meet her?”

“Sir she is in a meeting, if necessary I can send word.”

“Yes please,”

Orjit wondered what he would tell her. The porter, returned madam has already left she has to attend another meeting in half an hour it’s at udyog bhavan.

“Maybe you can meet her there would you like me to call?”



“No thank you, I’ll sort”” said Orjit as he moved out, another missed chance.

All he could conclude was no one was to blame for what happened, but that did not make it less difficult to accept. It was a matter of missed connections, bad timing, blundering in the dark. They were always in the right place at the wrong time, the wrong place at right time, always just missing each other, always just a few inches from figuring the whole thing out. That’s what the story boiled down to; he concluded … a series of lost chances. All the pieces were there from the beginning, but no one knew how to put them together.