He was staring right at me.
Though he didn’t utter a word, I could sense the question in his eyes:
Are you dumb?
I remember wondering—what exactly is it that I’m doing wrong?
A few seconds passed. The stare didn’t. It stayed, steady and unblinking, as if waiting for me to realise something on my own.
I was on a train, travelling from Delhi to my hometown, Muzaffarnagar, in western Uttar Pradesh. The man staring at me was one of the boys returning after—apparently—appearing for some competitive exam.
It was wintertime.
A peanut seller boarded the train. The familiar rustle, the quick exchanges, the small paper pouches changing hands. Most passengers bought some. I did too.
Now, here’s the thing.
I try to keep my surroundings clean—as much as possible. So I transferred the peanuts from the paper pouch into the right pocket of my jacket and kept the empty pouch in my lap.
I munched slowly, dropping the peanut shells back into the paper bag.
That’s when I noticed the attention.
The boys in the compartment had stopped minding their own business. They were staring at me—openly, curiously, amused.
As if I were an alien.
A blue, ghostly figure with eyes larger than oranges.
And I could understand why.
Because I was the only one not dropping the peanut shells on the floor.
The Boys Were Amused (and Confused)
The boys on the right-hand side berth seemed particularly puzzled by my “strange” behaviour. One of them, clearly unable to hold it in any longer, finally asked—half-jokingly:
“Brother, what will you do with those shells?”
“The shells?” I said. “Nothing. I’ll throw them where they belong—in a dustbin.”
Hands froze.
Munching stopped.
A sudden, deafening silence settled in the compartment. The kind that makes you aware of every small movement, every breath.
For a moment, I became acutely aware of myself—my posture, my voice, the paper pouch resting in my lap. As if I had accidentally drawn a line no one had expected to see.
Then, a few moments later…
The hands moved again.
Peanut shells continued to hit the floor.
Only this time, something was different.
They fell with hesitation. With discomfort.
With guilt.
That wasn’t good.
No matter the reason, guilt rarely helps anyone change.
So let me ask you something.
Do you litter?
And do you—at times—feel guilty about it?
If you do, don’t.
Because…
Littering Is Not Dangerous. Guilt Is.
Guilt does not transform. Understanding does.
There is a difference between guilt that awakens you and guilt that conditions you.
You were not born with the habit of littering.
Ram Ji didn’t say, “Alright, I’m sending you to Earth. Here—take this littering habit with you. It’s unpleasant, but it’ll help you blend in with other human beings.”
No.
You acquired it.
From your surroundings. From friends. From family. From watching others do it—again and again—until it felt normal.
Just like I did.
I used to litter too. Not consciously, but by imitation. Children do that all the time.
When I realised it wasn’t appropriate, I stopped. But that realisation didn’t come in one grand moment—it arrived slowly, through small, uncomfortable experiences.
I remember once arguing with my mother over littering.
It was a chilly winter evening. We were sitting together, warm and cosy under our quilts, munching on peanuts. She casually dropped the shells beside her and said it was fine—she would clean the room in the morning anyway.
I tried explaining that if she had to clean the waste eventually, why create it unnecessarily? Why spend time and energy on something that could easily be avoided?
It felt strange—almost disrespectful—arguing with a parent over something so ordinary. Part of me wanted to drop the issue and keep the peace.
But that’s when it struck me.
Littering isn’t a moral flaw.
It’s a habit.
An unconscious one.
And habits can be changed.
That’s where understanding comes in.
Instead of beating yourself up for littering, simply notice it. Live with a little more awareness.
Mindfulness, if you will.
Living consciously.
Being alert.
Holding yourself accountable—not just for your body, but for the space around it.
And if you feel ready to move from “littering” to “keeping it clean,” here are three gentle reminders that help.
Realise That Littering Is Just a Habit
Yes, I’m repeating myself.
And that’s intentional.
There’s no need to criticise yourself for having littered till now. Awareness itself is progress.
Once you see a habit for what it is, you also see that you’re not stuck with it forever.
Old habits do die hard. But with patience—and kindness towards yourself—they do fade.
Carry a Polybag
A polybag?
Doesn’t it pollute the soil? Block sewage? Release toxic fumes when burned?
Yes. All of that is true.
But I’m not asking you to throw it away thoughtlessly.
A polybag is useful when there’s no dustbin in sight. Wrappers, banana peels, peanut shells—keep them there for the time being.
Carry it in your laptop bag or handbag.
And once you’re home, empty the waste—not the bag—into the trash.
Simple. Practical. Effective.
Don’t Ask Others to Stop Littering
“But shouldn’t I encourage people?”
Maybe.
But remember—you used to litter too.
How would you have felt if a stranger had stopped you on the street and told you what to do?
Nobody likes orders. Not from strangers. Not even from friends.
If you want others to stop littering, do it quietly.
Lead by example.
Some people might notice. Some might not.
Either way, that’s not for you to decide.
From Littering to Keeping It Clean
Littering is an unconscious behaviour.
You may have picked it up from family, peers, or your surroundings. But that doesn’t mean you can’t let it go.
You can.
And if you do litter at times, don’t attack yourself for it. That, too, is human.
Change doesn’t come from guilt.
It comes from understanding.
And that is always within reach.