Elisha Vermani 
Bahadurgarh: Among the flurry of lush green farmlands at the Delhi-Haryana border, hundreds of scrap dealers are involved in the process of recycling nearly all of Delhi’s plastic waste tucked safely away from the city’s eyes.
A few kilometres from Tikri Kalan’s PVC market, one of the biggest legitimate plastic markets in Delhi, acres of agricultural land in Shiddipur and Lowa Kalan has been turned into an open plastic market. Each trader in this area deals with nearly 300-500 kg of plastic waste per day.
According to a report by the Centre for Science and Environment, Delhi generates over 600 tonnes of plastic waste daily. Most of this waste is brought to plastic markets like the one at Tikri where these dealers or aardhis segregate and reduce it to shreds before selling it forward. They are the most important link in the plastic recycling chain, and also the ones facing the most harassment.
Running nearly entirely as an informal economy, aardhis have the skill and eye to sort the waste without any chemical testing or lab equipment. All they need is empty stretches of land. However, they are constantly caught in a cat-and-mouse chase with the authorities. “First we were removed from Mundka, then from Kamruddin Nagar and they are still chasing us away even after we’ve crossed the Delhi border” said 38-year-old Rajesh, an aardhi at the Shiddipur market.
Rajesh and Bablu weren’t the only aardhis angry with the government. The huddle of two gradually swelled to about 15 men and a few women all expressing their frustration at the treatment they receive from the municipal corporation and national green tribunal officials. “They come and raze our temporary structures whenever they feel like it. I want to quit this profession now. If the government worked as hard as the waste pickers, the country would be elsewhere,” said 55-year-old Mangeram, who lost most of his business when he left the market at Mundka.
Aardhis believe that they are not the problem, but a solution to a problem. “The plastic is not going to decompose itself. If we don’t clean this mess then there will be heaps lying around in the city,” said 25-year-old Sonu, who works with his father at the market in Lowa.
The aardhis told me that it’s not just Delhi’s waste that makes it way to these plastic markets. The government imports plastic waste, charges a custom duty on it and then the dealers pay an 18% GST on subsequent trading.
“Nobody is trying to shut down the bigger factories contributing to pollution in broad daylight because their owners can pay off the officials. We are preventing pollution on the other hand but nobody cares,” a 36-year-old aardhi who did not want to be named, said.
These traders work under the scorching sun without access to toilets or a clean resting place in the absence of a refuge away from the piles of waste. While they pride themselves on keeping Delhi “from coming to a standstill, trapped under its own garbage”, most of them seem to have lost hope and plan to move back to their villages if they face further harassment by government officials.
It is ironic that their contribution to waste management doesn’t guarantee them any financial or personal security. To quote Kaveri Gill, the author Of Plastic and Poverty, who was one of the first few to document Delhi’s informal recycling markets: “If we can’t help them, leave them alone.”
Developed in collaboration with Ekaansh Arora.