I was born in 1957, ten years after India’s Independence. At that time, despite Mahatma Gandhi’s call for emancipation, it was the Harijan men and women who went door to door to collect human excreta in a large tin or an earthen pot that they would then carry on their head to a different location. These men and women were paid by the municipalities to do this work. I have seen the practice as late as 1969 when, as a little boy, I watched them come and go. Twenty two years after Independence—how could we remain blind to this unimaginable act of human beings having to carry on their head, the excreta of fellow humans as their profession? Can you imagine that among us today, are their progeny who much rather not remember that such professions existed in a free country? You might say, this was only in the past. Think again as you drive to work today. It has just barely changed. Look closely at the men who hang from the back of the scavenger trucks in our metropolis. Clothes smeared with dirt—face blackened with garbage. These men, bare foot and barehanded, pick up wet garbage from dustbins, load these trucks and travel with the garbage to its final destination. They do not have the ignominy of carrying human refuse on their head, but the risks to their health is just as real. Fifty eight years after Independence, we are just as insensitive to the phenomenon as were our parents who found the previous arrangement as convenient. The role of the municipality has changed—it has outsourced the entire thing to a contractor and it is the contractor’s job to manage the process. In what way is the man doing the work different from you and I? It is just the accident of his birth that places him where he is.