Open Letter to the Chief Minister
Dear Pushkar Singh Dhamiji,
I hope this finds you in the same youthful, energetic stride that many of us in Dehradun continue to admire.
I write to you as a senior citizen—equal parts hopeful, slightly exasperated, and still holding on to a sense of humour.
There was a time when this city was known for its quiet charm, clean streets, and dignified pace. These days, however, one has to look a little harder for that charm (and occasionally step over it).
Now, I must confess: our officials, especially at the Nagar Nigam, are unfailingly polite, courteous, and reassuring. Each interaction begins with great warmth. By the third follow-up, however, the warmth remains, but the work quietly disappears.
In the meantime, some of us citizens, armed with nothing more than civic instinct and our own wallets, have begun informally outsourcing the job of cleanliness to ourselves. I find myself paying out of pocket to get basic cleaning done in my surroundings. While this may qualify as “active citizenship,” I suspect it was not part of the original job description of a taxpayer.
There is, unfortunately, a limit to how far goodwill, not to mention pension funds, can stretch.
With summer approaching, one cannot help but worry, not just about untidy streets, but about the very real risks of disease. Cleanliness is not an aesthetic luxury; it is a public health necessity.
Which brings me, gently, to the spirit of Swachh Bharat Abhiyan—inspired by Mahatma Gandhi’s vision of a clean and dignified India. Gandhiji’s iconic spectacles were meant to remind us that cleanliness is a shared national responsibility, not something to be quietly outsourced to the most persistent resident in the neighbourhood.
At present, however, it feels like the spectacles are firmly in place, but perhaps slightly fogged.
And while on the subject of what is visible and what is not, there is another quiet transformation underway. Trees, which once defined the character of Dehradun, seem to be disappearing with surprising efficiency. One goes to bed with a familiar green patch, and wakes up to find it replaced by fencing, markings, and the early signs of plotting. Forest edges are thinning, and spaces that once breathed are beginning to feel measured.
It is a strange phenomenon, this overnight vanishing of green into geometry.
Mr Chief Minister, this is not a complaint for personal benefit. I am not asking for anything for myself. I am simply trying, perhaps over-enthusiastically, to do what should ideally be a well-functioning civic system’s responsibility.
And I say this with some hesitation: doing the system’s job without recognition is acceptable; doing it while being politely ignored is… a slightly more evolved test of character.
I am certain there are many like me, quietly trying to keep our little corners of the city liveable.
All we ask is this:
a. That basic cleanliness be restored as a non-negotiable civic standard
b. That accountability be gently but firmly reintroduced into the system
c. That citizens are supported—not substituted—in this effort
d. That the city’s green cover is protected with urgency, transparency, and intent
You have the energy, the mandate, and the goodwill. Perhaps this is one area where a small, decisive push from your office could make a visible, immediate difference.
Let us return Dehradun to what it once was: a city we didn’t have to clean ourselves before enjoying.
A city of grey hair and green hedges.
A city that took care of itself, and its people.
With respect, hope, and just a touch of humour,
Yours sincerely,
A concerned (and occasionally broom-wielding) senior citizen from a time when Doon was gentler, greener, and quietly dignified.
Mrs Rinku Singh
