This government often reminds us that we ought to have more national pride, but I think that civic pride is more important, more durable, and a stronger foundation for nationhood. Indeed, a more civic-minded citizenry might have been able to contain the damage in joyless Gujarat, if not prevented the tragedy. Mahatma Gandhi, a Gujarati, often counselled Indians that they would not be worthy of independence until they became more caring and considerate neighbours. The word “civic” comes from “city” and is related to “civility”. A “citizen” originally lived in a city and a civilised person showed concern for fellow citizens; and in this kind act was born “civilisation”. In the early years of our republic we were rightly occupied with nation building, and our cities took second place. Also, people and votes were primarily in rural areas, and to show too much concern for the city was considered “elitist”. But as the middle class began to grow seriously in the eighties, our cities gained in importance, and with the passage of the 74th amendment in the nineties municipal government also became mandatory. However, the track record of our municipal governance remains poor, and the few examples of well-run cities--Surat, Thane, Mumbai and Bangalore--are the work of outstanding officials. If there is one word that attaches to Indian cities today it is filth. Many of us make the common mistake in thinking that poverty and dirt go together, but they do not. One can be poor and clean. The poorest Indian homes often have the cleanest kitchens. Japan was very poor after World War II but its cities were extremely clean. In fact, East Asia was always much cleaner than South Asia, and even in India, communities in the south were cleaner than the north, even when they were often poorer. I find that our dirt bothers Japanese investors, especially. Once, a Japanese businessman excused himself to go and vomit in the bathroom after visiting a government office. When he returned, he politely asked how Indian civil servants worked effectively in such surroundings. Gandhi used to worry constantly about our public hygiene. At a momentous annual session of the Indian National Congress--in the late 1920's, I think--everyone expected Gandhi to deliver a rousing keynote address demanding swaraj; but he shocked the assembled gathering and began to speak gently about the hygienic way to defecate in public spaces consistent with public health; he then went on to admonish the honourable delegates from Bihar of caste prejudice and for not eating together. Why are our public spaces dirty? Is it a function of education or is it a cultural problem? Certainly in our private space, we tend to be relatively clean; we bathe daily; our homes are clean, and our kitchens positively shine. Our national stereotype is the Indian family that proudly cleans its home, and then throws the dirt outside its door. Some anthropologists have blamed this anti-social behaviour on the other-worldliness of Hindus and our excessive concern with our own moksha, unlike Buddhists and Christians who seem to show greater concern for others. While there may be some truth in this, I am sceptical of cultural explanations and in this case I'm certainly not persuaded of the link. Last year a reader of this column, Anand Bhardwaj, wrote enthusiastically from Mumbai to say that citizens of Santa Cruz West had succeeded in cleaning their neighbourhoods beyond the Milan subway. They had worked closely with the BMC, to remove open roadside garbage dumps, and had replaced them with closed bins inside each colony. This is a wonderful example of civic pride, and it is initiatives like these that will make our nation resurgent. Imagine, how our cities and villages might look if every Indian family were to become responsible for keeping clean only one metre of public space outside its boundary wall! Some neighbourhoods in Mexico City, in fact, practice this idea, and families vie with each other to beautify the strip outside their homes.