It was around late October, as the monsoon clouds were giving way to the much-awaited winter, that I landed in Indore for the first time. I had just graduated as an Energy Engineer from Jharkhand and got a job through campus placements. My joining was scheduled for the very next day.
As I left Devi Ahilyabai Airport, a large signboard caught my attention: “Welcome to the cleanest city of India.” The exclusive moniker of this new city, of which I knew nothing much, barring that it is known for “poha”, didn’t have much impact on me at the time. But as I made my way to my hotel, near Bombay Hospital, the spotless, well-maintained roads, bins that were not overflowing – a regular sight at least in my city, Ranchi – made me wonder: Can words on government-sponsored placards be really true?
As we drove further into the city, passing landmarks like Bada Ganpati and Rajwada, I started looking for signs that might challenge the city’s bold claim. But even in the crowded market areas, there was hardly any litter either on the roads or pavements.
After a few days, as I started commuting by Indore’s BRTS iBus, soaking in the city’s warmth, in a bid to become an “Indori”, I understood that the claim was not some superimposed narrative. Indore really is the poster city for India’s cleanliness dream.
While in other cities, cleanliness is considered to be a responsibility of the government, in Indore, it is more citizen-centric — a part of unscripted fundamental duty. My first real lesson came on my very first iBus ride. I had just reached Vijay Nagar and, out of habit, tossed my bus ticket on the station floor. A few people looked at me, and then I heard someone calling out, “O pehlwaan! O Bade bhaiyya!” I turned to see a guard pointing at the crumpled ticket on the ground. He asked sarcastically, “Nagar Nigam ne dustbin sajaane ke liye lagayi hai kya?” (Has the municipality provided dustbins only for decoration?)
It was an embarrassing moment. However, he understood that I wasn’t an “Indori”, picked up the ticket, put it in the bin, and showed me another sign that said “Indore, the cleanest city of India.” I realised immediately that there shouldn’t be any excuse for not following the essence of “India’s cleanest city”— both in letter and spirit.
The mindset against littering cut across class and caste divides. Indore has plenty of separate bins for wet and dry waste. Unlike many cities, the waste collection vehicles here come regularly — sometimes more than once a day. People usually segregate their waste at home, which makes the municipality’s job easier.
I explored nearly every corner of the city, and the cleanliness was a constant feature, from busy streets to quiet neighbourhoods. The only exception I noticed was in parts of Khajrana, a densely populated area known for the Khajrana Ganesh Mandir and a Dargah. A few civic issues still persist there — broken roads, drainage problems, and old water pipes. But these are isolated cases rather than the norm.
Living in Indore changed how I see cities and my role in keeping them clean. What impressed me most wasn’t just the efforts of the municipal corporation, but the active role played by the people. Cleanliness in Indore isn’t a rule forced upon its citizens; it’s a shared habit, a common value.
Today, when I hear that Indore has topped the national cleanliness rankings for the eighth year in a row, I feel proud. And honestly, I’m not surprised. The city has earned that title not just through infrastructure and planning, but through the daily actions of its people.
If I ever get to choose a second home in India, I’ll choose Indore again, for its climate, food, culture, and most of all, for the sense of belonging and responsibility that comes with being an “Indori”.
The writer is an engineer working in an Indore-based company
