The Long Shower Problem

As a host, one of my greatest daily adventures is not hiking through forests or battling mischievous monkeys. It is gently explaining to my guests why some of the choices here might feel a little unusual. These choices are not born out of stubbornness or a secret desire to inconvenience people. They come from my attempts to live mindfully and to conserve the resources of our earth.

Most guests are curious. They listen, nod wisely and say things like “that makes sense” which is very encouraging. Some tolerate my little sermons the way one tolerates an eccentric uncle at a wedding. You smile politely and hope he runs out of steam before dessert. A few, however, look at me as though I have personally invented climate change just to make their holiday uncomfortable. Thanfully, these are very few.

I do not harbour illusions of turning everyone into a climate warrior overnight. If I can nudge one guest or one family at a time towards a little more awareness, I consider it a modest victory. I am also learning on the way and I am trying to tread lightly now.

A few days ago I came across an image on the internet that felt painfully familiar. A person is sitting in a car stuck in a bumper to bumper traffic jam, wondering aloud why there are so many cars on the road. The irony, of course, is that the thinker is also a car and therefore part of the problem. It is a perfect metaphor for our climate crisis. Everyone wonders why the planet is heating up while simultaneously turning the air conditioner a notch higher. The same logic applies to carbon footprints. What harm can one extra plastic bag do? What difference will one more heater or bonfire make? Multiply this thinking by a few billion people and we have our answer. Each of us is sitting comfortably in the traffic jam of our own making.

Water is where this traffic jam becomes immediately visible. For those used to city living, water appears as an endless miracle that arrives at the turn of a tap. The idea that water can be scarce feels almost philosophical, like the extinction of dinosaurs. And yet here it is very real. Water is precious and limited. In the absence of rains, even more so.

This becomes most evident during bath time. A quick shower or a bucket bath can make some guests uneasy. They are used to luxuriating under hot water for half an hour, emerging refreshed, and completely unaware of where that water came from. Here the hot water, even though combined with low pressure showers, finishes sooner. There is mild confusion, followed by a longing for more water, and occasionally disbelief. Thankfully, many of my repeat guests have adapted to this. A friend who visited earlier this month, remarked that the hot water here seemed endless and he quite enjoyed that. Interestingly, his family later told me that back home he usually opens the shower only halfway.

My hope is not that my guests suffer through this and feel uncomfortable, but that they understand and return with a thought that lingers. Perhaps back home they will open the tap a little less enthusiastically. Perhaps the shower will be five minutes shorter. Perhaps they will use less of hot water. If that happens, I have quietly recruited one more ally for the planet.

Then come bonfires. Trees are disappearing at an alarming pace, from forest fires, deforestation and large development projects. Against this backdrop, burning precious wood purely for ambience feels rather like setting fire to a library because one likes the smell of books. The smoke released, the wood consumed and the sheer wastefulness of it all rarely enter the conversation. When people ask for bonfires only for atmosphere or a hint of warmth, it reveals not malice but absence of sensitivity. It is a habit formed again in places (and in company of people) where resources appear infinite and consequences conveniently invisible.

Winter heating follows a similar pattern. Warming an entire home just to wear one layer less is a curious luxury. A few woollens, a cup of something warm, and the body does remarkably well. It is healthier too and far kinder to the environment. The body, unlike the heater, knows exactly how much warmth it needs. I recommend my guests to pack warm clothes when they come to visit me. And then, like the uncle who doesn’t seem to run out of steam, I use the first instance I can, to influence them to dress warmly and depend less on heating.

Whenever given the chance, I speak about these things. Not loudly, not angrily, but persistently. There are many simple choices each of us can make to reduce our carbon footprint. Most people, I have found, are willing to change once they see that a different way of living is not only possible but perfectly comfortable.

Changes are already visible. People are more mindful about using plastic. Straws are frowned upon rather than casually offered. Star ratings on appliances are checked before buying. Many are choosing to eat less meat or move towards vegetarianism. When new roads are planned, voices are raised for better public transport. And increasingly, citizens speak up when development comes at the cost of forests, whether here in Jageshwar or the Aravallis in Rajasthan.

There is still hope. In the end, this is not about sacrifice or trying to appear virtuous. It is simply about being aware of the choices we make. Comfort does not have to come at the cost of the earth. I do not expect anyone to leave here completely changed. If someone goes back from here, carrying even one small habit with them, a shorter shower, an extra layer of clothing, or a pause before asking for more, that feels like progress. The planet does not need perfect people. It needs ordinary people who are willing to try, stumble, and still care enough to do a little better the next time. One step at a time.

Click here for all related posts – Browse my blog on slow and sustainable living !