Whose water is it anyway, writes Lisa Ray

Early Sunday morning of the Mumbai Marathon, while eager runners are snapping on their sweatbands, I'm sheepishly sliding into the back seat of my car. I'm attending a summit on water (the element, not the Deepa Mehta film) and I'm a bit grumpy- and guilt-ridden - that most of Mumbai is taking to the streets with such enthusiasm while I nurse my coffee which threatens to spill down the wrong side of my throat as we bump-glide-bump our way to the venue. 

This summit aims to identify and address challenges that revolve around water in India. I figure, aside from acting in the Oscar-nominated film of the same name, I'm as uniquely qualified as anyone else to offer my perspective. I use water to hydrate, bathe and basically carry on the business of staying alive, as does every other human. The UN has deemed access to safe and clean drinking water as a basic human right, which means, it must be so, right?

Shekhar Kapur is the other speaker and he's an old friend. In fact, Shekhar chased me down on Juhu beach when I was 16 to hand me his card and tell me I should get into films. He was rewarded for his efforts by a mighty kick of sand in his direction. Fortunately, he always has an amused twinkle in his eye for me when we meet. He's also been researching water conservation for some time. As we settle into our seats and face our audience, I think it best that I disgorge what's cued up in my brain first, so I can sit back and listen to him.

I highlight everything from my earliest memories of taking balti baths in my father's ancestral home in Calcutta (rustic water conservation), to falling sick with typhoid during one of my early trips to Mumbai (poor water management!) to pointing out that if all the world's resources were portioned out equally, well, balti baths would seem a luxury. 

I've obviously forgotten that I'm an introvert and typically not given to talking this much. 
A sip of water and it's Shekhar's turn. 

'Whose water is it anyway?'

The question hangs in the air. And really, it's enough. One simple yet penetrating question is all you need to flick the internal switch. 
'Who does it belong to?'

Shekhar goes on to weave a narrative so replete with power struggles, intrigue, suspense (Water mafia! rapidly declining water resources! 6000 litres of water to make one pair of jeans!) that were it a screenplay, one could sniff out eau du 'Academy Award'. But it's also the reality of the everyday politics of water in Mumbai. 

'When will a war be fought over water?'

I'm leaning forward in my seat, a conspiratorial hand placing down my glass.

'It's happening now'

BAM!

There is simply is not enough water to go around. Almost a fifth of the world's population lives in India, but we only have access to 4% of the world's fresh water resources. Slum dwellers are being held ransom to the water mafia and are made to pay hundred times more than a luxury apartment dweller for their basic human right. Poor access to water is one of the biggest obstacles to female empowerment in our country. Even for the privileged, its only a matter of time before we drain the water table and hit arsenic. 

I am ignited. Aflame. I begin tweeting about this immediately from the backseat of the car, much to the peril of anyone with a twitter feed. I make a pledge to use less. Simple everyday actions. Turning off the tap when brushing my teeth. Shorter showers. Seal the drips. Buying fewer clothes. 

And I get this message on Twitter: 

'Does the self-righteous monologue ever end? Why make people feel guilty about every little thing?'

Ouch! 

Here's the thing. Instead of wishing the author of the tweet a bout of bad water management, I actually get it. I understand the fatigue that comes with getting assaulted with another photo-op cause (Swachh Bharat Abhiyan?!), another worry, another issue that highlights what a bumbling, flawed species we belong to. But just as my grumpy - and guilt-ridden - attitude towards the ranks of the dedicated marathoners didn't halt a single step towards the finishline, neither will this 'guilt' informed opinion prevent me from taking steps toward positive change.

Taking a personal pledge is more natural now that I've accepted that I'm a mass of imperfections (irrational optimism and overlooking deadlines are just a few examples) I can drink too much wine and take a short three-minute shower. I own my many, colourful flaws and when I slip up on my pledge, neither do I feel guilty, because perfection is NOT the hallmark of being a human mammal. But I try.

The point is to try. To strive - not for self righteous, boring perfection - but to leave small, incremental footprints, like some quirky Masaba print, in the direction of positive change for all mammals. 'We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love' advised Mother Teresa. Take whatever action makes sense. Just take action.

So I choose the onerous task of lovingly tightening every tap I come across. So much more challenging than running some marathon, don't you think?