The tactile power of the moist black mountain soil that has nourished the coffee estate for nearly a hundred and fifty years ran deep through the cold veins of my bare feet resting on the earth.

The tactile power of the moist black mountain soil that has nourished the coffee estate for nearly a hundred and fifty years ran deep through the cold veins of my bare feet resting on the earth.
This essay is a preliminary reflection on some of the human and other aspects of the waste-crisis I came across during fieldwork in the Bhalswa landfill located on the periphery of North-West Delhi.