In New Delhi, the dinner party chat is full of harmful toxins

Air pollution has pervaded unusual places in India, writes Amrit Dhillon

A traffic policeman wears a mask to protect himself from dust and air pollution in New Delhi, India. Adnan Abidi / Reuters

Until recently I had been labouring under a delusion. I knew the pollution in New Delhi where I live was appalling and I was relieved for my son’s lungs when he left in August. I knew that last year the World Health Organisation said the capital had the most polluted air of the over 1,500 cities it had surveyed.

Yet somehow, perhaps stupidly, I did not feel anxious. The full sensory horror of the pollution with all its consequences only really hit home when two events happened. The first was when, in the first week of this month, the air quality index soared past 300 at times – that’s when you are advised to avoid going outdoors – and I had to stop my morning walk. The second event was going to a friend’s house for dinner and finding that virtually every expat present was talking of how they were planning to flee.

Suddenly I felt nervous. I was the only person present who did not possess a face mask and had no air filters at home. My lungs started feeling grubby. I began coughing. I swear I could feel the symptoms of respiratory disorder.   Should I run away too?

The pollution in the Indian capital has triggered an exodus of expats, whether businessmen, journalists, multinational employees or diplomatic staff. No one is keeping records of these departures so my information is only anecdotal.

A British photographer who has been here for eight years, has married an Indian woman and loved the country for the professional satisfaction it gave him, has decided to leave next year.

The clinching moment came when he realised that, earlier, it used to be the insane heat of an Indian summer that forced him to stay indoors for eight months. Now even during the four months of winter, when the weather is temperate, he has to stay inside because of the particulate matter outside.

The tone, rhythm and banter of expat life have changed. Dinner table talk used to be about the difficulty of finding a good maid. Now it’s about nebulisers. The grumbles about corruption have been replaced by toxin talk.

Families exchange notes on coughs that won’t go, wheezing, red and watering eyes. Daily activities such as walks or taking the children to the park are timed with military precision to coincide with how bad or not-so-bad the smog is that day.

Some expats have moved their wives and children to Goa. One businessman I met has moved his family back to Toronto. Multi nationals are struggling to persuade employees to come and work in New Delhi.

The exodus went from a sedately trot to a gallop in May when Gardiner Harris, the New York Times’ correspondent, wrote in an article that his eight-year-old son’s respiratory distress and the halving of his breathing ability had forced him to leave India.

For many foreigners here, the article forced their hand. Unwilling to disrupt their lives, they had been avoiding the inevitable decision that had to be made, particularly if they have young children. After Harris’s article, they started planning to leave.

Some, usually those married to Indians, are choosing to stay behind and do their bit to improve the air by visiting schools to make children aware of this health emergency or by taking measures in their own neighbourhoods to limit pollution, such as giving heaters to their security guards who otherwise would be lighting wood fires to keep warm.

Expats, of course, are the lucky ones. For millions of Indians, poor and middle class, there is no option but to keep breaching in toxic air, knowing it is damaging their lungs. The poor traffic policeman, the labourer and the auto rickshaw wallah are captives. Returning to their villages is not an option.

Luckily, the crisis has galvanised the New Delhi government and other agencies into action. All sorts of measures have been introduced: private cars to be allowed only on alternate days, the augmentation of buses and public transport, restricting diesel cars, and keeping polluting trucks out of the city except for specified hours.

The Supreme Court has also got into the act, issuing a temporary ban on the registration of some diesel cars and setting a time frame for all taxis to switch to compressed natural gas.

It will take a long, long time for these policies to have any effect. In the meantime, the damage to India’s image has been done. New Delhi’s classification as a "hardship posting" for diplomats used to irk me because I knew they lived in huge homes with sprawling gardens and enjoying the attention of a small army of servants.

Now, however, I have to concede it is a hardship posting. Worse, in fact. With toxins such as benzene 10 times higher than the acceptable level, it is a danger posting.

Amrit Dhillon is a freelance journalist in New Delhi