The Glass Economy

In every corner of our cities, a silent ritual plays out daily. A discreet transaction, concealed by helmets, a bottle cloaked in newsprint, the quiet footsteps of a walk home where silence weighs as heavily as the bottle itself. This act is not merely a purchase—it is participation in a system that thrives on denial and invisibility.

Discarded glass bottles, tossed away in the night, nourish entire livelihoods by dawn. Ragpickers comb through the refuse, small vendors thrive by the side of liquor shops, and workers earn daily wages, pocketing an additional ten rupees per bottle. This underground economy pulses quietly, integral to local communities. Above it all, governments collect steady revenues, replenishing their coffers like clockwork from this refuse, yet repeatedly pledge to eliminate it after elections—a promise as recurrent as clockwork but rarely fulfilled.

Beneath this hum of economic activity lies a bewildering contradiction. The buyers are shamed. The sellers tolerated with reluctance. The beneficiaries? They remain silent.

This cycle is no accident. It is meticulously crafted.

The product is not just permitted—it is engineered to create dependency. Miniature bottles tempt frequent purchases, retail points strategically encroach upon working-class neighborhoods, and no viable emotional or recreational alternatives stand in parallel.

This is addiction, meticulously marketed.

Addiction designed expressly for profit.

Addiction ritualized and monetized.

It matters little that this substance arrives legally. What matters is the marketing strategy that guarantees repeat business, normalizes habitual consumption, and quietly transforms individual vulnerabilities into commercial gain.

But what of those who consume with awareness?

Those who reflect as they partake—readers, writers, caregivers, workers—full lives lived alongside silent struggles.

They are silenced.

Admitting the habit risks shame. Exposing its contradictions invites exile. Their intelligence erased, their nuance dismissed, their reflections denied—not due to lack of insight but because their awareness threatens the delicate balance of hypocrisy.

In this ecosystem, where addiction fuels profit, no space exists for articulate critique by those who consume. Their silence preserves dignity for others. Their shame safeguards profit.

This is the tragedy of the functional consumer—not dependency, but erasure.

Even the suppliers—the vendors, recyclers, delivery workers—bear social stigma. Despite sustaining entire communities and supporting families, they live cast in shadows. Those who serve this network endure the contempt of those who profit from it.

And so the cycle completes.

The product becomes public.

The profits remain protected.

The pain is borne privately.

And those closest to the pain are silenced.

Silence—forced, not chosen.

Tears shed but unsaid.

Calls made but hushed.

Homes crack under whispers.

Thoughts left unshared.

Truth untouched.

This is no defense. It is a witness—a testament to the silenced voices ravaged by a system that profits from their habits while punishing their honesty.

Cheers !!