-Tanuj Shivahare
As you walk along the straight path through Jaipur’s Central Park toward the bustling Rambagh Circle, the city’s chaos briefly melts away. Amid the noise of honking cars and hurried footsteps, a small, circular garden emerges—calm, green, and surprisingly well-kept. Its shrubs are neatly trimmed, the soil freshly watered, and the birds flutter about, pecking at grains scattered beneath shaded trees. At first glance, it looks like a typical public space, the kind you might assume is maintained by the local municipal corporation. But pause for a moment, and you’ll notice something remarkable: this peaceful patch of green is cared for, not by government workers or paid gardeners, but by a quiet group of elderly volunteers.
Every day, these seniors arrive with unmatched dedication. Carrying jerrycans—nearly 20 of them—strapped onto a single scooter, along with shovels, gloves, saplings, and even birdseed, they come to water the plants, pick up the litter, feed the birds, and tend to every inch of the garden. There is no salary for their work, no government support, and no recognition. And yet, through Jaipur’s harsh summer heat and bitter winter chill, they continue, driven by nothing more than their own sense of duty and love for nature.
Their efforts are both heartwarming and heartbreaking. Heartwarming, because their selflessness reminds us that compassion and civic spirit still exist; heartbreaking, because of the utter neglect they face. After IPL matches or protests in the area, the garden is often left trashed—plastic bottles, food wrappers, broken glass—all strewn across the very space they’ve so carefully nurtured. While others enjoy the shade and take in the beauty, these elderly volunteers quietly clean up after them. Meanwhile, the government—which provides no dedicated sweeper, gardener, or water source—often takes credit for the garden’s cleanliness in public reports and promotional events.
Recently, one of these volunteers passed away from cirrhosis. Another broke his arm in a fall while watering the plants. Despite these tragedies, the group’s spirit hasn’t faltered. Those who remain continue their work, committed as ever. Their resilience raises difficult questions: Why are we, as citizens, so indifferent to the efforts of others? Why does the government neglect those who improve our city? Why are decorative projects like colored street lights—which often create glare and distractions on busy roads—funded so generously, while these quiet acts of service go unnoticed?
This garden is more than a green space. It is a symbol of what’s possible when people care—not for fame or profit, but for the simple act of creating beauty and peace in a shared world. And yet, it is also a mirror reflecting our civic shortcomings. We want clean parks and beautiful spaces, but we don’t want to take responsibility. We praise big infrastructure projects but forget the everyday heroes who quietly hold our communities together.
What can be done? First, the city must formally recognize these volunteers—not with empty praise, but with practical support. A consistent water supply, basic tools, medical aid, and at least one assigned municipal worker would be a start. Schools and colleges can involve students in regular cleanup and planting activities, creating a culture of care from a young age. Local businesses can step in with sponsorships or donations. And most importantly, we as citizens must start seeing public spaces as shared responsibilities—not someone else’s job.
In the end, this small circular garden in Central Park is not just a spot of greenery—it’s a lesson. A lesson in commitment, quiet strength, and how a few determined people can create something beautiful even when the world around them chooses not to notice. Let us not wait until they are gone to appreciate them. Let us celebrate and support them now. In their story lies a blueprint for a cleaner, greener, and more compassionate Jaipur.
