What Indian Households Know About Sustainability That the West Forgot

In the heart of Delhi, a kabadiwala — an itinerant collector — was a familiar sight for a young Preeti Sikri. As the collector made his rounds, neighbors exchanged old saris, battered utensils, and stacks of newspapers, knowing that nothing would go to waste. Torn shirts became kitchen rags, saris were reborn as napkins, and newspapers found new life as school book covers. These routines weren’t part of a formal sustainability campaign. Instead, they reflected a way of life where circularity was simply common sense, practiced instinctively long before “circular economy” became a global catchphrase. 

Today, the circular economy is promoted as a forward-thinking alternative to the traditional “take-make-dispose” model, which assumes resources are abundant and disposable. In essence, the circular economy emphasizes keeping materials in use through reuse, repair, and recycling.

Though often framed as a novel concept in Western discourse, the circular economy has deep historical roots and has been practiced informally in many cultures, including in Indian and Indian American households, for generations. Ultimately, recognizing and learning from these long-standing traditions can make modern sustainability efforts more inclusive and grounded.

Indian Cultural Practices of Circularity 

Sikri’s childhood memories reveal how circularity in Indian households is deeply embedded in daily life, shaped by tradition, necessity, and a culture of resourcefulness. The kabadiwala’s visits were only one part of a broader, community-based system where value is retained at every stage of a product’s life. This exemplifies what researchers call a necessity-driven circular economy, a model rooted in economic survival rather than environmental idealism. 

As highlighted in recent studies, circularity in low-income environments like India is not driven by policy or technology, but by economic necessity and community resilience. Over 60% of the world’s workforce is employed in the informal sector, many of whom restore and retain the value of goods in ways often overlooked by formal sustainability frameworks.

University of Helsinki professor Angelina Korsunova identified a variety of practices in India: old newspapers repurposed as food wrappers or writing paper; plastic buckets reused for storage and trading; jute and leather scraps transformed into packaging; barrels or tires repurposed into ovens and chairs. Shoes, furniture, and electronics are routinely repaired by street handymen using salvaged materials.  

Korsunova and her peers also outlined five core characteristics of a necessity-driven circular economy that merit integration and consideration into Western sustainability thinking: (1) a circular mindset; (2) a tolerance for imperfect solutions; (3) a focus on affordability and long-term functionality; (4) engagement in time-intensive practices; and (5) the presence of informal hubs and networks. 

Indian Americans on Circularity in the U.S. 

For some Indian immigrants, arriving in the United States means adjusting to not only a new culture, but also a new relationship with stuff — one defined by abundance, convenience, and disposability.

“Some things you can do at home, but there’s no broader infrastructure here for repair,” Rama Iyer, who immigrated in 2007, said. “If you don’t know how to repair your own electronics or furniture, you have to throw them away. Getting things fixed is just so much more expensive, and there aren’t people with those skills nearby. Back home, you could call someone to repair shoes or electronics, often at low cost. Here, that ecosystem doesn’t exist. It creates a real obstacle for practicing repair and reuse beyond your immediate family.”  

Sikri echoed that sense of cultural dislocation: “When I came [to the United States], it was still that sell and everybody needs to buy more mentality. I think all these practices are just corporate America trying to make more money. Who says you can only wear white from Memorial Day to Labor Day? In India, you could wear white anytime you want.”

For Sikri, who arrived at the age of 19, the sheer scale of choice itself was overwhelming. “I think we’ve created all these desires — artificial flavors and artificial needs,” Sikri said. “I still remember going to buy tea for the first time at Stop & Shop. I was like, ‘What the hell?’ Hundreds of varieties of tea. Does anyone really need that?”

But at the heart of these differences lies something deeper than just infrastructure: a question of community and values. 

“Culturally, India is very family-oriented,” Sikri explained. “That community, growing as a village, brings a sense of belonging. Here, it’s a very ‘me, myself’ kind of culture, which means you’re always competing with everybody else.  

Despite these challenges, both Sikri and Iyer have found ways to adapt traditional practices to their lives in America. Iyer described how the ethos of necessity and sufficiency still guides daily choices. “Every year, we would remove the used pages from notebooks, and all the unused pages went into a file called rough work,” Iyer said. “And that’s what we did every year when we were kids as well. At the end of the school year, we would tear out all the unused pages and then literally go to the roadside vendor, who would stitch them all up into a thick, rough notebook, and that was our notebook that we carried to school every day.”

Similarly, Sikri finds satisfaction in extending the life of clothing and other items.

“I’m actually realizing, as I grow older, what I’m doing, and I want to go back to those practices,” Sikri said. “My clothes go to all the women in Guatemala. If it’s not Indian clothes, I have a church that takes them, and they send me pictures of girls wearing them. It’s very satisfying.”

Ultimately, for Iyer, the broader challenges are shaped by both values and economics. “In India, it’s ingrained in our culture to maintain and extend the life of what we have; things don’t have to be new and shiny,” Iyer said. “Here, there’s a bigger emphasis on outward appearance and efficiency; repairs slow things down and might not look perfect. The second is that we are a consumer economy here [in the U.S.], and a consumer economy, by definition, thrives when you replace new fashion. So that doesn’t mean that you can’t recycle or reuse, but it requires a whole different mindset and infrastructure.” 

Reclaiming Circularity 

The everyday circularity practiced by Sikri, Iyer, and countless others — from the kabadiwala’s rounds to vibrant networks of repair and reuse — is a testament to the ingenuity, care, and community where sustainability has thrived.

Much of the circularity practiced in India has historically been shaped by notions of sufficiency and pragmatism, or what Korsunova and her peers have dubbed necessity-driven circularity. In contexts where resources are limited, circular habits emerge out of cultural values and lived realities. Food is stretched, notebooks are reused, and clothes are passed down — it’s a model of sustainability rooted in making do, driven by care, habit, and economy. 

Meanwhile, circularity in the U.S. is often reframed through the lens of innovation, technology, and consumer choice. Here, it’s more likely to be aspirational than essential, emphasizing recycling apps, zero-waste design, or closed-loop retail. This difference in foundation matters: Sufficiency-based circularity is rooted in need, while capital-driven circularity prioritizes optimization and efficiency.

This contrast invites reflection and opportunity. As Indian American entrepreneurs, activists, and families continue to reinterpret circularity in the U.S., they are helping to broaden the sustainability conversation. Their lived experiences challenge the notion that circular economy principles are new or exclusively Western, and instead position them as universal values with deep multicultural roots. By sharing their stories and practices, Indian Americans are not only preserving their heritage but also inspiring a more inclusive and resilient vision for circularity in the West.