18/06/2026
I grew up in Melbourne. This city is my home.
So when I’m sitting at a beautiful waterfront space and I watch a fellow Indian plant his shoes on the glass window and settle in like he’s watching IPL on his sofa in Mumbai, it doesn’t just annoy me. It exhausts me.
Because I’m not passing through. I grew up here. I work here. My life is here. And every time someone who looks like me treats a shared public space like his personal drawing room, I’m the one who deals with the aftermath. The glance at the tram stop. The slight pause before a smile. The “oh, where are you from originally?” that suddenly feels less curious and more loaded.
I’ve spent my whole life here. Being a good neighbour. Cleaning up after myself like a functioning adult. Respecting the fact that Melbourne’s public spaces are beautiful precisely because people here collectively decided they’re worth respecting.
And then this guy shows up. Fresh off the plane or tenth trip here, doesn’t matter. Shoes on the glass. Phone on speaker. Wrapper on the floor. Acting like the entire concept of civic responsibility is a foreign language he never bothered to learn.
And it’s never the guy who doesn’t know. It’s always the one with the iPhone and the Kathmandu jacket. He’s been on enough international flights to know where the bin is. He just doesn’t think the rules apply to him. Because back home, nobody ever told him no. No one made him pick up his trash. No one asked him to take his feet off the seat. So he moved through the world assuming public space is just private space nobody’s claimed yet.
Let me be clear about what you’re actually doing when you pull this in Melbourne. You’re not just being rude. You’re making life harder for every Indian who calls this city home. Every uncle who runs a shop on Sydney Road. Every student grinding through a master’s degree. Every family who moved here for a better life and treats this place with the respect it deserves. You’re leaving them a tab they didn’t order.
We come from a country that produces surgeons, engineers, CEOs, and some of the hardest-working immigrants any country has ever seen. And yet a significant chunk of us still can’t manage the absolute bare minimum. Feet off the furniture. Trash in the bin. Voice at a reasonable volume. Stand in the queue like every other human being.
So to the man at the waterfront with his shoes on the glass, and to every version of him in every café, tram, library, and park bench across this city. This is my home. You’re in it. Act like a guest at the very least, because the rest of us are tired of cleaning up the reputation you leave behind.
Melbourne gave you a chance. The least you can do is not put your feet on it.
