Out you go into the chute!

Anything discarded would simply be consigned to the chute without much ado, writes Nuggehalli Pankaja

The furore caused by scarcity of onions reminds me of an incident that occurred many years ago. A similar situation had pervaded Bengaluru leaving housewives baffled, as most households were onion bhakts.

Except coffee, tea and beverages, all other menus demanded onions posing a challenge for harassed housewives who had to invent spicy, and tasty onion-less dishes. Around that time, a Mumbai trip became imminent and I had to leave the family here to sort the onion problem by themselves. The situation in Mumbai though, was quite different. There seemed no shortage at all.

Seeing onions in plenty here, I did not waste time in deliberating that I should hoard some, lest the prices soar suddenly. I thereby purchased a good quantity and kept it in a gunny bag under my cot. Wouldn’t it be a delightful surprise for the family back home, I wondered. But alas, my plans went awry since my return ticket got postponed perforce. I suppose the onions became impatient, for they turned bad and a foul smell began emanating from under the cot.

“Throw it into the chute,” suggested my young grandson. “We can’t stand the stench.” Lo! The other grandchildren vied with each other to carry out the “sacred” task, while I looked on with grief-stricken eyes. Here, I must digress to describe the important role assigned to the chute in apartments. It is a sort of invisible garbage box, manipulated by pipe. Anything discarded would simply be consigned to it without much ado. Sure, it must be its purvajanma punya, to be so fed like anything — from a blade of grass to leftover food from five star hotels. Not just that, costly cosmetics, unwanted clothes, unmatched blouses, kettles, vessels, brushes, broomstick — and even love letters. Methinks that Rakshasa Bakasura of Mahabharata must have taken rebirth as the glutton chute.

I am sure the customs will faint if they chose to raid them. Any fight — the children would race to it with each other’s possessions and dump them into that chute box without a second thought. No amount of reprimand or advice from the elders could change them; worse, the daredevils would seize their things also to meet the same fate.

Suddenly one day, my grandson got angry with me over some trivial matter and ran to his elder sister shouting —“didi didi, this Bengaluru grandma has got spoilt, let’s throw her in the chute.” Shuddering at the thought, I literally took to my heels.