Orange Peels

So The Missus was travelling from Shillong to Tezpur for some work. The bus she took was the one under Assam State Transport Corporation (ASTC) that plies daily from Shillong to Tezpur. A rickety contraption on four wheels, painted orange and white with the letters ASTC emblazoned across the body with room for about thirty people and almost no leg room for those thirty people at all. The door towards the rear was shut off so as to make room for storing luggage. But it was cheap and the only direct vehicle, plying between the two places. 

Across the aisle, a German couple was sitting. Trying to fit in the space between the seats, and failing miserably would have been a better description. At some point, The Missus and the German couple got talking. It started out with her helping them buy some fruits from the hawkers at the next petrol pump. Soon, they were telling her about their experiences in this country of ours. How the country was filled with beautiful places and interesting people, how it was difficult to get some space for yourselves, how prices of commodities and services went up as soon as people saw 'white travellers', and how the Shillong stay had shot a little above budget for them. They recounted their tale of losing their mobile phone in a taxi in Shillong, and getting it returned (surprising, yes!). They loved the country and were planning to stay another month or so. 

As they were eating oranges that they had bought at Nongpoh (a place halfway between Shillong and Guwahati)- this being the time when oranges abound, and easily available- they made an observation and looked to The Missus for the explanation. Observation being: "Well, it is winter. Oranges are to be found aplenty. People will eat them. That is understood. But why do people just throw away the peels by the roadside?" (They were, of course, carrying a large plastic bag where they put all their garbage, as was The Missus).

The Missus was in a quandary. On the one hand was the desire to tell the truth about us Indians- how we like to keep our homes clean, our clothes spotless and how, as we cross the threshold of our homes, we turn into those garbage spewing, waste gurgling, ever spitting behemoths. On the other hand, there was the question of upholding the nation's pride. (Somewhere, in the back of her mind, I guess, she visualised one of those 'Incredible India' ads featuring Aamir Khan.)

Choosing the middle path, she replied, "You see, we are a poor country. As you may have observed, it is difficult maintaining cleanliness and hygiene with so many people around. The orange peels have an important role in our endeavour to make things a little better. The peels are aromatic. The smell they release is pleasant, and it masks other smells. Plus, it purifies the air. This property has even been mentioned in the Ayurveda. And then, it serves as food to the numerous stray cows and goats that you find here in India. Else, it decomposes. So no harm done. Plus a fresher and purer India in the bargain!"

She saw a look mingled with scepticism at first which was replaced with wonder, as they thought about it. "Wow! Great!" One of them said. 

With a satisfied smile on her face, The Missus closed her eyes trying to hold down the vomit that was striving to defy gravity and come out, ready to be splayed on to the side of the serpentine, mountainous road (on account of her motion sickness, and interestingly, the inability to retch inside a polythene bag). She could not think of any explanation of why Indians would vomit out of the window of a moving bus.