<p>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 <span class="italic">bhakts</span>.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>“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 <span class="italic">purvajanma punya</span>, 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 <span class="italic">Rakshasa</span> Bakasura of Mahabharata must have taken rebirth as the glutton chute.</p>.<p>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. </p>.<p>Suddenly one day, my grandson got angry with me over some trivial matter and ran to his elder sister shouting —“<span class="italic">didi didi,</span> this Bengaluru grandma has got spoilt, let’s throw her in the chute.” Shuddering at the thought, I literally took to my heels.</p>
<p>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 <span class="italic">bhakts</span>.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>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.</p>.<p>“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 <span class="italic">purvajanma punya</span>, 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 <span class="italic">Rakshasa</span> Bakasura of Mahabharata must have taken rebirth as the glutton chute.</p>.<p>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. </p>.<p>Suddenly one day, my grandson got angry with me over some trivial matter and ran to his elder sister shouting —“<span class="italic">didi didi,</span> this Bengaluru grandma has got spoilt, let’s throw her in the chute.” Shuddering at the thought, I literally took to my heels.</p>