Asha was married to a bank officer. She then moved to a remote village Mosali in Surat District from Delhi where she was brought up. Quite apprehensive of comforts in the remote rural village she was pleasantly surprised to see piped gas connection. Some industrial estate must have been nearby she thought before someone told her that it is ‘gobar gas’. 

“What? Gobar gas? That shit of a gas?” she roared not realizing that she is right even in her anger.   The very thought of preparing food in the kitchen gave her a feeling of nausea and suffocation as her mind was occupied more with the ingredient of the gas than the ingredients of the food that she had to prepare. She was almost into tears when she opened the pack of vessels that her mum and their clan so affectionately packed for her during the ‘bidayi’ with all modern gadgets full of best of Aluminum, brass, copper and silver.  All these have to interact with that ---- of a gas she thought and more tears came out of her eyes.

Poor Asha had to adjust virtually A to Z.  No newspapers, TV (TV means television she explained to some of the locals), or for that matter company of any educated lady, and in the matter of daily chores no bread, tooth paste, powder leave alone samosa or chat. In the matter of dress too what was considered conservative in Delhi was not an acceptable form of a dress in the village to a bahu. Mercifully being an officer her husband was allotted quarters that was considered ‘pucca’ construction and had many luxuries like an independent bathroom.  

As Asha went out to fetch water from the well, she had her first interaction with the village folks. All watched her with awe and vied to pull water out of the well, even as she controlled her irritation at being made an object of exhibition in their looks. Some of them stretched their brains to convert their Gujarati thoughts in to Hindi, even as Asha tried to rush back with the bucket of water to her house. En route she also had an encounter with stray cattle and stared at them thinking of the unwanted product that they are capable of delivering.

Her husband being an Agriculture officer in the bank slowly explained to her the affection that the people are capable of unlike the uncaring metro neighborhood. The benefit of pollution free life, fresh vegetables, rice and wheat free from fertilizers, fresh milk and fresh…. Stop it. I know the fuel is also fresh and pollution free’ she snapped even as her husband had a snigger at her continued aversion for the gobar gas.

As Asha continued to struggle with kerosene stove, her husband offered to take her to some of the successful bio gas projects. As the word with G was replaced by bio, she felt a mild sense of relief. Biogas means ‘domestic or commercial gas obtained by treating naturally occurring materials’ explained the specialist and Asha felt comfortable though the last three syllables ‘naturally occurring materials’ continued to give some discomfort. As she heard more on treatment process and waste management she started realizing that the fuel that is entering her kitchen is not raw and dirty as its origin appear. Added to this was the envy of the villagers on the privilege of the officer’s wife using a gaseous fuel unlike the dried raw variety that majority in the village use as fuel. Next day when Asha went to fetch water she did not see any offence in the looks of the locals and also tried to touch the back of the cow in reverence as most Hindu women folk do.

Two decades later she had proudly displayed ‘cow’ as logo for her outlet and had a banner prominently displayed “biogas fuel station- the stop for pollution free ride” in the suburb of Delhi. 

                                                                *****************