A commodity to treasure

Every glistening drop of water is going to be as precious as a diamond, they say. In the coming years, the major wars are going to be fought over, not land or oil, but water. It is a commodity that is going to be more precious than even food.

Every environmentalist is talking about it and ordinary people like us have literally had ice-cold water splashed on our faces to wake us up to this reality.

Many of my neighbours have stopped buying bottled drinking water and are installing high-tech filters on taps to save money spent on this precious commodity as a jar of bottled water now costs Dh7 instead of Dh5 and Dh6 earlier.

For a very long time, water was a commodity we always took for granted. We believed that rains would ensure a perennial supply of it.

There was a time not very long ago when serving water to guests was an important part of hospitality. Today water perhaps is more expensive than a bottle of soft drink, but earlier, charging money for a bottle of water was the gravest sin one could commit.

It brings to mind a journey we undertook into the heart of India by road. As my father drove through the dusty, unpaved roads, our throats were parched and we had no choice but to halt at the first clearing that had a bunch of mud houses standing in the wilderness.

A beautiful tribal woman, bedecked and bejewelled in her ethnic finery sat at a small shop in her home, selling sweetmeats and savouries. We jumped from the car and implored her to give us water. Without a word, she graciously got up from her seat and for the next ten minutes served us deliciously cool water, in baked mud tumblers. The water was stored in an earthen pot, drawn from the well in her courtyard. That was the best thirst-quencher I've had in so many years.

Offended

After having been thoroughly rehydrated, my father proceeded to open his wallet and offer her money for the water - we had emptied nearly half the earthen pot. The woman was offended and stoutly declined the money. It was an affront to her hospitality to not even be able to serve water to six dust-covered, sunbaked strangers who had turned up at her door. "No way, I don't charge money for water. That is a sin!" I saw her simple and neat house and her brood of children and I am sure she badly needed the money. But she made it clear that the statement she made about the water was non-negotiable.

We then looked at the jars and pots of food she had on display and bought a jar of milk-based sweets and a bottle of mango pickle. She accepted the money for that and it made us feel less guilty about filling up our water jug with that delectably chilled well water.

Every time I pay for water, the face of that rustic woman and her sense of hospitality flash through my mind. I wonder if her children and grandchildren may have inherited that generosity of spirit from her or are they sitting at the same shop selling bottled water for a few bucks to travel-weary tourists like us.