My better half was about to throw a banana peel into the trash can when I caught him mid-action.
‘Stop!’ I yelled out.
He froze, peel in hand, arm hovering in the air. It was as if I’d aimed a gun at him. ‘Into the compost bin, please,’ I said in polite, icy tones. He should’ve known better. He muttered something about letting a man throw his banana peel in peace, and directed the said item into a black box with a hinged lid kept specially for this purpose.
That little black box is as important as the black box of an aeroplane, as it holds the vitals of our household in its innards. Inside this box go all the scrapings of our family, the parts you cannot eat — the peels, seeds, tops and tails of a variety of fruit and vegetables.
Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven’t already guessed, I have joined the proud tribe of composters. And let me add, this tribe is increasing, as is evident from the many Facebook and Instagram accounts on this same topic. All these years, my kitchen scraps went into the dustbin and thereon to a landfill. Granted, these were not plastics that would take a thousand years to decompose. But they would release gases, or create foul odours, or occupy precious, limited space.
It was the pandemic that opened my eyes to how I was adding to the woes of Mother Earth in minuscule ways, and set me on the right course. First, the amount of cooking that was done, the vast amounts of fruit and vegetables consumed, was double that of pre-pandemic times. Initially, during the early days, eating out was a no-no, and even ordering food was fraught with danger (or so we thought) and wiping down containers was a job in itself. Besides, time was on my side, in fact it hung heavy as there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. A composting group on Facebook caught my attention (as they say, when the student is ready, the teacher appears) and I was hooked.
Life has never been the same post-composting. Nothing — let me add, nothing — goes waste. Even the tea leaves I use to make my masala chai and the coffee grounds from my coffee-maker go into the compost bin.
My free time (of which I now have plenty) is spent reading about the different methods of composting. I learnt there are many ways to turn your kitchen waste into black gold that will enrich your soil. And no, you do not need a big garden, but can compost happily in your apartment balcony. You don’t need expensive equipment either, just a couple of buckets or containers. Your plants will thank you for giving them that little extra that helps them grow. Happy plants equals happy humans.
But apart from the lovely crop of fresh vegetables I harvested last winter, there was something much more important I learnt. Composters are some of the kindest and most generous people on this earth, ready to share their knowledge, always taking pains to answer the questions of a newbie like me. Does this compost look right? Is it too dry or too wet? Are those wriggly creatures OK or does it mean the compost is spoilt? What should I do in either case?
Like most new hobbies, my learning curve was steep. There were some items that had to be used judiciously, others not at all. I made mistakes. I asked what went wrong. And I learnt.
Nowadays, there’s so much talk about global warming and greenhouse gases, things that as a layman I don’t fully understand. But with composting, I feel like I’m doing my own small bit in my own small way for our beautiful earth.
Padmini Sankar is a Dubai-based author and freelance writer. Instagram: @paddersatdubai
