The Garbage Man

Although I’d visited my apartment several times before moving in it never occurred to me to ask about garbage. I’d asked about all the really important stuff; is the internet connection ready, where are the cable jacks, what do each of the 68 switches throughout the apartment do (this is not an exaggeration, I counted them), but I never asked about garbage.

This is not a trivial question as kitchen garbage disposals and dishwashers are unknown luxuries thus all food waste goes in the garbage cans. In a climate that stays above 70 degrees year round, food waste gets unpleasant very quickly and attracts a lot of room mates I don’t want.

So on the day I moved in, this question finally occurred to me. So as I was in the apartment with Stephen, my driver who speaks some English (primarily “Yes Paul” in answer to every question) and Ramesh, a person from the apartment who’s English is a good as my Hindi. So there we were, three people who could barely communicate. Me trying to find out where to take garbage and them trying to understand what the hell I was asking.

The puzzled looks on both their faces when I asked “What do I do with garbage?” told me I needed to try a different tactic. After dismissing the tried-and-true method of asking the same question louder I opted for the ‘how many similes can I think of’ method. “Garbage, trash, waste, refuse,” I tried accompanied by what I am sure are the international hand gestures for garbage, trash, waste, and refuse. When Stephen said “yes Paul,” then showed me how to turn on the microwave I know we weren’t quite connecting. Thus on to plan B.

Plan B consisted of me calling my contact in the Target relocation office as I know she speaks both English and Hindi very well. I explained to her my question, she translated to Stephen (even he seemed amused by showing me the microwave once he understood) who translated to Ramesh who replied to Stephen who translated for me the response of “come.” We went out to the hallway and he said ‘garbage here’. “No there is not garbage here,” I said. “Where does the garbage go?” I asked now that we all at least had the same definition of garbage. I was motioned to the elevator. The three of us proceeded to the underground parking garage (floor -1 in India). Ramesh pointed to an ominous looking, padlocked black door. OK I thought, that’s the garbage room, my question is answered even if it is locked. Worst case I could put the garbage bags outside the door. I went to bed happy having successfully employed all my resources to solve the garbage dilemma.

The next morning at 8:30 am, my door bell rang. Two ladies were in the hallway. When I opened the door that asked “garbage”? After 30 minutes of playing “where do I take my garbage?” the night before the answer was as simple as put it outside the door and it gets picked up each morning.

The story could end here with me being amused at the whole process but I told this story to a couple other Target ex-pats who have been in India for quite a while. They saw the humor in my perspective but then Tracy said something very interesting; “Think of how Ramesh and Stephen are telling the story.”

“So last night this American moved into A702. He asked what to do with litter but called it ‘garbage’. We told him but that wasn’t good enough so we showed him where to put it in the hallway so the garbage ladies can pick it up in the morning. That still wasn’t good enough. He made us take him to the basement and show him the room the garbage ladies throw it in. That seemed to satisfy him. These Americans are a strange people. I wonder if they are all obsessed with garbage? I just hope he isn’t as concerned about the toilets.”