In the early hours, the mist parted to reveal the first of the three wooden bullock carts. They emerged loaded high with piles of raw sheepskins and goatskins. The women in brightly coloured sarees trickled in, starting their day at the largest leather tannery in their town. The air is thick with flies and rotting flesh. Suraj, a final-year bio-technology student, eagerly clutched his folder of project papers, flashed his student ID, and walked past the security guard. The pungent odour from the carcasses had him stifling for air.
He quietly walked into the dimly lit room, with protective eyewear and a transparent plastic overcoat. The blackened walls, soot-stained, and tinted windows made him claustrophobic. Some women wrapped themselves in plastic sheets before squatting in groups to pluck hair from softened hides with bare hands. He was appalled and covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief more from the obnoxious stench than shock. His eyes darted to a few other women deftly stirring the hides floating in the large tanks filled with a coloured chemical concoction.
A few feet away at his far right, he noticed men tended to soaked hides in a blue bath of sulphates that tumbled out of enormous wooden drums. He watches in horror as the blue chemical mix spills and splatters the floor and walls and the drenched feet of men. He frowned that no gloves, boots, or aprons were within their reach. The men merely rinsed their hands and feet with buckets of soapy water to wash off toxic chemicals. He followed the blue trail that whizzed out of concrete pipes out of the factory into a gushing river that was the lifeline of the town. His eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth in outrage as the snow-like white foam drifted across nearby fields and water canals.
His mind racing with thoughts of lurking danger, he decided to shelve the project immediately. Every minute spent in the tannery felt like a death knell waiting to be reckoned. He slipped past the metal gates as fast as his feet could carry him.
His mind was now in a quandary, as images of abysmal working conditions and the looming deadline for his unfinished project floated through his head. The phone vibrates, and he sighs with relief as he scans the missed call and text message about the farmhouse location from his friend. On the second ring, he answered the call.
“Bhai piche mudo?!” his friend screams excitedly into the phone.
“Mera…. Project” Suraj managed to mumble before he was whisked away in his friend’s bike riding pillion.
At the farmhouse, Suraj was elated after he helped his friend harvest a few kilograms of ripe tomatoes. He chanced upon gunny bags of unsold tomatoes that were left to rot. Then he sensed an opportunity to address both pollution and food wastage.
A sudden thought crossed his mind. Why not transform tomato waste into bioleather, a biodegradable product?
Word Count: 496 words
Glossary:
Bhai piche mudo – Brother, turn back
Mera – My
