More BS Than Usual

(Bob:) In India, the home of so many religions, it is easy to fall into obsessions, whether it’s with a new god, meditating, yoga, chanting, fasting, whatever.

My obsession was dried cow pies. (The emphasis in that phrase should probably be on “dried.”) They’re everywhere: stacked in little pyramids, in cylindrical columns, in big fields of pies, all sitting individually on edge. Being carried on piles on people’s heads. In wheelbarrows. In the city. All over the countryside.

I couldn’t stop taking pictures of them. Out of bus windows. Walking along roads. I just couldn’t stop. If the kids at our bus stops who seemed to be selling everything else--including copies of the Kama Sutra-- had been selling cow pies, my marriage probably would have ended right there: “Now dear, don’t be mad, but I bought some special souvenirs to take home. Only 50 rupees each. Can we store them in your bag?” (Kids, if you’re reading this and are worried about your trip gifts, let me reassure you that yours are of the highest quality. They have been dried an extra two weeks.)

The idea that in a major nation these days many people should have to rely on cow pies for cooking and heating fuel is beyond belief. Were I an Indian citizen, my first suggestion would be for people to take all their cow pies to the Prime Minister’s office and stack them up floor to ceiling until the entire office was filled, then make sure the Prime Minister was in the office and set it all on fire. That would be sweet (perhaps the wrong word) justice.

 Of course, there is another side to this. Using cow pies obviously qualifies as recycling in a big way. So avid environmentalists would be pleased. And in the U.S., where we don’t have to worry about where or when or if our next meal is coming and where we’ll sleep in a warm bed rather than on the street tonight, there is a big market for environmental products. So I sense a big business opportunity in cows and their attendant “products.”

First, real estate. We could start using cow pies for heating and cooking. Then we could measure houses according to how many cows you need to have on hand to meet your home’s needs. Big houses might be called 10-cow houses, rather than 4,000-square-foot houses, while most of us would probably live in more modest three-cow houses. I sense an upcoming Sunday Homes article for “The Oregonian.” Of course, we couldn’t really call those green homes, since the cow poop seems to change color from green as it dries, but I’m sure we can find some suitable classification.

Camping equipment: Let’s get rid of propane. How about a two-pie Coleman stove? Lighter to pack, too.

Barbecues: (I know the cows won’t like me writing about this subject.) We could separate the pies according to the type of grass the cow ate, like Traeger does with its mesquite and alder. Thus, we could have Traeger rye grass or clover hay cow pellet grilles.
Transportation: Remember the old Stanley Steamer cars? We could have steam-powered cars with the boilers fired by cow pies. It would be called the Manure Mobile. Rather than miles per gallon, it would be poops per mile. Saudi Arabia is going to be quaking when they hear about this idea.
We could have the untouchables, called dhalits in India, collect and dry the pies, thus helping the poor. We could call the company we would form the Dhalit Untouchable Manure Pie company, or DUMP.

As you can see, the opportunities may be as limitless as the supply. And we know it works since the advertising industry has been running on this for decades.