Waste not, want not, is a maxim many of us were brought up on. It's a saying that we tend to forget in today's throwaway society, and though we are urged daily to save energy, when it comes to smaller things, it's surprising how lax we can become. One look in my loft made me realise that I could easily meet some of the requirements of a charity requesting a variety of oddments. I know about plastic bags and newspapers, but was surprised to learn that more obscure things can help raise money for charity. There are umpteen organisations that are able to utilise waste materials. Think twice before you throw something away; someone somewhere might be able to use it to full advantage. Many organisations will take garments in a reasonable condition. Children's homes ore often pleased to receive used greeting cards and old toys. Stop and reflect before you toss away used envelopes, for postage stamps get into demand. Clearing out an old cupboard, mainly used by my parents in the village house, I discovered among the bric-a-brac about half a dozen pairs of spectacles. I took them to an optician and was told that the frames were antiques and could fetch quite a tidy sum. On my yearly trip to obtain my seasonal stock of cashew brew from SVD, Raia, I came across a municipal rubbish dump. For no reason whatsoever, I got out of my vehicle and made my way towards the mounds and realised that they had a sinister secret life. The piles of waste looked like dunes and when I looked more closely, I could see what appeared to be children climbing over them. On their backs they carried socks and plastic bags which they appeared to be filling with bits and pieces of other people's rubbish that they thought might be useful. I asked one small boy what he was doing. "Well, my mother sent me here to find things.' "Such as what?' I enquired. "There's everything here one would need. A lot of it is new. What a waste. Well, once I found a bracelet made of real gold, and a wristwatch that worked and so many useful things.' A small bird-like woman, struggling with two sacks, appeared from nowhere and proceeded to examine me, and although her lips didn't move, her eyes, full of agony, seemed to say, "What the hell are you doing in hell's paradise, anyway?' That made me laugh nervously in an unlaughable situation. When I got back to my vehicle I took a tot of the local goodie. It went down burning my throat and guts. When 1 got home, I had a long hot bath to get rid of the reek of old cabbage and rotting food. But I can't wash away the memory of those small children and their pathetic little sacks. It was like a horrible vision from some Dickensian past. The garbage removers being on indefinite strike, Panjim has become a rubbish dump. Waste is dumped here, there and everywhere. It reminds me of my salad days in the village when every household owned its own swine which was a vital waste disposal system, with the capacity to far exceed the capability of modern disposal systems. What was not relished by the pig went into the compost. But, every pig, like every dog, has its day! The lowly pig was an intrinsic part of traditional village life, and it stands right up there as one of the icons of Goa's bygone days. As for any other critter that would lay claim to being as exalted I say "hogwash'.