Why my toilet finds a mention in my prayer

What you are going to read happened in a small town called Sivakasi, in Tamil Nadu…way back in the 1980s. 1989 to be precise.

For those who don’t know, Sivakasi is a hyper active town with a population of less than 5 lakhs yet supplying 90% of all firecrackers, 80% of all safety matches and more than 50% of all offset printing in India.

I was 14 years old – all of these 14 years were spent in cities such as Jamshedpur, Jalandhar, and Kolhapur. On the fateful year – 1989 to be precise, my parents decided that I should spend some time with my maternal uncle’s family. My uncle Mahalingam was into selling paper (of 100s of kinds) to all those offset printers who were his clients.

Mahalingam uncle and my aunt considered me as that ‘City Boy’ who needed a lot of help to adjust to life in Sivakasi. And they tried their very best to make my 15 day stay comfortable. Unfortunately, they couldn’t help me with one thing…back then, houses in Sivakasi didn’t have toilets. Yes, you read it right…they didn’t have toilets. The folks in Sivakasi were so busy working (mind you Jawahar Lal Nehru called Sivakasi the ‘Little Japan’ of India) that they found allocating space to toilets, an unnecessary wastage.

As a result, my uncle’s house also didn’t have a toilet. To top it, he lived in the city center.

Within 30 minutes of landing in their house, I asked: “Uncle, washroom?”

“Number one or number two?” He enquired.

“Just tell me….I don’t want you to know what I am going to do inside,” I replied in jest.

“Son, it depends. Tell me…number one or number two?”

“Hmm…number one.”

“Just head out on to the next lane and wait for it to be empty. The best times for this is between 2 pm to 4 pm…the siesta time.”

“Whattttt?” I just couldn’t believe my ears.

My uncle smiled.

“Don’t worry, we have a better arrangement for number two.” I could see that he was confident that his solution for number two was better than that for number one.

“And what if it were number two?”

“Hmm…in that case, here take this one rupee coin and head straight for the R.M.S Road, the very next street…they have a public toilet there. Tell the guy sitting outside that its number two and give him this one rupee and he will allow you inside.”

“Whattttt?” Again, I just couldn’t believe my ears.

Fate had struck twice within the span of 30 seconds. And struck at my genitals…it wasn’t going to be easy getting up.

With a heavy heart, I walked out of the house, onto the next lane and waited for it to be empty (it was a long wait)…and then emptied my bladder. The moment I was back, my uncle, aunt and their three children were waiting to ask me how it went. To add insult to injury, they were smiling.

That day, I didn’t drink too much water …but still had to rush out at 7 pm. It was a little easier – in the darkness I could merge with the surroundings better. Now I was an expert. The next day, I explored new lanes, new time zones…and it started to get fun. But more on that later.

At around 8 pm, it struck me that I should also be worried about the next day morning. What about number two? So, I had a very light dinner…it surprised my aunt that a 14 year old had such bad appetite. But I wasn’t willing to risk emptying my bowels in my trousers at the age of 14.

At 11 pm, I managed to sleep off the fear. But it was back again when I got up at 6 am. I moved around the house slowly…lest I trigger some bowel movements. I refused the tea my aunt gave me saying I wasn’t into drinking tea. She couldn’t believe it…but I was adamant.

At 6.30 am, my uncle said I could accompany him to the public toilet – this was quite a relief because I was (and still am) very bad at directions and it would have taken me at least an hour to find R.M.S Road, even if it was the next street.

Both of us walked out of the V.K.M street, and walked 1 kilometer to reach the R.M.S street. The whole distance I tried to maintain a balanced walk, lest I triggered any intestinal movements. I tried not to laugh at my uncle’s jokes, which tend to upset him a bit…but I didn’t care. Honor before anything else.

I have tried to re-create the setup that I saw below. There were only three toilets, so there was a queue. One could also take bath (though thankfully, in my uncle’s house there was a place to take bath) and put on some make up in front of the wall-mounted mirror. The cashier took my Rs 1 and allowed me entry.

As I walked in, I saw many men smoking cigarettes outside trying to build up pressure. It also helped that there was a tea stall right next to the public toilets – men who needed a tea to build the force inside could help themselves.

My first public toilet experience was a huge success. I was in and out in less than two minutes. The casher smiled when he saw me return and asked me to come back the next day – and why not, after all it is the two-minute customers like me whom he would prefer for a bountiful business.

On the way back we bought groceries for the day, from the grocery shop nearby.

The next day my uncle didn’t accompany me. Since I wasn’t an earning member, I would ask my uncle for Rs 1 and walk out of the house on my daily chore….it was that simple. The next three days went well…in fact I had started to enjoy the new experience. It was all fine, I told myself. Or at least that is what I thought.

But on the fourth day tragedy struck…the moment I came out of the toilet after spending my Rs 1, my stomach started mumbling again and I had this urge to go back immediately.

“Hi Sir, I just paid you Rs 1 and came out early. Can I go again please?”

“No Sir, for Rs 1 there is only one entry. To enter again, you need to pay me another rupee.”

I wouldn’t say I walked back with a heavy heart…it was in fact a heavy stomach that I walked back home with, asked my uncle for another rupee and walked all the way back to the public toilet to relieve myself. I came back to my uncle’s house a dejected man…but a man who had understood the importance of Rs 1.

This went on for a few days (I had started going there with Rs 2, just in case) and soon enough the royalty wore off. During a casual chat with my uncle on the subject, I asked him: “Is this the only place one can go to?”

“No…there are couple of other options as well. But I thought you might not be so adventurous.”

This pricked the ego of this Rajan. We Rajans are egotists and we don’t take insults sitting down (pun intended). So, I replied: “You haven’t tried me yet, uncle.”

He continued looking into his sheaf of papers and said: “OK then, be ready tom at 6 am. I would suggest you eat a light dinner.”

The next day we had a visitor at 6 am. It was my uncle’s friend Manikam. The three of us took off at about 6.15 am for an adventurous dump taking. Once I started asking questions, I came to know that we were going to a almost dried up lake in the outskirts of the city (Sivakasi is a small city and you can walk your way out of it). We were to take a dump in the lake, wash up in the yet-to-dry parts of the lake and come back home.

As luck would have it, this lake was 3 kms away and I was tired by the time we reached. But when we reached, it was heavenly….a wide expanse of dried up land with little bushes sprinkled all around. Once we were almost in the middle of the dried up lake, my uncle advised me to take a spot behind one of the bushes and relieve myself. The very next moment, he and his friend vanished….probably behind some bushes.

I looked around, found a thickset bush, went behind it and sat down. The next two minutes were very peaceful…nobody in sight, just the chirruping of the birds. Just when I was about to get up I heard some women talking and the voices grew louder with time. I tried to place where they were coming from….and it was from right behind me.

I had two choices – stay put and pretend nothing happened or get up and stand right in the middle of nowhere pretending I was doing something else. I chose the first option.

Now the voices were really close…and thats when I heard: “Why doesn’t he get up? He is still sitting.”

They were talking about me!

But I held my ground…now they were probably 15 meters behind me.

Within seconds I could see them from the corner of my right eye. My uncle hadn’t advised me on the appropriate behavior in such instances. I held my ground…I continued to sit. For psychological comfort, I even closed my eyes.

I heard one woman ask the other: “Do you think he is blind?”

The other replied: “Even if he was blind, I am sure he can hear us. Too much of a coincidence that he is both blind and deaf.”

Now I didn’t need to look thro’ the corner of my eye – I could see them thro’ the bushes. But I continued to hold my ground.

Before they disappeared, the first woman told the second: “Men now a days…can’t they get up when they see women approaching? Phew!”

Now I knew why the women were upset…but it was too late to get up.

Later my uncle confirmed that Rule Number one of taking a dump in the lake is ‘Get up & pull your trousers up when you see a woman.’

For the next seven days, I preferred the public toilets.

It has been twenty years since, but even today my attached toilet finds a mention in my daily prayers.

9 Responses

  1. Shilpam

    This is hilarious Jammy! Very livid description.
    I am sure you must be counting on your washrooms while on a trip 😀

  2. Reminded me of my village. Similar situations for most of the village folk. Thank God I was born in one of the lucky few families that had a bathroom.
    Still few times, I’ve had to go the adventurous rounds and believe me – I am just not the publically s(h)itting types!
    My eyes would search for any movements in even far away places and when (as they would surely) locate some, the bowels just refused to stir!
    Thank God that the times have changed…

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