Pot-tering around, Paris to Japan

Ae anhiya flush kyan chhe?

I heard a plaintive voice calling out in Gujarati over the din of an unfamiliar chatter. We were at a roadside stop somewhere south in South Korea in a very clean public toilet. I looked around the toilet stall. Behind the commode, around it, under it. No, there was no sign of a flush. By this time, several other voices had joined in the chorus, each with an explanation but no solution.

At last, a triumphant voice. “There is a button on the right of the door as you exit”. Phew! I hadn’t fancied leaving a clean toilet dirty for want of reading Korean. 

A few days later in the even cleaner toilets in the offices of the Korea Foundation (the Korean counterpart of our Indian Council of Cultural Relations), I sat on the pot contemplating a series of graphics. One had wavy lines, horizontally placed. The next one had dotted lines, like upward moving waves. The third one was the same but moving downwards this time.

Knowing that a couple of colleagues were in the stalls next door, I mused aloud about what the designs meant. Pat came a reply, “Whatever you try, try it while seated. Otherwise, you will get a shower.” More cautious than is my want, I refrained.

A dear friend, one of our ambassadors to UNESCO once told me of a trip he made to Japan. In his hotel bathroom, all instructions were in Japanese. An array of buttons faced him as he stood in a three-piece suit, ready to make a diplomatic visit.

Little kitty graphics indicated choice of one button, which he pressed waiting for the toilet to flush. In three seconds the heavens opened up, shower jets from all directions drenching him as mops came out and swabbed all surfaces, including his.

There also was this rural toilet in Japan twenty years ago. My son then was a baby and it had taken all our persuasion to have him squat over a deep pit, supported on both sides by strong arms gripping him.

And then, there are the automatic sensor devices. At Paris airport, this meant getting up and sitting down on the pot several times till the sensor kicked in. I tried getting up and then down straight, sideways, by jumping out of the sensory eye… It worked finally but I still haven’t figured it out.

Because at Mumbai airport’s restaurant toilet, the wash basin taps are sensor-ed. Yet again, I waved my arms around to get the water started. After several failed attempts, I looked about for help. The other passengers looked bored. Then in comes the lady cleaner, gives me a pitying look and hit the tap hard. Out came the water, the sensors having sensed when it was defeated.

The first time I met the wonderful bum shower was a decade ago in a hotel in Abu Dhabi. What a good idea, I thought and was glad to see it proliferate in our country, especially in hotels and better public toilets but alas, not everywhere.

If my readers are surprised at the topic of this week’s column, let me tell you why these thoughts have come to mind. A five-star deluxe hotel I just checked out of had nothing at all – no bum shower, no mugs and not even the possibility to reach out to the tooth glass and water at the basin without twisting your back. Was this a plug for the (toilet) paper industry, I wondered. Or just one more stupid way to ape the West? 

The writer is a noted danseuse and social activist and can be reached at mallika@darpana.com