Žižek considers toilets a wonderful encapsulation of cultural ideology. His thoughts on French, German and English toilets always makes me laugh and strikes me as wryly true. Coming from the West to India, learning how to handle a Hindustani bathroom is a bit of a minefield.
The basic Indian bathroom is simple: the whole room is a sloping wet room with a ceramic squat (sometimes just a hole) for a toilet, a sink and, if you’re lucky, a shower. So far so good. What is perplexing is the baffling array of accessories each bathroom commands.
Most noticeable is the vast selection of taps and knobs: 2 on the sink, 4 (!) on the shower, 2 more by the piping, 2 for the boiler, 1 for a bidet. And often some mysterious extras for good measure. These taps are apparently all supposed to be coordinated in some way, which I still can’t understand. I’m quite sure aligning the cosmic taps in order to receive hot water requires the knowledge of master safe crackers.
The mirror in any upscale establishment is covered in swirling designs of peeling glitter glue, always in clashing colours. Floors are a cobbled mix of marble, tile and concrete. Wall tiles are either mismatched or absent. Any self respecting bathroom needs at least 2 buckets and 2 mixing jugs, always in the same garish pastel plastic. The meaning of one pair is semi-clear: in order to wash yourself. Even when a toilet has a bidet tap attached, you are supposed to wash yourself by navigating liquid like a game of Where’s The Water, from a tap into a bucket into a mixing jug into your hand then onto yourself. The meaning of the other buckets? Who knows. Spares?
Then comes the ubiquitous Bucket Shower. As most bathrooms have no shower (and certainly no bath) comes the learning experience of a Bucket Shower. Now, although it’s not difficult to wash oneself when you have a supply of water, and a place in which to wash, I am curious as to how I’m supposed to do it. Do I stand? Is it a faux-pas to use the toilet mixing jug-bucket combo? Is there a way to shave my legs without feeling like I’m about to do the splits? How on earth do I wash my hair? I’ve taken to squatting on the floor, then turning my head upside into a bucket and shaking like a dog. I’m sure there must be more elegant ways of doing this.
In fact, I’m lacking mostly all of the etiquette expected of me. For instance, I had no idea that it’s actually a question of machoness, of male bravado, not to use a toilet. Instead, you should do your business with a scenic verdant view. Extra points for going in a group. Wanting some privacy is seen as girly and whimpish, despite the fact that privacy is like gold-dust and you’d get a real glare if your bare bottom was ever on display.
And just to throw even more confusion into the mix, there is an ancient Aryan guideline on toilet usage which gives a long list of very strict drills required before you can use the toilet, including which way you can face and what mantras you should chant. Having said this, India is always a place of contradictions. You would think ancient manuals on toilet usage would promote a culture of lively toilet-based discussion. Yet you can’t even expressly say you’re going for a wee. You instead do what I call the ‘Wee Mudra’. You hold hand with your palm facing towards you with all the fingers folded down, bar the little finger. If you’re on a bus or in a taxi, the driver will share a knowing little nod with you, having received the surreptitious signal, and you can now stop hopping and crossing your legs.
I wonder what Žižek would have to say about these bathrooms and toilets. An Indian concept of beauty governed by embellishment over simplicity? A desire for complete cleanliness, but with a slap-dash attitude? A love of openness and honesty, but only when tempered by head-to-toe modesty? Bathrooms and bathroom etiquette yet again remind me that India is constructed of a huge web of contradictions, all woven together with strings of history and culture that are just out of sight. We might think that Indian bathrooms are a world away from Western ones, but rather they seem to be a parallel to our avocado bath suites and knitted toilet roll cosies.
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