OF WASHERS AND DRYERS

WARNING: Major grossness to be expected. If your idea of gross is hearing or reading the word piss, shit or fart in its literal meaning, then please skip this blog.


It's been swept under the carpet for too long. These things that do not seem to be discussed at dinner parties(for obvious reasons). It's time someone speaks about them, and lays it all on the table.

We Indians are used to certain methods of hygiene. The underlying tenet is of course that washed is better than wiped. We love washing our clothes(so does everyone else, but let's leave that out for a minute), and drying them seems to be left to nature. Same with vessels, and our floors. And obviously, same with our arses ( the British spelling was just to soften the grossness blow)!
So if one is brought up from childhood on the wash principle, it follows that it becomes very difficult for one to shift to the wipe mode. I have observed many people, and this is an issue they struggle with even more than their identity, their minority status, or even their layoff.
In fact, a filmmaker friend and I were discussing a possibility of making a film on this topic alone. Would make fascinating watching (not to mention that it was a definite contender for awards, considering the area of anatomy it dealt with).
Anyways, there are some people who are able to adjust to it naturally. They can wipe and carry on with their lives as if nothing has ever changed. They have placed a stone on their heart, and blocked out the voice that cries to be heard.
Some of us are not able to do that. We are washers from cradle to grave. We are largely identified by the presence of Empty Yogurt tubs in our bathrooms.
To digress and speak about my personal experiences, when I first set foot into this country(actually even before that, in the 27 hour travel time), I thought I could manage. As a month went by, I realized there was something missing. I could not concentrate on my studies, and I was always distracted. It was then that I discovered what was wrong. I could not live with the guilt of being a wiper. But I lived in a house with other Americans, and could not risk be identified, not to mention the Indian girl who seemed to have made the transition from washer to wiper without any trouble.
It was then that I decided- I had to be a closet washer.
I used up more toilet paper than anyone else, and thought I had perfected the art. I wiped, then dampened the toilet paper, and wiped with it (that was as close as I could get to washing- sometimes I squeezed the paper to get a better simulation of wash), then finishing off with another round of wipe. This was perfect, I figured.
Not for long. My bowel movements needed to steady, and they still would not. So as far as I could, I put off bathing till I had passed them. Then I just had to wipe, and my bath would take care of the washing etc. This was a great idea!
For obvious reasons though, this only worked half the time, when I could afford to wait for a bath. The days I couldn't, I was under so much pressure, that they wouldn't comply. So I had to deal with passing them at school, where it was even worse.. there was no dampening system :(
Though it seems frivolous compared to other problems men and women have to face, it really comes down to personal experience. I could have sworn I would have traded with a jobless ragpicker (now if she were a ragpicker, that would be her job, wouldn't it? hmm...) if only I could find a solution that pleased all!
Meanwhile, a German friend of mine visited Egypt and was showing photos of the latrine in Egypt, and was describing with wonder how there is no toilet paper in any of the bathrooms, and how they used to carry their own. I, who should have defended the Egyptians, and told my friend how bad it was for us to have toilets without water, just sat there, saying nothing. I still feel guilty for not standing up for my fellow washers.
Two years passed this way, and then I moved out and have now come out to the world- I am the proud displayer of two Yogurt tubs in my bathroom. The wash and wipe routine seems to work great, except when I visit India now. I hated people who said this, and I hate myself for saying this, but wash alone does me no good. I long for the days when I can wash and wipe, and be myself once more. Is this what they call Americanized?
Never mind that my home is in Chennai, which is facing such a huge water crisis, and that I might have to be a forced wiper on my next visit!
I love the running water in Indian bathrooms though, and showering in the tub feels funny. Speaking of tubs, one grouse I have with my body has to do with a warm bath in the tub.
I love the tubs in every bathroom here, but hadn’t had a bath in it till recently. I guess I never had this much free time, or was just scared of it, like some kids feel with a new toy. They have to get used to seeing it around for a while, then touch it, and only then can they play with it.
Anyways, the first time, I stepped into it, got a nice lather working, and just soaked myself in it for a minute, and I got a call- from nature. Very irritated, I chastised myself for not checking with nature before I got in the tub. So I hurriedly took a shower and answered the call.
The next time, I did ask nature, and then got into the tub. Lo and behold! (hey, I haven’t seen that word since “Gem Collection of Russian Folk tales”!) In ten minutes, when I was just getting into it, she calls again! I thought this must be a freak accident, and the next time, finished all I needed to, drank one cup of tea, waited till that was passed, and then got into the tub. All I could think of, though, was whether Ma Nature was calling me anywhere, anytime soon. After 10 minutes of obsessing about it, Ma must have realized I was looking for her, and promptly knocked on my door!
Needless to say, that was the end of my fascination with the tub.