It’s a Crappy Business

OK first a warning: this bit is about toilet. It concerns bodily functions and uses a couple of rude words and crude terms, so Mum, I’m sorry and to everyone else you have been warned.

Before coming to India I Googled many things, diet and hygiene seemed to come up a lot without me searching specifically for them. This issue is of course not restricted to India but concerns travel and being away from home in general.

Lots of things can upset a persons system, knock it for six or give you the skits. If after a ‘safe’ meal you find yourself confined to the smallest room you will have plenty of time to meditate on the cause as the world falls out of your bottom. If the water was bottled, the food hot and well prepared in a reputable kitchen, and you scrubbed your hands very well then the cause will probably be a mystery, especially if your friends shared the same food and are all fine. Perhaps it was something at breakfast which was on a time delay…

Incidentally as I write this at 11pm waiting for a train in Pune, I notice the passengers from the incoming train on the far track do not bother using the footbridge to cross the line they just nip across the tracks and help each other up onto the high platform, young and old, it strikes me that it must be very difficult to be a rebel in India, no one does as you expect. How can you be a non-conformist in a country where people choose which rules to follow and which to ignore?

Anyhow, back to poo, as Tigger once said (though that would have been Pooh).

So you’re not feeling too well but your friends are fine, if they are local then the reason is obvious as they are used to the food and water wherever you are, but this does not help you avoid the problem the next time, which food do you take and which do you leave? It’s a lottery. So getting sick once in a while is the norm for me, I continue to be reasonably adventurous and try new things, within certain limits. It doesn’t help that I really enjoy food and will pretty much try anything, the rabbit curry (not recommended incidentally if you ever come across it in a small café in Kerala) is a case in point, had I stuck to a plain omelette that evening then I may have eaten something in the three days that followed, as it was my stomach would not even accept water for a while.

Some chaps are painting the station ceiling, its 11.15pm. They are using pale blue paint with a long pole, a plastic tube and a pump. The system is working well, the ceiling is now powder blue, as is the platform, the benches, the light fittings, and the passengers. I keep moving down the platform as this is a new shirt and I quite like the colour. I expect a new team will come and clean-up tomorrow, but that’s the way things seem to be in India.

OK so this time of year (April) its pretty hot I have not felt like eating much, so in the mornings I’ve been eating only fruit, typically half a kilo of green grapes and three bananas. The fruit here is delicious and cheap, this meal costs me about 20 pence. Also I should now mention at this point that regarding my bowel movements, to use a train analogy, the engine has been stuck in the yard for some time now, the rolling stock has not been released, erm.. the big engine is backed-up in the tunnel. OK I’m constipated. I know this makes no sense and I have no explanation for it, I’m eating all this fruit and then vegetable curry twice a day, I should be pebble-dashing the bathroom but for whatever reason its not happening for me.. until yesterday. I’d had a good days flying, and we had been out in the strong Indian sun all afternoon with no shade, I’d not worn my hat which was stupid of me. At the end of the day my face felt hot, glowing in fact, and I knew I’d overdone it. I definitely had a very mild heatstroke.

As we neared home I felt the need, the need to speed somewhere pretty darn quick. My buttocks were clenched tighter than a Yorkshireman’s purse (I can say that I’m a Yorkshireman) and I only just made it to the bathroom before the points switched, and believe me there was a whole goods train of traffic. I spent a large portion of that evening driving the porcelain train; it was unfortunate that the toilet was not built to take that amount of business. The pan was not bolted to the floor and rocked from side-to-side which meant that every usage was a dance. Of course this affected the pipe which led from the pan to the cistern so that it leaked when the toilet was flushed so a small pool always lay around the base of the loo. Additionally the pipe movement lifted the cistern off its little hooks so that it began to rest on my back which meant I was pinned in position pending a further flood. Luckily I had with me a copy of the Times Of India, not a very good paper incidentally, the India Express is better, not as many ads.

I am now on the Mumbai train to Delhi, but only for 9 stops.. I think. I struggle to find a spot as the train is quite busy. There are sacks of grain and sleeping people everywhere, and I mean everywhere, floor, luggage racks, seats, and these include babies and old ladies. A man kindly moves his feet after I stand forlorn for a while and I perch on the end of a bench. My feet are very close to an old ladies face as she sleeps lying on the floor. Two children are curled at my side and I try to keep very still to avoid waking anyone. Five stops later the train remains at the station and does not move for 20 minutes, I don’t know why, it’s very hot. I don’t feel uncomfortable in India now, people still stare, sometimes I ignore it, sometimes I stare back until they look away. Foreigners are not as uncommon a sight as they once were, however I’m typically the only non-Indian on any train or bus or in the street so and still a novelty item for most people. Blending in is impossible, though I do try.

So anyhow, I am now totally cleaned-out. My system has been very well flushed, forget colonic irrigation,
come to India. Oh and another good thing to come from this episode is that I am now proficient at Indian botty washing, which is actually quite easy and very hygienic (in a well equipt toilet). Originally I was carrying small wads of Andrex with me, and still do incidentally, but am now cool with the squirt and wash method which gets things squeaky clean. The only downside is having a wet bot for a little while after, but in a hot country this is soon gone. Its nice and cool for a bit actually.

A small boy has lain down next to the old woman, I am now effectively pinned. The is no obvious route to the door without treading on someone unless I can hop onto a sack of grain. Looks like I’m going to Dehli.