One of the topics that always dominated conversation in our family get together, was bathroom related discussion. Whether it was potty puns or toilet tales, the topic always snuck into normal conversation! My usually appropriate-behavior mother thought nothing of slinging her Pathology jokes like - other peoples susu and potty is our bread and butter - no matter that the conversation was around the dining table … and people might be eating! And despite some of us cringing, others would leap onto the conversation track and then, god help us all. When everyone met, both the inputs and outputs of the digestive system were always addressed - in conversation and in practice!
So how can this blog be a slice of those times, without sharing of such alimentary tales. Here is a snippet from the man himself, master storyteller, Biswajit Basu.
[08/05, 9:33 am]
Biswajit Basu Jio: A SHITTY STORY
Last night as I tried vainly to sleep, I suddenly got the urge to take a dump. On the potty, my mind drifted to reminiscing on the memorable shits I've had in my life.
The earliest memories of shitting that I can recall was when I was a young boy and I got off the school bus in Delhi Cantt and my servant, Swarndas, would come to pick me up. My mother would invariably send him with some water in a military flask which had seen better days. I would hurriedly jump off the bus and make a beeline for a grassy knoll, squat and let fly my load. This would be right in full view of the other children on the bus.
Many years later when on a trip to Manali we got caught behind some battletanks on the narrow hilly mountain road. After hours of trundling along behind them, the commander found a small stretch of wider road and honourably (as always with our military) stopped to let us pass which we did and sped forward after long last. Suddenly Piya announced she wanted to do 'a big job'. I felt a strong urge too. Mr Thakur, who was in the car behind us shouted at us as we both scampered up the hillside "Hurry up otherwise those tanks will overtake us and we'll be behind them again". Piya took her position behind a large rock but I had no cover and I squatted in the open on some tall grass and let fly. Suddenly I half stood giggling uncontrollably. What happened, Piya asked. The wind had gusted a bit, tnembling the grass which was tickling my bum making me giggle. And there was Mr Thakur screaming at me to cease and come down as the tanks had arrived. Anyway thanks to the grace of the Indian Army, they stopped behind us to let me shit (much to my embarrassment). This must have been the first time in the glorious history of the Indian Army that they were halted in their tracks by a shitting civilian!
In another incident on the hills again near Manali, when my boss the late Mr YP Verma and I had just started our way back to Delhi I felt shitty and decided to stop Verma saab was happy too as his pressure was also building up and so we chose a lovely spot in a lovely valley, far from civilisation, beside the softly gurgling River Beas to squat for our respective shits. We squatted there lost in the pleasure of relieving ourselves and the beauty of our surroundings discussing the complications of dredging in the Himalayas. When suddenly, Mr Verma, shitting on my left gently whispered to me "Don't look on your right". So all this while as I was studiously looking right to avoid looking at him shitting, I was now forced to look at him. Then after a while, he announced that it was ok now to wash and go back to the car. So we washed our arses in the pristine waters of the Beas and in the car I asked him why he had stopped me from looking right and he said "There was a huge snake passing by". He did not want me to startle the snake and run around with a shitty arse! I was thankful for my narrow escape!
Once on our way to Rohtang Pass, I felt shitty. All our bottled water was finished and so we stopped at a tea Hut so I could buy a Bisleri bottle to wash my arse. With great difficulty, he produced one that was so dirty that even he was reluctant to sell it. I was almost shitting in my pants whilst he laboriously set about cleaning the plastic outsides. I grabbed the bottle from him, ran to the mountainside and let fly. That poor shopkeeper must have now convinced himself, that just as he had thought, people from the plains were extremely rude and dirty!
Now let us move abroad. We were touring the UK and in Edinburgh we decided to visit the Queen's yacht "Brittania" which had been laid up and converted to a museum. While we went around, suddenly I felt shitty. The attendant told me that to visit the toilet, I would have to go back to the wharf. I knew immediately that I would not be able to hold on but I had to try. In the labrynthine cabin rows, I found a door and opening it, I found myself in a toilet. With great relief, again I sat down and let fly. While at it, I laughed as I conjectured how the Queen might have entered the same toilet, flipped up her skirt and had a peaceful shit. There was no toilet paper and so I washed with the water from the washbasin splashed onto my arse. That must have been the first time in the long history of the Brittania that someone washed his arse instead of wiping it with toilet paper! On the wharf, I met my uncle who was wondering where I had disappeared. When I told him the story, he laughed and told me it was "Basu's Revenge" for 200 years of their occupation of our lovely country!
Now let me tell you of my shitting adventure in Dubai. I was staying with my cousins and my cousin sister said she wanted to show me her new apartment she was hoping to buy in a huge housing complex. Once there, as is my habit, I had to mark my territory there. In short I was shitty. The Pakistani workers' there had no idea where I could find a toilet. As the pressure built up, I entered into a toilet under construction and again let fly. There was no toilet paper and no water either. This is probably the only time in my life I had left a toilet with my bum unwashed. My cousin sis laughed uproariously when she heard my story on the way back and said I had better disinfect her car seat which I did.
Once in a very famous Italian restaurant in Rotterdam, I felt shitty. I was guided to the basement where there was a long curving corridor without a soul around. Walking along, I noted a door marked Signori and another marked Signora. I naturally thought the i ki matra meant female and the a ki matra was for males. So I entered the door marked Senora and I was surprised that there weren't any men's urinals. I thought maybe because it was such an upmarket restaurant they did not like open urinals for men. I entered a cubicle and had a lovely shit. On coming out of the cubicle, I saw a lady entering the main door and she looked at me with disgust and said "Pervert" as I rushed past her realising there was something wrong. Once outside I noticed a man come out if the door marked Signori. This was the only instance when I had the honour of shitting in a ladies toilet.
Very recently, Swati and I had gone to get our Wills registered. At the Registrar's Office I felt terribly shitty. There was a men"s toilet and in the row, there was only one door open and so I entered and peacefully relieved myself. In the end, I found there was no water coming out of the bum shower. Being an Engineer, I tried the nipple in the inlet pipe an opening it slightly, I found that a trickle of water was coming out of it. So I ventured to open the connector completely. Water gushed out at a tremendous velocity. Swamping everything, my tousers, underwear, shirt etc. I could hear Swati asking if I was ok. I emerged, totally drenched. And Swati who had entered the men's room (with a lot of me around) said you wanted to go for a shit but you've had a bath as well!
Well, this is a brief recount of a lifetime of dumping adventures!
