by Srinath Perur

I don't know if you bathe as often as I do, but even if you don't, a narrative of my unfortunate experiences with the activity might help you avoid the trauma it causes me so often. Frequently, during the course of my weekly bath, I am forced to crawl around the bathroom, thumping my hands around like a deranged toddler. "Buy why?" I hear you cry with concern. 

Things begin peacefully enough. I disrobe, en-towel myself, and saunter off to the bathroom with bucket, mug, and toiletries on board. There is then a short, awkward phase where I am confronted with the vast expanse of my abdomen. This does not last long; firm resolutions are made and the proceedings start. There is a good deal of singing and splashing involved, after which I find myself wet and get ready to soap myself. You have, no doubt, been witnessing a perfectly normal bath (unless you are Cleopatra, in which case you will need to substitute water with donkey's milk) and wondering where the trauma part of it comes in. It comes in now. 

It is unfortunate that an activity as pleasant as bathing has to be marred by the need to soap oneself. I pick up the soap, wet it some, and apply it generously over my face (without sparing the ears and neck). I then proceed downwards, rubbing the soap vigorously over myself, when it happens. 

Soaps, by nature, are slippery. A hand that has been soaping its parent body for some time is also, by association, slippery. It is well established that when two slippery objects are in contact, the less firmly anchored object slips away. 

The soap slips. When a soap slips, it doesn't just slip and fall. On reaching the ground, it shoots off towards the nearest wall, and unhappy with the obstruction to its progress, changes direction and shoots off again at a convenient angle, all the time spinning wildly about its axis. This continues for some time, after which, the soap comes to rest in an unlikely part of the bathroom. 

Now, the task at hand is to retrieve the soap. Having soaped my face, I am for all practical purposes, blind. The first solution that suggested itself to me, when I was less experienced, was to use my feet. I would stand on one foot, and place the other in various areas of the bathroom, till the foot chanced upon the soap. This method, although efficient and effective, has the drawback that success is immediately followed by a violent fall. The method I now employ, while inelegant and ungainly, does prevent physical injury. I go down on my knees and pat my hand all over the bathroom floor till the runaway soap is apprehended. This too, has its disadvantages. It causes the hand to go where no hand has gone before and very often, where no hand would like to either. Bathrooms, even when clean to the eye, are seldom clean to the hand. My hand often comes up with clumps of hair, dead cockroaches and other assorted organic material, which might disgust a less hardened soul. 

Retrieving the soap is only the first step. When this soap is applied to the skin, it feels a lot like sandpaper, having picked up all abrasive particles present on the floor. The soap now needs to be cleaned. This is fairly simple and involves whittling the soap down to, on an average, half its size. 

After this interruption, I generally manage to cautiously complete my ablutions and slip away: body cleansed, but soul scarred.

Da Bull-fight
Srinath takes on the Indian bovines by their horns!
CLICK HERE!

Ponderings +

Sam's unsyndicated column
DaEarToDaGround
Sam takes a BMTC bus.
 CLICK HERE!

Dogs life
Sam has something against the street dogs of Bangalore. Maneka, Are you listening? CLICK HERE! 

Other stories

Da revenge...

Da ghost of Veerappasura stalks the city of Bangalore in 2000! CLICK HERE!

Da map is not the territory. CLICK HERE