Shit.

Some people have to have their morning cuppa before they can manage to open their eyes to the world every morning. Some people prefer tea. I have known people who stumble through their day, if they are deprived of their nicotine fix before they get out of bed. Personally, I could fore go all the above, but my morning isn’t complete without my daily date with my newspaper on my pot.

If one should find happiness in the small pleasures of life, this is it for me. Nothing beats this as a morning pick-me-up, as you pick up the freshly delivered newspaper (rubber-banded & rolled or just a simple quarter-fold) from your doorstep/balcony/verandah or lawn. The birds are chirping, the air is crisp, everything seems cheery as you take a quick glance at the day’s headlines, walking back into your house. As you walk, the anticipation builds. You can feel your stomach tighten, the first urges begin, as if on cue, whetted by the news. Your step quickens as you stride towards the loo. You reach the loo, open the door, and quickly shut it behind you, turn the latch. The place is yours now. A deep breath, a quick survey of your domain, no time to lose, the contractions are coming faster. You deposit your lowers hurridly on the floor, slam the toilet seat down, any time now…Once seated, you open the broadsheet to its fullest, the foreplay now reaches its pinnacle, you scan the headlines, looking for an article to delve into. “Parliament hung…sensational triple murder…new survey shows”…the front page holds no interest..the headlines are all done…quickly you flip directly to the last page…this is more like it. Now that you have found the appropriate reading material, you prepare for the final push. The stage is set, the urges have been replaced by crazy pangs now! “Yesterday’s T20 cricket match between India and Austrailia ended in an exciting bowl out after…” This is it! You release your bowels. Thar she blows lads! A feeling of sheer bliss envelopes you, wave upon wave of relief and complete satisfaction. “India captain Dhoni marshalled his resources perfectly as India reached…” The world seems a better place just for those moments of utter happiness. One cannot adequately put to words the feeling one experiences during the time on the pot. All your cares melt away, as you get lost in the new newspaper, the smell of fresh newsprint transports you elsewhere to a magical place, but nowhere else could one find the sheer bliss that one experiences while reading on the pot.

I would have to attribute my voracious reading to this very habit, that I had inculcated quite early in my life. As a kid, I would observe and be inspired by my dad. He was (and still is) my hero, and whatever he did became the way to go for me. He introduced me to the newspaper-pot pleasures, as I watched him every morning. At first the broadsheet was a bit too big for my puny arm-span. So, I took my Dr. Suess books, then graduated to Enid Blyton’s Famous Fives, Secret Sevens, then came the Hardy boys’ series, Sherlock Holmes, TinTin comics, the evergreen Archies comics. The trip to the loo became so enjoyable that I began to visit it 3-4 times a day, much to my mom’s concern over my fickle digestion, and that left her wondering what she might have put in yesterday’s daal that might have thrown my digestive system out of gear. It became a place of recluse, of retreat. A boring chapter of Maths, an argument with mom, a boring hot afternoon at home, all of them lead to the same conclusion.

My loo has a big stack of comics on the counter, ever ready to cater to my sudden urge to retreat. I have now become an architect, and now dream of constructing my dream loo. A large dark mahogany bookshelf, fronted by a pristine ivory pot, with automatic seat height adjustment, automatic seat warmer, retractable bidet water spout, automated flush function, drier and perfume spray. And oh yeah, a newspaper rack, most definitely! All this says to me, “Come let me make an otherwise shitty experience, worth your while!” 

~ by slopintheocean on May 4, 2008.