The Forgotten Joys Of Bathing

Last week I sorrowfully said goodbye to an old friend. After a quarter century of faithful service, my cast iron, enamel coated bathtub finally gave up the ghost. One of it’s beautifully wrought, hawk talon shaped legs just snapped off. I called the plumber, but he just shook his head and said it was time to put the old lady to sleep. It broke my heart, but there was nothing else to do. He offered to cart her away and I made the mistake of asking him what he would do with her. He said he would cut her up and sell her as scrap. That awful image haunts me still.

I got to reflecting on the blissful hours spent in that old tub and how much today’s generation is missing out on not being able to have a good relaxing soak. The poor man’s cup and pail may be more hygienic, but it involves so much effort; particularly in Mumbai’s heat and humidity. By the team you’ve finished pouring water over yourself, one cup at a time, you’re all sweaty again. The upper classes may think they have it better with their fancy showers and pressure jets, but do they really? Sure they get you clean but they don’t really "bathe" you.

After all, nothing can compare with the sheer pleasure of soaking for an hour in a hot tub, the blissful feeling of contentment as those knots in your muscles magically untie themselves and the day’s built-up stress just seems to drain away. Your thoughts drift lazily towards happy memories and the solitude, peace and tranquility revs up your brain to face another day.

Of course, to a true connoisseur, a bath involves more than just filling up a tub with hot water. There is the pleasurable pre-bath ritual of sprinkling bath salts, mixing in the bath oils and taking deep breaths to absorb that soothing scent of jasmine and lavender that only hot water can truly liberate. It’s a pity that decent bath salts are so hard to find in this city. Most establishments haven’t even heard of them, the philistines. I used to have to stock up on them during my trips abroad. I sometimes think civilization is progressing in the reverse direction.

So what’s in store for me now? I suppose I will have to get a shower – which is not as easy as it sounds. There is a bewildering plethora of models to choose from. Some look like jet engines and cost almost as much. Meantime, I’ve been struggling with the old bucket and mug, picking it up, pouring water over myself, putting it down to soap up and repeating the whole process. I never realized bathing could be such hard work.

And there remains a forlorn, wistful hope that somewhere in this magnificent metropolis of Bombay, there is a stand alone cast iron bathtub with my name on it.