I spent most of my week working out of the Intercontinental at Marine Drive, appalled at being 6 floors below the availability of the city's best Long Island Iced Tea, and having to work on the world's most bizarre software.
For the record, I'm still a Criminal Lawyer.
Anyway, one morning my pressed schedule got me to the IC at 7am, where I sat in the coffee shop drafting urgent petitions with my Clients. The waitress would come by at regular intervals to offer me a refill on my coffee, which I accepted for lack of a better response. After this, I was expected at Kurla at 11am, before which I had to file a Consumer Complaint at Bandra at 1030am. My Clients had to be in Santacruz at 1030, so we left the Hotel in a rush. I was placed in the air conditioned Innova and we were on our way. As I was dropped at the Bandra Highway, I realized that I had forgotten something very important.
I had forgotten about the need to empty my bladder.
It's funny how your body accustoms itself to whatever warped schedule you are used to, and accommodates your finickiness, to whatever absurd extent it may take you. So I have a cup of tea in the morning, and then I come to work, and go to Court by 11am. Sometimes, I'm in Court from 11am to 5pm. I eat lunch in the Court canteen. I do not use the bathroom in this period. I don't even have to. The prospect of using the Court loos was appalling enough to put my bladder on hold. I am never overcome with the urge to release. I hold my cup of tea, another cup of tea, and about a litre of water with exceptional poise. Back at the office, I allow myself to be human again. Many people are amazed with this talent. It has not been easy, cultivating such self restraint.
Firstly, I have excessive hangups about loo cleanliness. My Sunday routine is scrubbing the hell out of my loo. My mantra is that when you leave, no one should have any indication as to what exactly was going on in there. Look before you leave. Simple. I can't understand why people don't get it. People who have less than perfect loo habits deserve no sympathy. In fact, a one year intense relationship came to a screeching halt when, the morning after, I creeped out of bed without disturbing the love of my life, as he was then referred to as, to use the bathroom. My romantic weekend getaway went for a head first collision with what I saw in the toilet. The flush had been used, no doubt, but there was some remnants which were, well, beyond the reach of the flush, which could have been cleaned up by the use of the hand shower like thing attached to the pot (for a shady hotel on the outskirts of Coorg, it had decent facilities). I recoiled in disgust and reevaluated my entire relationship while smoothing out my tousled hair. I lay awake in bed, traumatized, with my bladder frozen in a state of shock.
We broke up a month later.
(Ok, not exactly, but that's the way I'd like to remember it)
Years of bus travel have also helped in my self restraint. You don't want to know what condition loos are at bus pit stops. If I woke up to find that I had turned a man for a day, I'd stand up and pee. And then I'd go back to sleep.
Anyway, my body having been so fine tuned to my own habits, I was pretty confident that I could bear any burden.
Until I felt the strange pangs when I walked out of the Bandra Court to catch an auto to Kurla.
Never underestimate the power of caffeine.
My discomfort continued, and worsened over the non existent roads through the Bandra Kurla Complex. Every bump and pothole worsened my agony. It was already 1130, and I was late for my case. I would probably make it just in time. I imagined the paranoid corporate manager who was the accused I was representing pacing up and down the corridors of the Court waiting for me.
I ignored my urgency. I could handle this.
I clambered up the stairs of the Courtroom and rushed into the Court, checked the Board. The Judge was a weirdo who liked his cases called out in reverse order. My Case was at Serial No. 23. Number 33 was called out. Ten cases. That's time to get to a bathroom, I thought. From the corner of my eye, I saw my Client, looking highly relieved.
Just as I pulled out my files, Number 30 was called out. This Judge was in a mighty hurry. Luckily, so was I. I began to twitch my ankle, unconsciously. Somehow, this distracted my discomfort. The case wasn't to go on for long, I just had to take a date, pretty much.
29, 28, 27, 26, 25 (the idiot lawyer made some kind of application which took 3 whole minutes to decide. grr.), 24...
Finally. I began to stand up as soon as 24 was adjourned, like some smug kid who knows he's going to get the "best student" prize.
"Number 22..."
What?
I hurriedly sat down and panicked. What just happened? How is this possible?
I hissed to the clerk. "What the hell is going on? What happened to 23?"
The Clerk smiled. "Madam, the file is lost. We'll call out the matter when the file is called"
Oof. "And how long will that take?"
"The peon has gone to find it. He'll be back any minute."
Which was essentially any time between now and the apocalypse.
I waited 5 minutes. "Where is he?"
"He's just gone down to get the file madam. It is in the warrants department.He'll just be back."
I knew exactly what was happening. The Peon was sitting in the canteen, smoking a beedi, yapping with some other peons. I was getting highly restless.
"Look. I need to go down. Can I finish my work and come in 10 minutes?" Hey, I couldn't tell this guy I needed to pee, right?
The Clerk looked at me doubtfully. "How long will you take?"
"5 minutes. I need to check something. Please."
"OK" he said, grudgingly. "But 5 minutes only. Remand will start then."
I nearly ran out of the Courtroom.
In Court, its easy to find the loo. Just follow the stench. I went to the ground floor, which was where the bar room was. I walked a few rooms ahead of it, and stopped where it stunk the most. There were two doors - one locked, and one unlocked. A male lawyer walked out of the open door, wringing his hands on a kerchief. He looked at me strangely as I moved to walk into the loo. I saw a clerk standing near the closed door.
"This is the loo, right?"
"Yes Madam," he said.
"Well... can I go in?"
He looked a little uncertain, and pointed towards the locked door.
"Ladies"
By now, I was really losing control. Being this close to a loo and still having to make polite conversation was really playing unsafe.
"And?"
"Madam, the key is with the Bar Association. Ask that Peon."
So I went back to the Bar Association Room and asked the Peon for the key.
He looked me up and down. "You new here?"
"Huh?"
"Are you a member of the Kurla Bar?"
At this time, I imagined that giving into this uncontrollable urge would serve all of these people right, the useless bureaucracy of the lower judiciary, to have to clean up the ensuing mess. Anyway, I have to put up with their shit, so its only fair that they get to deal with my pee."
"What, only Kurla Bar Members get to go, or what?"
The Peon shrugged his shoulders. "Return it when you're done."
I walked as fast as was socially acceptable, in the circumstances. I unlocked the door, which I half expected to be jammed, and went it and locked the door from the inside. The overwhelming stench of a stinky loo denied the facility of ventilation hit me like a truck, and I hung my bag from a hook which thankfully existed (the state of the floor was unmentionable) yanked up my salwar, and stepped into the toilet area, refused to look down at what already existed there, undid apparel and...
Sigh. Don't even ask me to describe the feeling. Words fail me.
I washed my fingers, unlocked the door and came out. After locking the door, I adjusted my clothing, despite the various people hanging around. I refused to entertain the possibility of my trouser cuffs touching the ground in there. I locked the door, handed the peon the key, and went back to the Court.
For the record, they never found the file. I stood up, informed the Judge, who adjourned the case anyway.
Bad toilets just make being a woman that much more painful than it isn't.
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