As a child, the one thing I associated with the trips I had to Mumbai was the battle I had with the squat toilet in my grandparents’ house. At the age of three, I had the intrusive thought of the large hole in the ground swallowing up my tiny body, and then someone walking into the bathroom, flushing the toilet, as I would swirl away, screaming. I refused to go to the bathroom in the house. My mother finally decided to take me to a new shopping center nearby, which was essentially just an Indian clothing store with a candy stand and a Western-style toilet, so I could do my business. When travel was impossible, my mom held me up over the toilet at home as I wailed loud enough for the entire building to hear.
The new shopping center, when we returned five years later, was now unrecognizable, with over 500 stores. Here, I had my first sip of coffee, which they’d mixed ice cream into to sweeten it for my palate. My grandparents had installed a baby blue toilet in anticipation of my arrival, which I remember being grateful for at the time. My bed looked out of a window into the slum, and I could feel the day’s humidity radiating and smell the delicious pav bhaji from the slum as I snooped into the lives of all the people washing their clothes and haggling over jackfruit.
Every visit, we frequented one of the most famous Hindu temples in the area. One instance in 2019 stands out to me. In Mumbai, the top of the slums were now covered with colorful textiles to keep out the heat, many of the small street vendor stores were now crumbling and empty, and the mall had added multiple high-end designer stores. The heat the night we went to the temple was especially oppressive, and the line seemed unending. There were dozens of street vendors lining the street, trying to sell offerings for the temple. Apparently, I’ve always had a flair for drama, because I fainted in the middle of the crowd.
It felt like a two-second blackout, but when I woke up, I found myself sitting in a chair. I was surrounded by my family and a concerned audience of temple-goers and street vendors. One of the vendors had lifted me into the chair and brought me water, and several people in the audience were fanning me with their bags. Some of them even helped my mom carry me into a rickshaw so I could make it home safely. Taking care of me had been a massive effort of over 15 strangers from all walks of life. I reflected on my experiences in Mumbai over the years, and was interested to note how much I and the city had changed. While I feel I can’t really make a judgment about the city’s change, I think it’s a great thing that I’m no longer scared of using the bathroom in any context.
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