God! What has happened to me? Six months of stay in Mumbai as a journalist and I cannot go to the bathroom anymore!
OK, before you dirty minds start thinking what clever yet nasty comment you will write, let me clarify quickly.
Almost everyday I have to go to this five star hotel or the other to attend press conferences (the names of the foods their sound like poetry). Once I did the mistake of asking a liftman where the ‘bathroom’ is. He gave me a surprised look and rectified my mistake, “you mean the washroom?”
“Yeah, indeed. I am sorry,” I had to apologise.
Now invariably when I have the urge to release some extra liquid out of my body, I go to the ‘washroom’.
My dear ‘bathroom’ is now dead in my life. Probably it will never come back again unless I go back to my home in Calcutta where ‘washroom’ is where the well is (to wash your feet and hands) and bathroom is where you actually do things …
But in Mumbai, there are only washrooms or the most illusive 'restroom' (heck! the first time I heard this word, I thought people go there and sleep). May be I have become civilised or the whole world has become brown sahibs. Only Mumbadevi knows!
Please allow me to stop here, washroom beckons …