Dream of attached bathrooms in the Mansion of the Gods

As we stepped into Men’s Hostel on 17th July 1978, we were told to meet the Hostel Secretary for room allotment. The Hostel Secretary had commandeered a vacant room and was seated behind a desk. He handed us a form which we had to tick our preference for room, ‘double/single/single with attached toilet/single with attached toilet and AC’. I wisely decided on single though in the hot and humid Vellore climate, AC was tempting but I somehow knew it’s highly unlikely that there were AC rooms.

Later I was grateful for my decision because during initiation those unlucky ones who opted for a single room with attached toilet and AC, had a pipe strapped on his back with a shower head suspended above his head and a bed pan tied around his waist as an attached toilet. An aerosol can was suspended around his neck as an AC.

The dream of an attached toilet was always in the minds of the residents of Men’s Hostel, the luxury of not having to walk down the corridor to the common toilets. It was like having the keys to the executive washroom.

During bacchanal parties, indulgence caused increased diuresis and delay. The urgency was so great that they barely managed to step out onto the corridor, and relieve themselves over the railing, which was at a convenient height. The car of the hostel warden parked in the driveway in ‘D’ Block was a regular beneficiary of these ‘showers of blessings’.

This idea may have been instilled in our minds during initiation, when following our morning exercise supervised by the ‘Field Marshal’ and ‘Executioner’ we were supposed to in batches of 3, lie face down in front of ‘C’ Block store and chant in unison, ‘God! God! Give us rain!’ Our prayers were answered when a bucket of water was poured on us. Then we rolled in the mud and again appealed for rain. During this ritual I felt a thin stream of water hit me which had a warmer temperature, suspiciously close to body temperature. Some seniors shouted, “Don’t piss on the poor buggers!” I went berserk and tried to look up but my head was promptly pushed back into the mud.

A story which made rounds in Men’s Hostel and was part of folklore that there an occupant of supertop who routinely used to relieve himself over the railing, fouling things up for the occupants downstream. No amount of entreaty would make him mend his ways. So the occupants downstream took matters in their own hands. They got an electric stove, the ones which had the glowing coils, placed it on an old badminton racket and tied a bamboo to the racket. The stove was plugged into an extension cord. Then they waited patiently for the nightly flow of effluent. When they heard the pitter patter of effluent hitting the ground they switched on the stove and extended so it was right under the stream. It was the perfect ‘mid-stream clean catch’, the stove sparked, the stream stopped and cry of pain was heard from above. To make a long story short they were never troubled again by the flow of effluent.

Then they were the improvised chamber pots, after all “need is the mother of invention” and the desi jugaad in keeping with “waste not want not”. There were a vast collection of empty bottles from past revelry in the hostel rooms, which were put to good use. They were refilled capped and placed in a hidden corner under the bed. Once in a while the watchman would come to sweep the room. The watchman in his attempt to reach the dust in all corners reached the cache of refilled bottles. He picked one up, shook it, looked at the it and stopped just short of sniffing it. Then gave the owner an incredulous look and asked, “Idhu enna Saar? Urineaa?”

Calcium trouble

Do the past residents of Men’s Hostel, especially Circa 1978-1984 recall the strange malady which befell only the males called ‘calcium trouble’?

The clinical scenario was after vigorous and sweaty physical activity or on a hot sweaty night, the victim goes to the toilet to pass urine but is alarmed that he’s unable to pass urine. Just a few drops emerge with severe burning in the urethra.

The treatment of ‘calcium trouble’ paradoxically was common salt. The victim would rush to the mess, pick up the salt container placed on the dinning table, go to the water cooler, pour a glass of cold water, add a fistful rather than a pinch of salt. After one or two glasses of this mixture he would return to the bogs. A blissful expression could then be seen on the suffer’s face along with the sound of urine flowing freely.

It was said that due to the high calcium content of the drinking water which caused this form of dysuria, hence the dubbed as ‘calcium trouble’. How common salt relieved the suffering was a mystery.

During initiation after our exercise session we were told to drink water with salt. I always thought this was part of the initiation but later discovered the reason.

After any physical activity in the hostel, the ritual was the players would run to the water cooler with salt and drink one or two glasses.

Luckily I only had an attack once during my tenure in CMC. But there were others who told pitiful tales of painful peeing and implored us to take precautions. Hence it was water with salt on a regular basis. I suspect I can blame my early hypertension to this practice.

Now the water drunk I am sure undergoes, reverse osmosis, filtration, ozone treatment and God alone knows what else. Plus bottled water is the norm, so I suspect this malady has become a distant memory or an idiosyncrasy of the Batches of yore. In those simpler times water was straight from the tap.