Kishore Singh: A room with a loo

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Read the fine print on any low-cost airline and you'll figure there's less room for your baggage than you might have bargained for. As a result, my son was able to carry away less from Delhi than might have suited his admittedly snobbish needs when he set off to set up home in Pune.

But first on his agenda was to find himself a suitable "room", or PG digs, in which to settle himself. This was easier said than done, so in the event he found himself sharing space with two other students "" not quite what he might have anticipated, but what the hell, it was close to college. Besides, there were other friends in rooms or flats in the vicinity, which made living amidst strangers somewhat more tolerable. And with a few posters, a table cloth and a lamp on the writing desk, he could almost make it habitable.

Growing up, his one weakness had been the inability to use a bathroom that was not quite up to scratch. When visiting friends and relatives, if he found the toilet less than perfect in hygiene, or comfort, he'd refuse to use the facility "" sometimes for days altogether. (Presumably, he'd come back home to Delhi with more than just a sense of relief!)

As a result, his bags had been packed with more air fresheners and disinfectants than clothes, and an entire bag overflowed with tissue swipes and rolls. So it must have been a disaster when he discovered that not only would he be sharing the loo with his roomies, but that "" oh, horror! "" it was an "Indian" facility to boot.

I told him to look at the positive side. "But there isn't one," he wailed over the phone. "It's more hygienic, you know," I insisted, "and you won't have to worry about wiping the seat every time someone else has been in the bathroom." "So you say," he retorted, "it's not as though you have to use it." Insistence that doctors thought it was also healthier than the Western pot cut little ice.

By the following day "" but still some days before he was to occupy the premises "" he seemed somewhat more cheerful. "I've been scouting the place," he chortled, "and all I have to do is leave a half-hour before college starts to use the facilities outside." "You mean there are pay-toilets in Pune?" I asked in astonishment. "Oh, don't be silly, Popsie," he chuckled, "but I've decided to use select public facilities, strictly in rotation so I don't get caught."

Any confusion was cleared up the next moment. "See, I could use the Barista toilet on Monday," he said. "Which would mean you'd have to buy something at the restaurant," I reminded him. "A cup of coffee," he conceded, "well worth the cost. Then, on Tuesday, I could use Pizza Hut. Of course, it would mean having a pizza for breakfast," he added hastily, "but it will kill two birds with one stone." Wednesday through Friday too, he'd found outlets he could patronise, with an occasional detour to a hotel, where chances of being caught out using the facilities without running up a bill at any of its outlets were somewhat more remote.

"It's hardly practical," I argued. "I'll make it work," he insisted. "Oh, well," I sighed, accepting responsibility for his chi-chi upbringing, "just make do somehow, although I'm wondering what you plan to do over the weekends, seeing how you don't have a contingency plan in place yet." "I was wondering, Dad," said my son, "seeing how cheap flights are these days, whether I could fly home over weekends, to use the bathroom at home."