Kishore Singh: Toilet training

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Traffic jams in the city have added a new hazard to people's social lives, necessitating that the route to any destination be chalked out not just on the basis of where the most red-light stops are likely to occur, but also where they may have to make pit stops for toilet breaks. And yet, we can hardly be accused of being a family with weak bladders.

"Stop," says my wife as she spots my son reaching out for a pack of orange juice, "no more beverages." "But I'm dehydrated," complains my son, "at least let me drink some water."

"You heard me," my wife threatens him, "you get no more fluids till we get to your friend Rohit's house for dinner tonight." "But Mom," says my son, "we've only just finished lunch, and dinner is hours away."

"I know," sympathises my wife, "but I can't have you drinking anything, or else you'll need to go to the bathroom when your father's driving the car, and you know how hassled he gets."

I thought it unfair that my wife should stop him drinking water on my account, though it is true that "" what with the interminable traffic and the long hours it now takes to commute anywhere "" it could be awkward if you needed to go, and there was nothing but a serpentine queue of cars on the road for miles all around and no sign of a toilet.

As a result, my wife prepares for trips out with all the meticulousness of a battle operation. "From Ring Road," she'll navigate, "take the first slip road past the red light and the next service lane through the colony."

"But that'll take us in the opposite direction," I remonstrate. "That way," she argues, "we'll be passing the new hotel in about 15 minutes, should anyone feel the need to go to the wash room."

"But there are pay toilets along Ring Road," I point out, "we can always use those in case of an emergency." At which point my daughter wrinkles her nose: "Public toilets, Papa, do you know how dirty they are?" "I thought they were clean," I point out, only to be asked, "By whose standards? And do you know who might have used them earlier?"

I doubt ledgers are maintained, and say so, at which point my wife says, "Turn right, that way we can stop at the Hyatt Regency for our first toilet break, and at the Grand next, unless there's too much traffic, in which case we could take the road to the Radisson even though it has smaller toilets than the Grand."

In fact, the family has a complete inventory of city toilets "" from the cleanest to the passable, from the elegant to the extremely modern "" and will sometimes moan if we don't get to drive past the Imperial ("classic, old-world charm") or the Park Royal ("so hip").

Part of the list are restaurants where you can manage to go to the loos without drawing the attention of the management to the fact that you aren't dining there (split-level ones are best).

But, finally, a bag always travels with us, should there be a need to make a stop at a public toilet. "What's in the bag?" I once asked my daughter.

"Just emergency stocks," she explained, "toilet paper, liquid soap, hand- and face-wipes, deos and freshners, hand towels, that kind of stuff. After all," she justified, "you want to sanitise everything if you're going to be using a pay-loo."

At the party at Rohit's parents house, my wife warns us, "Now remember, you're not to have anything to drink. It's a long way back home through heavy traffic, and we don't want to be making any more toilet stops than necessary."