Carry your own feces in your hands.... this could sound gross.... but almost every day we touch our feces either directly while washing ourselves or with paper when we wipe ourselves. All that is ok, but recently I recalled an incident that happened to me a couple of years ago when I was in a village in Rameswaram. the house where we were staying did not have a toilet and I was ok with it, in fact I even joked that I enjoyed the luxury of open defecation... the space and the freedom that came with it. The arrangement was such that we had to wake up early in the morning before sum rise and go near the train tracks and squat somewhere and finish the job. The first two days morning march was fine but on the third day when I woke up and went for my early morning nature (call) march.... nothing came... my system was not ready, at least not yet.
I had a good breakfast and about 10am my stomach started churning, where do I go? It was a bright and beautiful day and every one was up and about. I told myself that I could control it but no, I couldnt. The yummy red chutney that I devoured was playing up (down). I had to go. I ran to the tracks and saw people almost everywhere, standing and talking to each other, men smoking...what in the morning was a shit house was now a socializing place. I ran back to the house... I was too shy to ask any one... but by now I knew it was emergency if I waited longer it was going to be a catastrophe. My mind worked very fast.... plastic bag.... the little bathing enclosure that we also used as a urination point was the best bet. I looked for a plastic bag but could find none. I saw some newspaper...shit.... newspaper is not water proof. I had no other choice, I took two days newspaper (some 40 pages) and ran.. hoping no one will see me. I went into the enclosure laid the news papers in all its thickness and eased myself... it was a lot and it was not so solid... pardon my explaining my shit in detail but I am doing this to help you understand the intensity of it. I had to move away from the paper wash myself then wrap the paper... folding it well so that nothing slips out. Now the challenge was in getting the package out and desposing it. I carried it in my hands... the warm of my own shit ran through my viens right into me.... making me feel miserable... not just for myself but for the million of scavengers in India carrying human feces over their heads. I ran back to the tracks... of course the people were still there. I walked along the tracks with the warmth in my hands until I hoped no one could see me. I am sure everyone was watching me wondering what I was doing with a parcel in my hand.. most would have mistaken it for a packet of food. I am glad there were no dogs around then. I gently laid it to rest near the track and ran for my life.
My shit sitting there in a neatly wrapped newspaper probably kindling the curiosity of a by-passer and giving enough courage to a beggar or a street dog or the rats on the tracks to explore it. Later the beggar disgusted upon knowing the truth that someone would actually wrap their shit, cursing me for what I did. For I am sure that in a few hours the mystery was unwrapped and scattered everywhere to the dismay of the morning marchers and the passengers on the train who looked down upon it.
My soul hurts to know that this may still be the case in many villages where women (and men) suffer day after day with no place to shit in peace.
I had a good breakfast and about 10am my stomach started churning, where do I go? It was a bright and beautiful day and every one was up and about. I told myself that I could control it but no, I couldnt. The yummy red chutney that I devoured was playing up (down). I had to go. I ran to the tracks and saw people almost everywhere, standing and talking to each other, men smoking...what in the morning was a shit house was now a socializing place. I ran back to the house... I was too shy to ask any one... but by now I knew it was emergency if I waited longer it was going to be a catastrophe. My mind worked very fast.... plastic bag.... the little bathing enclosure that we also used as a urination point was the best bet. I looked for a plastic bag but could find none. I saw some newspaper...shit.... newspaper is not water proof. I had no other choice, I took two days newspaper (some 40 pages) and ran.. hoping no one will see me. I went into the enclosure laid the news papers in all its thickness and eased myself... it was a lot and it was not so solid... pardon my explaining my shit in detail but I am doing this to help you understand the intensity of it. I had to move away from the paper wash myself then wrap the paper... folding it well so that nothing slips out. Now the challenge was in getting the package out and desposing it. I carried it in my hands... the warm of my own shit ran through my viens right into me.... making me feel miserable... not just for myself but for the million of scavengers in India carrying human feces over their heads. I ran back to the tracks... of course the people were still there. I walked along the tracks with the warmth in my hands until I hoped no one could see me. I am sure everyone was watching me wondering what I was doing with a parcel in my hand.. most would have mistaken it for a packet of food. I am glad there were no dogs around then. I gently laid it to rest near the track and ran for my life.
My shit sitting there in a neatly wrapped newspaper probably kindling the curiosity of a by-passer and giving enough courage to a beggar or a street dog or the rats on the tracks to explore it. Later the beggar disgusted upon knowing the truth that someone would actually wrap their shit, cursing me for what I did. For I am sure that in a few hours the mystery was unwrapped and scattered everywhere to the dismay of the morning marchers and the passengers on the train who looked down upon it.
My soul hurts to know that this may still be the case in many villages where women (and men) suffer day after day with no place to shit in peace.
