An Urgent Quest

Dear dedicated reader,

Privacy is a concept which we seem to have left at home in the United States.

Nothing has demonstrated this to me so clearly as this most recent episode which I will share with you because it is no secret here in Kadod. The principal’s family has made it clear to us that they would like us to rely on them for all our basic necessities, including meals, snacks, our phone, and of course, toilet paper. Now this last necessity we recently ran out of, which brings me to my story.

Earlier, Priya and I had run into this problem before Vanisha and Melissa arrived, but luckily someone took notice before it became problematic and new rolls arrived post-haste; from where, we did not know. This supply lasted until a few days ago when we encountered this problem yet again. This time, we were at a loss. Should we ask the principal’s wife? This seemed an embarrassing topic to bring up, almost like the time when we first arrived when Priya and I could not for the life of us figure out how to flush an Indian toilet*. We tried Lathaben, but she shrugged her shoulders and said we should ask one of the many peons. We all shied away from this task and thus we found ourselves on a quest to find a store in Kadod from which we might procure this necessity. The urgency of this mission was heightened by the fact that a stash of Kleenex which Melissa had brought from the US was slowly running out.

As you may know, toilet paper is not a common household item here. Every Indian toilet is equipped with a small water faucet and a plastic cup, aimed at achieving the same purpose, as I learned in Delhi. The idea of performing such an act with paper is as abhorrent here as the converse is for any Westerner; therefore, it is something of a scarcity.

Wandering the main street of Kadod, we peered into shops from the street way, hoping to catch sight of the object of our mission, tucked away unobtrusively in some shop corner. When we could not find what we desired in this way, it became necessary to appoint one of our group to go in and make the necessary inquiries.

After a few awkward moments, Priya said with a justifiably exasperated air that she would take on the responsibility. Going first to a store with a woman owner that displayed sanitary pads delicately in the corner of the shop window, she asked if the store owner’s inventory extended to this westernized item. The woman apologized in Hindi and indicated that we might be able to find it at the next store up.

The owner of said shop was male, and we hesitated before pushing Priya forward with embarrassed laughter. She used her Hindi to try and make herself understood, but the store owner was baffled as to what she was getting at. “Paper?” he asked, producing sheaves of the stuff.

“Er, uh, no…” she said, embarrassed, leaving the store owner behind with a puzzled expression. We burst into embarrassed giggles as we started away down the street, which were amplified even more when one of the peons who works at the school and had watched Priya’s interaction with the store manager came running down the street, brandishing a packet of paper napkins in his hand. “This! This?” he asked, excitedly, hoping he had found what we were looking for.

This was too much to handle. The tears of laughter came streaming down our faces as we struggled to waggle our heads no in a South Asian fashion between eruptions of giggles.

We went back to the guesthouse and to our Kleenex.

The next morning, Priya came back to the house from her before school spoken English classes carrying a bundle wrapped in a plastic bag.
“Well, we have toilet paper,” she announced.

“How did you get it?” We asked, pleased and puzzled.

“The peon who chased us down last night came by my class this morning with this bundle in hand,” she began. Apparently he had shown up at the door, interrupted the whole class, and unearthed the toilet paper from the bag in front of all the students, shouting loudly in Hindi, “Is this what you were looking for?”

Priya, amidst the uncontrollable laughter of the students, had replied meekly, “Uh, yes.”

At least we now know that to get it all we have to do is ask at the main office.

Best,
Cat