I haven’t had a bath in a hundred and seventy-four days. As per the schedule, I will have to wait another six days. But I have no time to waste. This is an emergency.
To get to the baths, I will have to pass the Great Garbage Mound, walk through Pichai Colony, and turn the corner of SerThanni Layout. I will also pass by the Art Centre. I ready myself for the expedition. I wear my dust coat, put on my plastic slippers and carry my portable fan. I am low on my supply of gas masks. I make a mental note to pick up more from the provision store and send up a silent prayer that they have sufficient stock. Things are tight around here these days. It is why I need to make this journey. I must have a bath today.
Marriages are made in heaven, they used to say. What a simple time that was. Marriages are now made in the marketplace. When I walked past the debris-littered central market square a few nights ago, I saw a poster stuck on a pole. It was the first glimmer of a future in my finite, dust-swept existence. A simple set of words blinking on the community notice board.
Wanted.
Groom, any height, any color, any build, any education, any profession.
Must have house in mid-rise apartment.
Must have water permit.
Must have electricity permit.
Must have food codes.
Must have tech access.
Unwilling to have children.
Rest all ok.
As soon as I laid eyes on the notice, I resolved to act with urgency. The government wants us to marry, so I’m sure there will be a line of suitors. The government provides higher WEFT (Water, Electricity, Food & Technology) allowances to households, and a woman gets extra benefits on account of menstruation and procreation. Most of us agree to marry only for the luxury amenities.
I work at the electricity board, so this is a huge bonus – I have WEFT benefits, a little extra of everything which gives me somewhat of an edge. Plus, I am not a very good-looking man. My skin is always dry, and my lips chapped. I speak kind of funnily. We don’t have too much time for talking these days. I haven’t uttered a word since last week when someone at the office dropped his badge and I called after him. There is no casual chit-chatting, tea breaks, nothing. There’s no time for that. I need to conserve as much energy as possible. Nevertheless, I make a mental note to practice talking. I could have used my smart list maker but I want to save all the electricity for the date I am now hoping to secure. Ever since the sea stuck out its tongue and swallowed Chennai, we all live in a perpetual state of fear. If we’re not careful, the tentacles of nature will come for us too. Even with the benefits, one can never be too cautious.
The only ones who are finding a way to be enterprising in this world are they who were previously disadvantaged. They hold all the resources. Their old village wells hold more water than our city borewells. They choose which streets to clean and when. They have discovered secret natural water purification processes. They have stronger guts and steel resolve. They’re a scrappy bunch of extremophiles. When I was a young boy, they gathered garbage and cleaned the sewers. We never saw them, only the work they had done. Now they’ve taken all the waste and built art installations that you cannot ignore.
Outside their Art Centre, massive structures are built with everything from fruit peels and paper, to plastic, glass, and discarded fabric. They keep changing things around – rearranging them so that there are pops of color in a world that is now a dull brown-grey. But most of the intriguing work is housed inside an abandoned corporate office. The entrance fees are huge – only tourists can afford them. Rumor has it that they even serve chilled beverages inside. But who knows?
I don’t pretend to know how this happened. It was as if one day, I was walking home complaining about the stench of the Cooum and it seemed like the next, that stench had followed me out of there – there was no escaping it now. I step out of my small apartment complex. Withered leaves along the road are preserved in glass enclosures. There are holographic trees of course. But they aren’t really my thing, too eerie for my liking. It is hot and windy. I’m glad I brought my dust coat today. I walk through clouds of sand, all sorts of dry filth caught up in the wind. I have to hold my hand out to protect my face. Petrol is outrageously expensive and only the rich can afford it. The interesting thing is that the rich do not want to wander around a filthy town. So, they stay closed up in their high-rise apartments, too scared to leave for fear that the stench may follow them back home. I understand. Once that smell touches your skin, there’s no hope of ever washing it off.
I walk through mostly empty ravine-like streets until I reach the Art Centre. The extremophiles are making a fortune today, it seems. The waiting line bends around the corner like a river bursting at the seams. There are a few steel and brass pots spread across the floor unevenly. Others are suspended from the air like they are being tipped over. From these, blue and white scraps of cloth have been braided together and they dangle like Rapunzel’s hair, either just a few inches short or overshooting pots on the floor. There is an artist’s note embedded into a plaque on the floor – POOR PLANNING.
Another installation is made of columns of stacked plastic pots that form a sort of wall. From the center of that wall, a rusty old water tanker emerges, with dents in its body and the front windshield completely shattered. This work was inspired by the happenings of Day Zero. I recalled reading about this in the papers on what seemed like a regular day in 2015. Photographs were splashed across the newspaper of people standing in lines for hours in the sweltering heat to get some water. Driven by desperation and dehydration, fights broke out and tankers were hijacked – only mildly concerning if you consider the violence we’ve seen in recent years.
On a long, chipped wooden table, there are smaller creations. Browned orange peels have been assembled in a circular shape, mounted on an old clothes hanger and displayed to depict a “world on fire”. Tapestries of ocean sunsets are woven with plastic covers and scraps of fabric. Food waste is layered and squashed together to form furniture and the structure of a dollhouse.
I shuffle past the tail end of the crowd and encounter another long line outside the stone building that houses the community baths.
Pass, please?
Sorry, I really need to use it today but my turn isn’t until…
Next!
Please, I’m hoping to get married
Registration and ID, please?
No, not today. I haven’t met her yet.
Next!
Please – it may be my last chance – I haven’t seen a poster like this in a while. I may never be able to…
Next.
Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll be very quick. I won’t even use the shampoo.
Fine, put your name on this ad hoc list and we will call you if there are cancellations or no-shows.
Thank you, thank you.
I peer into the screen and it scans the central system for my face to record my name and phone number.
Thank you. How long do you think it will take?
We don’t know.
But will it be today?
We can’t say.
Should I wait around here?
Sir, please get out of the queue.
I walk away, dejected. I think about visiting a friend around the corner but I know he will serve me something to eat and will have to wash up after that. He’s been saving up on his resources and I don’t want to be a burden. I walk aimlessly across the arid wasteland that once used to be a park, past old wells, rusted pipes, and the rubble of fallen walls. It is too hot for wandering, and I’m not quite sure which part of the city I am in anymore. Why am I doing this to myself? As I begin to think about turning around, I see something dazzling in the distance. Is this a mirage? Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
But it is real water, trembling slightly in the wind. This secret little oasis nestled between weathered, grime-covered buildings seems like answered prayer. Overgrown weeds have latched onto the buildings, lending the pool a greenish hue. I feel a thrill in my bones. A deep relief. Perhaps I will make that date after all. I will get married and finally have a companion. I won’t have to set reminders to practice talking. We can even take baths together.
I begin stripping down to my underwear quickly. I have never been to this part of town before. I do not know how I got here and may never be able to come back. Naked, I stand at the rim of the pool of water. But before I jump in, I have the good sense to fish for my phone and the poster, and send a message to indicate my interest as well as suggest a time and place for meeting her this evening. I leave these with my clothes in a pile at the edge of the pool and slip in. Ahhh.
The water welcomes me like a familiar warm embrace. I feel a weight slowly lifting off my shoulder. My mind begins to linger in an old forgotten time – of tub baths, playing in the ocean, throwing rocks in the river, digging earthworms in puddles. I think of the cool of a waterfall running down my back. Standing drenched underneath a bathroom shower. Jumping into water fountains. Playing with the garden hose instead of cleaning Appa’s car.
Then the floods came.
Slithering like glossy snakes into gullies, streets and living rooms.
We had to be rescued by boats and helicopters. I heard there were even JCBs that ferried some to safety.
Then, as if someone had snapped a finger, everything just dried up. There was no bringing it back, no matter how much we tried.
Memories wash over me like sea waves. I wade further into the water. Something suddenly wraps around my thigh, and instant panic courses like a fever in my body. I reach into the pool. A lonely black shoelace entangled with the remnant of a white plastic cover.
Relief courses over me, and I let my body sink into the murky water.
Every cell in my body absorbs the moisture, soaks it up like sponge, making me lightheaded. My body feels buoyant. I relish this feeling, this sense of detachment from this fallen world. And then, it’s as if a chasm breaks.
A sudden loosening near my feet. The earth begins to draw me in. Before I can fully register what is happening, my body stiffens and my breathing becomes quick and shallow. I cannot leave, and I know what’s about to come for me. I see my phone blinking at me from the top of my pile of clothes. I call out to my AI assistant, give her instructions on calling for help. But my voice comes out like a hoarse whisper, and she does not recognize me. Could it be the lady from the poster? Is that why the phone is lit up? Perhaps it’s the bath.
Will I ever know?
The vengeful water that I once longed for so desperately, now opens her mouth wide, licks her lips, and ….
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
