Delhi is a vast open air lavatory. Wherever you go, whatever you do, like the proverbial mobile network advertisement, it follows you. Stink and stench. Stain and smut. From the railway tracks of sundry stations like Tughlakabad junction or Sarai Rohilla, to the much more crowded approach to the New Delhi Railway Station. From the banks of the Yamuna to the cesspool behind the World Health Organisation office. From the little walls of parking to precious stretches of barren land, Delhi seems to be a free public toilet. Men seem not too keen to hide an inch from the public gaze. Show them a wall or an open drain, and they will start. At times though they need no such opportunity — head to a car parking, and there a few inches behind the rear wheels, you will find somebody relieving himself.
If men are usually guilty of not using the public conveniences even when they exist, women enjoy no such privileges. Toilets for them are far and few; the urge the same. Hence, early morning by the walls of factories or by the railway tracks, they can be found on their haunches, a bottle in their hand, attending to their business, all the time keeping a nervous eye on any notorious elements.
Not too far back, noted actor Vidya Balan starred in a campaign for toilets at home. She was obviously referring to those remote towns and villages where people use vast green fields to exchange notes about politics and society even as they attend the nature’s call. In reality though, she could have focussed on Delhi; here too in hutments there are no loos, no bathrooms. And what beyond hutments? Well, for many in Delhi, the city is an open air lavatory waiting to be tapped.
