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Along one side of the courtyard ran an open naali - from the kitchen to the drain. At the corner near the drain, there was the much dreaded bumba. I used to wonder what English or Arabic word bumba was a mutation of, since I thought it was more natural to just call it nul. Especially since it served as a multi-purpose washing area: for grown-ups to complete their ablutions, for children like me to wash their filthy feet, and the servants to do the laundry.
The bumba was dreaded because of several reasons. The first was the complex balancing act required to wash one's feet. It was a low tap - about a foot and a half from the ground - before which sat a large concrete slab upon which one had to sit or stand to access the water falling from the bumba. The wall behind the bumba was painted with choona tinged blue with indigo - layers and layers of choona, actually - and it looked like it was always moist. And the ground was just an inch higher than the slimey bottom of the open naali and right next to the drain - which was even more ugly and dreadful. Standing on one foot, I would reach the other one out under the mouth of the tap, taking care not to touch anything. But I would invariably end up leaning with one hand on the wall, or letting my foot touch the ground, and came back feeling disgusted.
The second was the horror-show bathroom right next to the bumba. Let me explain. On the side of the bumba, there was an arch, beyond which there were two latrines with tin doors, and a small dark passage beyond which was the hummaam - or the bathing area - the door to which was thick, ancient wood that looked like only Hercules could move. I said it all very quickly because I don't want to dwell on it for too long. I have only twice or thrice seen the interiors of that bathroom. I don't remember much, except two things: I never dared touch the ancient light switch for fear of getting electrocuted, or having the huge resident aracnid attack an intruder; and because there were no windows or raushan-daan's it was the darkest spot in the house, and I thought it was where the jinns slept at night.
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Along one side of the courtyard ran an open naali - from the kitchen to the drain. At the corner near the drain, there was the much dreaded bumba. I used to wonder what English or Arabic word bumba was a mutation of, since I thought it was more natural to just call it nul. Especially since it served as a multi-purpose washing area: for grown-ups to complete their ablutions, for children like me to wash their filthy feet, and the servants to do the laundry.
The bumba was dreaded because of several reasons. The first was the complex balancing act required to wash one's feet. It was a low tap - about a foot and a half from the ground - before which sat a large concrete slab upon which one had to sit or stand to access the water falling from the bumba. The wall behind the bumba was painted with choona tinged blue with indigo - layers and layers of choona, actually - and it looked like it was always moist. And the ground was just an inch higher than the slimey bottom of the open naali and right next to the drain - which was even more ugly and dreadful. Standing on one foot, I would reach the other one out under the mouth of the tap, taking care not to touch anything. But I would invariably end up leaning with one hand on the wall, or letting my foot touch the ground, and came back feeling disgusted.
The second was the horror-show bathroom right next to the bumba. Let me explain. On the side of the bumba, there was an arch, beyond which there were two latrines with tin doors, and a small dark passage beyond which was the hummaam - or the bathing area - the door to which was thick, ancient wood that looked like only Hercules could move. I said it all very quickly because I don't want to dwell on it for too long. I have only twice or thrice seen the interiors of that bathroom. I don't remember much, except two things: I never dared touch the ancient light switch for fear of getting electrocuted, or having the huge resident aracnid attack an intruder; and because there were no windows or raushan-daan's it was the darkest spot in the house, and I thought it was where the jinns slept at night.
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Childhood memories of visiting grandma's place in Lucknow. The house was an old-fashioned design with a courtyard in the middle, and rooms all along the side. Actually, it was more complicated than that..
ReplyDeletebrought back memories of my childhood,,small house,,,big families ,eldres ,kids,jostling with each other for water,,,gosul...i guess i am forgetting things.
ReplyDeleteWould like to recommend Naiyer Masud, a writer from Lucknow...a writer who speaks at great length of courtyards bustling with family, and deserted ones too.
ReplyDeleteAnd there was no running water in those latrines, you had to fill the lota and take it with you. God forbid if one lota of water was not enough. I try not to remember that part of the house.
ReplyDeleteI found a couple of Masud books on flipkart.com. Any suggestions on where I could find more?
ReplyDelete