In My Solitude

Before I begin my nine-week stint of volunteer work at Mehan Seva Sansthan in Udaipur, I thought it would be wise to spend a week unwinding in Mumbai. It’s a city I am beginning to know, having been here twice.

Because I’m a creature of habit – which explains why I’m uprooting myself from my comfy New York life, right? – I’m staying at the same Churchgate hotel where I stayed the previous two visits in 2003 and 2004. I’m remembered (positively!) by the staff here, which is enough of a blessing that I shouldn’t need anything else...except, if I may say it, a bathroom in my room.

I mean, when I first checked in, I had one. But I was asked to move to another room since the one I was originally put in was designed for families. I was happy to move. In fact, this was the exact same thing that happened to me in 2003 – same room, even. So, I moved. The room is gorgeous; the view is excellent. But, as it happens, my new room is the only one on the floor that does not have a bathroom in it. I have to use the one in the hall.

Hey, fine. I’m used to that. When I first moved back to NYC in 1998, I lived in a cheap hotel on Third Ave. that was occupied by a revolving mass of partying Europeans. I lived through bed bug infestation and got used to tip-toeing over splattered puke to use the toilet.

By comparison, this place is heaven. But this morning I was locked out of the hall bath at, shall we say, an urgent moment by some other guest who decided to use the convenience (!) of taking care of business outside his own room. (Probably out of respect to his wife. That’s admirable, right?)

Now, despite the flexibility and open-mindedness that my Buddhist practice tries to get through my thick skull, I cringed. For obvious reasons, yes, but also the fact that the maintenance guy was at the end of the hall watching -- with great interest -- this woman in her little robe holding a plastic baggie of toiletries as she tried to slip inconspicuously into the bathroom, only to go slipping back to her own room.

In a silent frustration that shamed me even as I raged through it, I packed up. For the second time. I went to the front desk and respectfully asked for a new room. I was shown one or two, and then decided to stay where I am. I mean, really. This was silly. What did I expect?

Look: My original idea was to come to Bombay so that I could make a gradual transition back into India from the complete solitude I’m used to in my apartment in New York City. It’s not that I’m some freakish recluse, it’s just that after one lives alone for so long, one tends to forget things...like how to live among other people. I figured I’d need gentle re-immersion: apartment to hotel to host family... Instead, the universe gave me a crash course in assimilation. Not to mention tolerance.

Ah, well. Maybe my slow human brain will finally get it one day – whatever happens is meant to happen, when it happens. Bodily functions included. I just hope for better timing tomorrow...