The Poop of a Lifetime

I woke up at 5 am. The small village at the Indo-Pak border where I worked had barely begun stirring. I left my house, dark providing me the privacy needed to finish my business. It was a first for me - going out in the open to poop! Awkward and dazed, I hopped from one potential spot to another. Then, I heard some women calling me - “idhar aa jao yahan baith lo (Come, poop with us!).”

Yes, you read it right. It was an invitation to poop together.

I wanted to ignore that invitation, but they insisted, and I joined them hesitantly. And just like that, I became a part of their inner circle. The all-accepting circle of poop where gas and gossip was accepted as easily as hopes, fears, and challenges. One woman didn’t hold back her rage at the dowry the groom had demanded. Another one flowed through her dream of becoming a grocery store owner. Yet another one pushed through the loss of her buffalo, and with it, her livelihood. From recipes to insights, skincare to embroidery tips, government policies to witchcraft tactics, we shared our lives without inhibitions or judgments. A poop circle that accepted - shit happens! 

A few days ago, when I arrived to join my I-volunteer fellowship project, the head of my host family gave me a tour of the location. As he pointed out an area designated for women to answer nature’s calls, the young change-maker in me threw a fit. I gave him a mouthful covering the importance of gender equality, gender violence, education, sanitation, health, hygiene, nutrition - the whole nine yards. Phew! I think I didn’t even breathe once through it. And all he did was smile, probably used to young volunteers trying to change the world in a day. Then, as a matter of fact, he said - “Your Bhabhi-sa (his wife) goes at 5. You can accompany her.” 

Delving deeper, I realized that the poop circle was not just a routine. It gave strength to handle the challenging day ahead. It was a retreat to regain one’s mental well-being. Barely 20, living in a place and culture new to me, I dumped the shit I went through my days and came back relieved, feeling gratitude for the pooping ladies who held me together. 

The poop circle introduced me to systemic thinking. While I still believed that hygienic and personal toilets were needed, I recognized the complex intertwining of sanitation with other issues. Before blurting out as I did earlier with my host, I now asked questions like - where would women feel a sense of friendship and get valuable tips and tricks? How important are a grandmother’s financial tips to a newlywed? The poop circle made me a better thinker and an empathetic person. People of the remote Rajasthani village of Kalyanpur made me belong and let me open up to expressing gratitude. This sense of empathy I gained here prepared me for what came next. 

My work included visits to neighbouring villages for documentation to assess grassroots implementation. I often went riding pillion on a staff member’s motorcycle. On a visit to a village about 40 kilometers away, an old woman advised us, “Better leave soon. A Bawandar (a sandstorm) approaches.”. It was a hot, dry 50-degree (Celcius) summer day, but we left. The staff member suggested a shortcut, blissfully unaware that the shortcut’s rugged and extremely uneven terrain would slow us down. Just as we reached the halfway point, the dervish-like dance of dust devils began and gained ferocity by the minute. A massive sandstorm had engulfed us before we realized it. Sand, thorns, and debris flew and scratched our bodies. There was no shelter in sight and sand everywhere - in our mouths and clothes and our motorcycle parts. We couldn’t ride the bike anymore as it became pitch dark. We couldn’t stop either as that would bury us in a sand dune within minutes. So, my colleague and I kept walking - him dragging the motorcycle, and I grasping its carrier. The motorcycle’s headlight malfunctioned, and we relied on a mini flashlight I had to inch in the general direction of the highway. Two hours later, we finally felt the highway under our feet but had to stop with a jerk to avoid a head-on collision with an abandoned truck. We pulled ourselves together and loudly called out for help. Some faint voices responded. We followed them and reached a temple where others had taken shelter. They offered us some biscuits and water. Those few biscuits not only fed my hungry stomach but also assured me that my soul was still within my body. The water not only quenched my third but brought me reassuring calm. I have never again felt so scared and so grateful at the same time. 

When the storm settled, it had cleaned a lot of surfaces - externally and internally. When we reached our host’s house, I walked to a public telephone booth. A walk within too! I called my parents and my sisters and just said the simple magical word - “Thank you.” I understood the importance of acknowledging and expressing gratitude. 

Working in village Kalyanpur was a life-altering shift for me. I still wanted to change the world more passionately than ever, but hygiene, sanitation, and water issues were no longer hearsay for me. I had lived with them. Their depth had been engraved in my mind. I had bowed to the fury of nature, imbibed the challenges people there beat every day, and marveled at the beauty of old wisdom and prophecies. 

Forty-five days later, preserving everything I gathered in my stride, I returned infected with ever-haunting questions - What really builds a community? Eating, working and rescuing each other in extraordinary circumstances, or the usually ignored unseen daily activities. 

Oh! And the realization that we don’t know it all. That there is no one-size-fits-all formula. That God lies in the detail. That perseverance is the only way forward.