Bathtime

As anyone who has spent time in Japan knows, Japanese love baths. The evening ritual of scrubbing clean the film of the day and sliding into a deep pool of hot water is truly one of life’s great pleasures, only bested in bathing experiences by the Japanese onsen. Even from the time when we were living in Seattle, Kaia has enjoyed his bathtime. Some parents (and doctors) would be surprised to hear that we bathed with him from the time he was only a few days old (most folks would be surprised to hear lots of things that we’ve done and do with him) and it was one of Kaia and my regular activities—to take an evening bath together. Once we moved to Japan, when he was about 9 months old, the whole bathing thing, of course, got taken to a new level. Touched by the bitter chill of a Japanese winter, the ofuro together was a perfect way to transition the day and prepare for a chilly evening tucked into a warm futon. In some ways we desecrated the purity of the bath experience with Kaia’s bath toys and such, but of course we always entered clean and never allowed a drop of soap or shampoo into the tub.

Now, once we came to India, things changed. With year-round heat, there is little temptation to sit in a pool of hot water, that is, if you could even find a place equipped with a bath that actually looked appealing to sit in. In many ways it was a bit sad for me to pass on from our bathing ritual, but the thought of continuing it made easier to move on.

Kaia, however, is not yet at the age where he can take (and enjoy) a shower, and this posed a bit of a problem. Oddly, our bathrooms (like the rest of the flat) are tiled with marble that rivals the icy pathways I used to tiptoe through on my way to class during the bitter Michigan wintertime. It is as if they wanted to increase the already high odds of injuring yourself in the bathroom. Here, you don’t have to be 85 to slip in the shower and injure a hip. Anyway, we didn’t want him standing and walking in the bathroom, so at the recommendation of our maid, we purchased a large plastic bucket—the kinds that I used to use to carry compost in the garden—for him to sit and bathe in. At first he was a bit hesitant, but now it has become his little, personal ofuro. The size is just right and, in the end, we can use less water—particularly good since this city is in a perpetual state of water deficiency.

Why I Love this Time: Evening walks in the neighborhood, passing by the ironing stalls, stray dogs rummaging through dumpsters, kids playing cricket, and all of the friendly, smiling people sitting on their front steps.