I turned my kaleidoscope of memory and up popped this little piece I have written about another one of my life's embarrassing experiences. India is a land of heat and smells not to mention people, millions of them. The hotel we used to stay in Delhi was prestigious by any standards all the more so in the Capital of this poverty stricken place. Doormen wearing heavily guilted uniforms dressed in Turbans would greet you as you passed the entrance portals. Servants waited outside every door and like busy ants, would clean the room every time you left it. The captains had a big suite in a special wing of the building. The room was palatial to put it mildly and the bathroom especially so with onyx and marble fittings.
In order to fully grasp this story it is necessary that I describe the plumbing in some detail. The bath taps had an old fashioned look in a style which these days is having a big revival in Britain. There was an impressive deep bath and a shower arrangement which is best described as looking like an old fashioned telephone set on a large pedestal bracket on one end of the bath. Like a telephone, a flexible metal clad pipe lead from the end of the handset looking device permitting the flow of unexpectedly high pressure water to be piped to the shower hose from the depths of pipework at the back of the tub. The choice of "shower" or "bath" was achieved by the position of a large brass lever which needed to be aligned with one or other words embossed in the tub adjacent to the end of the lever. There were two large brass taps allowing the temperature of water to emit either from a polished brass spout or, of course, the telephone arrangement depending on the guest's choice as determined by the selection of the lever. In regard to telephones there was, indeed, a real electric device attached to the wall just adjacent to the bath itself and able to be reached from within the bath itself.
As I have said India is a land of people. As such, it is the total antithesis of the fast disappearing humanoid of our western society where picking up the phone usually signals the start of an epic of button pushes attempting to choose between a whole series of irrelevant electronic questions. In India there is none of the "Good morning, This is your wake up call" at three o'clock in the afternoon. No, the former was achieved by an authentic female "Goodness Gracious Me" voice. One could almost sense the gentle swaying of the head as it said "Good morning Captain this is your wake up call pick will be in one hour" Even better was it said good afternoon or good evening depending on the time of day. However, rather infuriatingly, just to make sure that you did not go back to sleep, the voice rang again ten minutes later with words to the effect of "Good morning (evening etc.) Captain, this is reminder wake up call pick will be in 50 minutes." I say infuriatingly because over the years I had often contemplated how inconvenient these calls were coming as they often did when I was in the shower or bath. Not all Indian hotels had a convenient telephone which could be answered from the bathroom. Frequently, therefore, I found myself trudging across the carpet, soaking wet, to answer the reminder wake up which, with immaculate timing, would stop ringing just as I lifted the receiver. Not for the first time having got back in the shower, the device would start ringing again and a repeat performance of the cat and mouse game take place. However, as I have said, this hotel had thoughtfully provided a phone so that no such inconvenience would be had.
On the day in question I had already been awake some time before the 1st call came. I had partially packed my case and was doing something such as watching the news or writing a story such as this. I continued the task for a few minutes and duly looking at my watch, said to myself I had better start getting ready. I entered the bathroom and simultaneously as I walked across the room the telephone rang. My brain must have been in bath mode for I leant forward and turned one of the large brass taps as I reached out with my other hand to answer what I was sure would be my reminder call. I had, however, failed to notice that lever was selected to "shower" so that as I placed my ear to the phone I pressurised the former. Unfortunately, the water pressure was so high that the whole arrangement became airbourne as a result of Newton's third law, which, for the benefit of clarity is that "action and reaction are equal and opposite." With water gushing out of the hose the whole device began a trajectory around the bathroom the locus of which was constrained only by the length of the flexible pipe attaching it to the top of the bath. It bounced off various pieces of bathroom accoutrements hitting them unhindered by the nature or value thereof. As it flew it left behind a trail cold water spaying carpet mirrors and curtains with a fine coating of Natural Delhi Spring. This all took place as I struggled to turn off the offending tap attempting to converse in a sensible manner with the polite Indian voice unaware of my predicament. However, such was the force of the first orbit I was forced to duck as the metal hose passed overhead and sprayed me and the telephone mouthpiece indiscriminately transforming the peace and tranquillity of a few moments earlier. The bizarre thing was, amidst the scene of total chaos, the Peter Sellers voice on the other end of the line was saying "Good Morning Captain this is your reminder wake up call etc. etc". Indeed, so bizarre was the matter, that I burst into laughter at the ridiculous nature of the situation I had inadvertently created.
From the perspective of the hotel operator, the noise and chaos she had come upon must have come as a complete surprise. The combined acoustics noises of laughter, water and flying hose was such that she was constrained to ask, "Are you alright Captain?" At about this point I had succeeded in turning off the water pressure and dripping from hair to toe with fuel from the erstwhile bathroom rocket, I replied that I was. There seemed little point in even attempting to explain the reason for apparent bedlam which she had come upon. Is there some moral to this story? Is there some great deep lesson which the reader can take away having got this far. I suppose for the minority of readers intending to travel to India the moral is that caution should be urged in operating the bath taps. Other than that was there a happy ending? Well I consider myself lucky to have turned the cold tap first. I dried myself and was soon airbourne and avoiding another sort of Indian shower, the Monsoon.