Shower





I have my bathroom slippers put on, but my feet are just about a centimeter above the marble floor. Now, this is bad. Because the germs on the floor will creep up my soles, smothering my feet, and then slowly make their way up to my body, engulfing me.

 

So here’s the deal. If I keep the tap running, it will rinse the entire bathroom floor. The germs on the floor will be washed down that sink hole at the corner.

 

I am cleaner now.
I am cleaner now.
I am cleaner now.

 

The lid of the soap case is covered with the day’s dirt. So if I lift it with my right hand, then my right hand gets dirty. So I need to use my left hand to pick up the soap so that the soap remains clean. Neat as white.

 

Okay, having done that, I now need to wash the soap with water so that its surface is bereft of any trace of dust or germs of my own body that were left on it from my last shower.

 

Now, my soap is clean. Smells of lime.
Pure lime. Plucked from the gardens.
Pure lime. Pure as I want it to be.

 

I rub the soap in my left hand, and after placing it back in the case, apply the lather onto my right hand before rinsing it. Now, my right hand is cleaner than before, but my left, not as clean as it was, because I used it to rinse my right. So I rub the soap on both of my palms. This time, both of my palms are cleaner than they were before.

 

I will now wash the soap again, remove the germs from its surface, and get it ready to be applied on my body.

 

Now, my soap is flawless. Shiny surface.
Smells of lime again. Pure lime.

 

I rub it against each distinct part of my body, one at a time. Then, I place the soap back on the case, and rinse that part of my body. But before I rub the soap onto the other parts of my body, I wash it again, so that it is bereft of the germs from that part of my body which I had last applied it to. And this is how, every single corner of my body gets cleaned.

 

One by one. Every part of my body.
One by one. Every part of my body.
One… by… one… Every… part… of… my… body…

 

But I am not yet done. The next rinse shall cleanse the remaining dirt off me. So, this time, I wash my soap again, and make sure the lather covers every part of me. Right from the darkest crannies of my genitals, to the skin under the tip of my nails.

 

But once I am done, there is this serious problem. The worst part of it all. You see, I need to touch the tap to stop the shower. And when I do so, my hands will be dirty again.

 

Well, the tap is dirty.
My hands will be dirty again.
My hands- they will be dirty again.

 

I take my soap, rub it until I have enough lather on my palms. Now, I need to be really careful.
Very careful.
Very… very… careful…
 




I hold the soap within the tips of my thumb and index, so that they make nothing more than point contact with the soap and I wash away the lather from its surface that was clouded with the germs from my palm.

 

My soap shines again. Not one bubble on it. Perfect. I place it back in the case, carefully enough to keep it noticeably straight, and then replace its lid. Now, my soap is clean and it rests perfectly within its case.

 

But my hands are dirtier. There were germs on the lid of the soap case. But I have enough lather. No.

 

Not enough lather.
This isn’t enough lather.
The… lather… isn’t… enough…

 

It is dirty. My hands are dirty. I am all dreggy- covered in germs. This isn’t working. I need to take another shower.

 


Image Source: pixabay.com


 

 


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  • Sushmita

    nightmare of every germophobe.

  • Vishnu M Menon

    This is the most unorthodox write up I’ve seen on this space. Kudos Soumya…

    Though it’s off beat, I could relate to this to an extent as similar thoughts cross my mind when I take a shower…

    • Soumya Chakraborty

      Thank you. :)