Alex Budak

Taking a brief respite, I went to check out the restrooms at the Taj, which are supposed to be legendary (especially among backpackers like us used to the bare minimum in India: a hole in the floor).  After exchanging an awkward hello with the bathroom attendant, I chose my stall, which had a heavy wooden door that extended from the floor to the marble ceiling below.  The strange part, though, is that they have a mirror on the side of the toilet — but not a full length one, only one that extends about three feet up from the ground — just enough for you to uncomfortably see your side reflection as you sit there taking care of business.

Upon exiting, my buddy the bathroom attendant, was ready for me, starting the water, adjusting its temperature, pouring soap in my hands, and, when I was finished, not just handing me a cloth towel, but rather draping it delicately over my hands, beginning the drying process.   Though friendly, he reinforced one of my biggest pet peeves: bathroom attendants.  I’m very good at, and have lots of practice with everything that goes on in a bathroom, and would very happily just do it on my own, thank you very much.