Bathtime as ritual

I spent my childhood in water. Whether it was weekends at the seaside with my parents and sister, or soaking in the tub until fingers and toes turned into wrinkled little raisins (with my mother banging on the door telling me to GET OUT ALREADY), I have always loved being in water. I still do.

The ocean would be amazing, of course, but in landlocked Delhi showers have to do (and yes, I’m quick and very good about turning the taps off while I lather). As a treat though I will still, if we’re headed somewhere where I know there will be a tub, pack a facemask and a book that’s intended purely for bathtime consumption. Bathtime is a ritual of the greatest sort.

We need rituals now more than ever. Ritual anchors us to the present and help shift shitty perspectives like nothing else, and almost any everyday activity can be reframed as meditation, if only we slowed down enough to notice.

“Bathrooms are everywhere. Just about everyone has one. And every bathroom, no matter how crude or sophisticated, comes equipped with all the elements of primal poetry:
Water and/or steam.
Hot, cold, and in between.
Nakedness.
Quietness.
Illumination.”
— From Leonard Koren's 'WET: The Magazine of Gourmet Bathing' (1976–1981), the world’s first and only underground publication dedicated to gourmet bathing and other bits of esoterica.

Can I recommend you add the following to your bathtime to turn it from prosaic to poetry:

- Scrub.
Salt, sugar, coffee, you choose. Just make it grainy and punchy enough to properly slough off skin and soot.

- A brush.
I like a long-handled shaboodle myself, but just get whatever works for you. Cover yourself in oil and then brush that stuff off you until you’re slick and shiny and ready to face whatever.

- Music.
Seriously. There is nothing that isn’t made better by cranking up a playlist. I have some here that might work for you, or better yet, make your own.