The journey is about the destination, they say. I beg to differ. Sometimes, it’s about the toilet breaks in between. We are on a trip with a group of friends, ticking one more tourist destination off our bucket list. The mood on the tourist bus is joyful and everyone is buzzing after the hearty breakfast we just had, except me.

“Hope there are toilet breaks in between,” I say as soon as I settle down. I silently scold myself for all the tea I drank.

“Are you here for a holiday break or a toilet break?” my college-going daughter teases.

“Can’t enjoy the first one without the second,” I say.

I am not obsessed with toilets, but years of road trips across the country have left me acutely aware of one truth — a beautiful holiday can quickly become miserable if there isn’t a decent toilet break when you need one.

“Don’t worry, Amma. I think there is a toilet on the bus,” comforts my daughter.

“It’s not working, madam,” says the driver before I could let out a relieved phew.

My bladder starts misbehaving immediately. The bus is air-conditioned, set perhaps at the lowest possible temperature point, for god knows why. The place we have to go to is a good three hours away. It’s all psychological, I tell myself. Just don’t think about it.

“We’ll stop at a toilet on the way,” says the driver.

I heave a huge sigh of relief. My husband lets out a cackle. “It’s different for you guys. You can go wherever you want,” I grumble.

The road to our destination is beautiful. Lush green hills roll past us and tiny streams sparkle in the sunlight. While everyone is oohing and aahing at the scenery, all I can think of is that toilet waiting somewhere for me. True to his words, the driver stops the bus at a small roadside food court with a cute eatery and a toilet tucked away at the back. The bus empties all of a sudden, people queuing for either food or the toilet. By the time I climb down from my middle seat (specially selected for comfort and motion sickness), there’s already a long queue outside the ladies’ toilet. The men’s queue moves quickly. Before my turn comes, the bus driver signals it’s time to leave.

“Hurry up, madam. We have to be there in one hour if we want to make it time for the boat rides,” he says.

With a heavy heart and an even heavier bladder, I hurry back to the bus. My husband and my daughter are already in their seats, munching on pakoras and sipping cool drinks. They offer me one. I say no. No input, without output.

“You’ll be fine,” says my husband, trying to reassure me unsuccessfully.

My throat is parched and my lips dry, but I decide to stay dehydrated for the next hour. As soon as we reach the destination, I begin searching for a toilet. I smell one before I spot it and decide to stay away. My daughter, who’s now beginning to show some empathy, joins in my search. So while the others admire the hills and the lake, and get ready for their boat rides, we scan the area for a toilet. Even after 15 minutes of frantic search, we don’t spot any. But we do notice a posh hotel nearby. My daughter looks at me with a glint in her eye. I get the hint. “Let’s go,” I tell her, “there’s no other way”.

So off we go into the hotel, walking past the freshly polished lobby towards the restaurant. Tables, chairs, potted plants, dessert displays and yes, there it is. A door with gents’ and ladies’ stick figures. Never in my life has a stick figure brought me so much joy.

While my daughter orders tea and cake, I scramble for the washroom. Ten minutes later, we step out of the hotel, my wallet lighter by a few hundred rupees, but my heart and bladder infinitely lighter. I was finally ready for the destination, now that I had survived the journey.

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Published - August 13, 2026 12:35 pm IST