The Bum Gun Manifesto
Water are you waiting for? Buy a bidet!
Image by Raja Ravi Varma, collage by Mihir Sardana
The undeniable truth is that water is the superior method of cleaning one’s backside. Whether you call it the shattaf hose, the lota, the jet spray, the washlet, the commode shower, or the bidet — all these washing apparatuses top a roll of toilet paper.
To me, cleaning up solely with toilet paper is like wiping my used dishes with a napkin and putting them back in the cabinet. It may look clean, but no reasonable person should consider it as such.
And I’m not alone! Throughout the Middle East, the Indian Subcontinent, and South Asia, Hindu and Muslim teachings — pertaining to an individual’s pollution and purity — have vouched for washing with water for centuries. Hindu religious laws affirm that only water can adequately cleanse one’s shitter. Whereas, the Quran vouches for the condition of the body affecting the condition of the spirit, hence the necessity of a thorough hosing down after a dump.
Truly, washing up is not just a choice, but exemplifies a broader lifestyle. As writer Javaria Akbar so succinctly points out, “water-free wiping leaves me and other Muslims feeling genuinely unsettled and uncomfortable. It’s not just an annoying preference we’ve learned — it’s an inherent belief and part of our faith.”
I do believe that this sentiment does unite people across borders, history and time, because there is an Occidental lota — the bidet. Thought to have been invented by Christophe des Roisers, it was named after the French word for ‘cob’, a type of pony, as users would have to straddle the bowl like it was a little horse. However, it only gained popularity after it was introduced to Italy by the Queen of Napoli, Maria Caroline d’Asburgo-Lorena, who installed one in every bathroom of the Royal Palace of Caserta.
Unfortunately, this appliance never graced the bottoms of the Anglosphere. Englishmen in the 18th and 19th centuries first encountered the bidet within the transgressive settings of Parisian brothels. The bidet was deemed salacious and tawdry due to its association with the “libertine” lives of prostitutes and birth control. While the fixture may have shed its association with frivolity and immorality, it is still inextricably linked to femininity, which continues to scare Western men. If only we stigmatised skid marks!
The widespread implementation of the bidet also has benefits for accessibility and public health. Not everyone has the dexterity to wipe themselves, and by normalising these attachments in Australian bathrooms, it simplifies the cleaning process, affords them independence, and the momentary power of Poseidon. While scholars remain divided on whether bidets can prevent UTIs, other studies have found that they can help with problems like anal fissures, haemorrhoids, constipation, or pruritus ani (the inexplicable itch near your rectal opening that just doesn’t seem to go away).
Not to shit on toilet paper, but I would be remiss not to mention its grave environmental impact. According to QS Supplies (a British Bathroom Supplies company), the average Australian uses 88 rolls per person, per year. In 2021 alone, Australians used 205,190,427 kilometres of toilet paper. That’s enough to go from Earth to the Sun and still have some left to spare! The steep ecological price of this is 31,114,249 trees felled for global toilet paper use yearly. If we were to compare this directly to the environmental footprint of washing, Scientific American states that 140 litres of water goes into making just one toilet paper roll, while using a bidet after defecating takes only up to 500 millilitres of water.
At the end of the day, I could sit here and write about the benefits of the bidet for pages. I could tirelessly cite endless studies about their benefits. I could ceaselessly reference quantitative data and recite statistics. I could even make analogy after analogy about how wiping your ass after shitting is like brushing your teeth without toothpaste. But, ultimately, it is only you that can make yourself feel the pure refreshment of a freshly washed ass after a long, relieving dump. I can sing of being kissed by the sweet glorious clarity of water, instead of the rough coarse sandpaper that is a Quilton roll — but it is up to you, dear reader, to experience it yourself.
It’s like we say back home, bandar kya jaane adrak ka swaad! (what does a monkey know of the taste of ginger!). I implore you, fellow monkeys, do not deprive yourself of this taste.