The case of the mysteriously flushing toilet

The new house, ah well, not so new now that we’ve spent close on six months living here, is now approaching the status of familiarity. Hands reach automatically to where light switches are instead of fumbling where they used to be in the previous residence. When one wakes up in the night, wanting a drink of water or an urgent trip to the bathroom, the footsteps move in the right direction and one doesn’t bump into walls where the mind had assumed doors would be.
For all its wonderful wide 180 degree view of the suburban Mumbai coastline, we do have a strange, strange cohabitant of our home we have learnt to live with.
The first introduction happened some days after we moved in. As we put the lights off, cleared the bed of all the bundles of clothes (our wardrobe was yet to be set up) and drew the covers over selves, we heard the unmistakeable sound of the commode being flushed. The spouse and I looked at each other and sat upright. Visions of The Amityville Horror flashed in the mind’s eye. I must cut down on watching these horror movies, every single instance from a sudden shadow has me reaching out for rosary and mini crucifixes with quick reflexes and trying to recall every word of the Lord’s prayer, last recited in a distant childhood.
“Did the loo flush itself?” I asked the spouse, cautiously.
“It sounded like that,” said spouse replied, reluctant to get out of the bed and go investigate. But being designated man in the room, and therefore marked by nature and horror movies as the person who needs to go investigate all suspicious sounds, he was exhorted by me to trot off, poke his head into the bathroom and report on the mysterious flushing sounds. He arose, with much grumbling about plumbing issues in such new constructions, and ventured forth bravely, poked head into bathroom, switched on light, reported the all clear and we tucked ourselves back to sleep. Until, circa three am. When I was woken again by the sound of the toilet flushing itself. At which point I bolted up and looked at my knight in shining armour who was snoring peaceably undisturbed by the sounds of mysteriously flushed commodes. Like the mandatory blonde in the slasher movie who ventures forth to check out strange occurences even when warned not to, I rose and moved gingerly towards the bathroom. Opened the door, switched the light on with trembling hand and looked in. All was calm all was quiet. I switched off the light with still trembling hand and spent a sleepless night, waiting for the loo to flush itself again.
The next morning, I used the other bathroom. It has been six months now and the loo flushing continues. The plumber who has been summoned a couple of times to figure it out has scratched his head and admitted defeat, theorising that the flush might be activated when some other flush in the long line from first floor to 20th floor is pressed simultaneously.
As for us, given that the flushing is perhaps the only manifestation of the “You are not alone” we have made out peace with it and concluded it is a plumbing issue and not, as I would be more keen to accept, given it is much more dramatic and interesting, a restless soul caught in an afterlife with no restrooms.
Last night. I woke up circa 3 am, with the urge to err, visit said bathroom and ambled in comfortably without thinking about ghostly flushings and such like. I flushed, emerged and lay myself down to sleep when I heard the familiar flushing sound from the bathroom. The heartbeat did not accelerate, the pulse did not quicken, I did not leap up trembling like leaf in wind, shaking spouse to arise and investigate. I shut my eyes and went off to sleep.
I can live with the occasional toilet being flushed by invisible hand. Perhaps I’ve lost the romance in my soul and now believe in more prosaic explanations like plumbing issues, over the supernatural. What I would think though, is scarier than the supernatural is the prospect of shifting house again.

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