A large number of men were washing themselves in the waters of the Hoogly River

People washing in river — People washing themselves in the Hooghly River

As I wandered through the old neighborhoods of Kolkata, I found myself wondering whether the houses here truly had baths of their own. Judging by the narrow alleys and weathered facades, it seemed more likely that most lived without them. For those who dwell along the Hooghly River, the river itself is bathhouse, laundry, and gathering place all at once. Descending the stone steps, I saw men in little more than underwear splashing water over their heads and scrubbing their bodies with deliberate care. To an outsider it might resemble a ritual bath, but in reality it was nothing more than the daily act of cooling off—far from solemn ceremony. In this heat and humidity, cold water was clearly more effective than divine intervention.

Not that “public bath” here resembles a Japanese sentō, with its wooden tubs and attendants. What exists instead is the murky river water and the unrelenting sun pouring through breaks in the clouds—and apparently that is sufficient. To Indians, the thought of longing for a steaming hot bath must seem absurd, a luxury dreamed up by travelers rather than a necessity. For me, the idea of relying on cold water alone each day felt unsettling. Yet the bathers by the river looked entirely content. The Hooghly, after all, runs more than 250 kilometers as a branch of the Ganges, long serving as a lifeline of trade and devotion. In that historical light, using its waters as one’s bath seems not a makeshift solution, but the most natural practice imaginable.

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