"I'm thrilled that our dirty little habit is being outed. I’m tired of being caught in the bathroom with a spray bottle and having to feign thirst.”

We were in the kitchen, my mother and I, when she turned to me and said, “Did you know Amreekans keep medicine in the bathroom?”

I waited, not quite sure where she was going with this. She looked at me as if I was slow and then continued, “They keep it in the bathroom, and then they eat it.” There was triumph in her voice when she added, “And they say we’re dirty.”

I was surprised, not by the information, or that my mother had just found this out after living in the United States for 30 years. I was surprised that she, a proud woman who spent most of her time with people in our Pakistani community, had internalized the stereotype that we immigrants, Pakistanis, were considered dirty.

It was this conversation with my mother that I remembered when my sister Sa’dia, a visual artist, and I were discussing ideas for an art installation in the bathroom of the Queens Museum of Art in New York. Sa’dia was writing a proposal for an upcoming show and had just discovered that one of the only places left for an emerging artist like herself to exhibit was the bathroom.

In her last exhibition, “More Milk, Lighter Skin, Better Wife,” at the Gallery ArtsIndia in Manhattan, Sa’dia had created an installation using teacups. Each cup was handmade and branded with comments like: “You’ll look beautiful in gold,” or “First comes marriage then comes love.” They were the kind of remarks made by aunties to young women over tea.

Sa’dia realized, however, that teacups were not going to work in the bathroom. I suggested that instead of teacups, she use lotahs. Sa’dia laughed, thinking I was making another one of my bad jokes, but when I spoke to her again, she had developed the idea into the installation “Lotah Stories.” Both of us had no clue at the time that we were about to discover an underground world.

Most museum visitors don’t expect to find art in the bathroom.

Hiding From Roommates, Even Lovers
A Hindustani word, lotahs are water containers used to clean yourself after using the toilet. They look like teapots without covers and are made of metal or plastic. With one hand, you pour the water and with the other, you wash yourself clean. Lotahs are commonplace throughout South Asia, and in many Muslim countries they are used for cleansing yourself before prayer. However, once South Asian and Muslim immigrants come to the United States, the pressure to assimilate forces many of us to make the transition from lotah to toilet paper. But there are some South Asians who refuse to cross over. Instead, they find themselves living double lives, using lotahs-in-disguise.

As Sa’dia began creating her art installation, “Lotah Stories,” it quickly evolved into a community art project. For months, people who had been solicited via email and word of mouth met in her apartment to decorate individual lotahs and record their stories. One hundred lotahs were collaged with labels from water bottles and soda bottles—common lotahs-in-disguise.

I had the opportunity to participate in this community project by creating lotahs and accompanying Sa’dia on her interviews with people who used lotahs. We soon discovered a secret society, one of closeted lotah users. We met people in streets and in cafes, even in their homes. These were strangers who were willing to lay themselves bare, not for money or fame (almost all the submissions were anonymous), but for the sake of being able to finally talk about their lotahs. We received emails from teachers, teenagers, high-powered lawyers, statisticians, artists,and first-generation and second-generation South Asians. Most of them were nervous and excited during the interviews and emails, but talking about lotahs seemed to free them somehow. Even though Sa’dia and I were strangers to them, the interviewees opened their homes to us and shared their secret lotah practices.