One of the first things that I do when I’m sent on a training program, or to any other unfamiliar place for the day, is to buy a bottle of water so that when the time comes I’ll have my very own portable istinjā’ vessel. The only question being, will I finish drinking it before the first break and have an empty vessel ready for a warm water refill or will I be faced with the dilemma of pouring the remnants down the sink or conserving water and facing the colder and technically more luxurious alternative?

Ever someone to throw caution to the wind, I generally work on the assumption that the Volvic water warning found on their bottles stating “Do Not Refill” is not applicable when the refill goal is istinjā’.

Although, I have heard it argued that the most immediate danger in refilling a mineral water bottle is to the company’s future sales, coming from anyone with enough initiative to fill the bottle at a tap and stick it in the fridge for drinking later.

Some other helpful product labelling has been gathered in this article.  I found the Superman cape advice particularly insightful.

The time honoured tradition of Muslims improvising istinjā’ vessels has now been capitalised on by some entrepreneurs and so I’d like to introduce the all-new Wudu Mate (link only works with Internet Explorer).

There is somewhat of a polarity of worlds between the Muslim and the non-Muslim in their approach to this most basic of human needs. Each side equally appalled at the other’s chosen method. Personally, I like the gardening analogy that I first heard used at Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park when addressing the irrational fear of using water with a disputant.

“If you’ve been working hard in the garden all day, pulling weeds and trimming rose bushes and you finally finish, do you look for the nearest piece of toilet tissue and rub away at all the dirt you’ve accumulated, or do you feel that a better option is to step into a shower and use some water?”

Don’t get me wrong, istijmār (cleaning oneself with an odd number of stones and by which toilet tissue is analogous) is still an acceptable practice; however, istinjā’ is preferable.

I’ve had a discussion at work with a manager who was astounded at the suggestion that it was more hygienic to wash with water after relieving oneself, than to just let gravity work its magic. “Well I’ll know not to shake your hand now!” he laughed. Well for a start if I did offer you my hand to shake it’d be my right hand and not my left (which is used for cleaning). But it does cross my mind that a rebuttal to your mocking would be to ask, which one of the two of us normally exits the latrine without first visiting the sink?

The most detailed account of Islāmic bathroom etiquette that I’ve ever had to give was a chess match of a conversation that I had I when I was sent for a company medical after successfully passing the interview stage of my recruitment. Part of the medical involved taking a drugs and alcohol test, which in an ideal world would be waved when you pointed out that you’re a Muslim but that’s just the way things are.

“So Mr Abū Ilyās, what I need you to do now is to go into that cubicle and urinate into this cup for me.”

“Sure, but I’ll need to take some water with me to clean myself afterwards.”

“Hmm! I can’t let you do that because you could dilute the sample, this would nullify the results. I’ll let you take water in with you but you’ll have to leave the door open so that I can ensure that there’s no foul play.”

“Well it is from Islāmic etiquette that [even] males sit down to urinate and I can’t accept leaving the door open.”

“Okay, what we can do is when you’re finished, just shout that you’re all done and slide the cup under the door and I’ll slide a cup of water back through.”

“That’s fine for the most part but Islāmically speaking it’s disliked to converse whilst relieving oneself.”

“Hmm, how’s about you finish, knock on the cubicle door and then we exchange cups?”

“Deal.”

(A discussion of various fiqhi points that I alluded to can be found in hand held bidets.

Another mistake that can be made at times, particularly when in a more sluggish state (such as waking up for fajr), is to put faith in a purely visual assessment of water temperature. “That looks about right!” as you scratch your head and fill the jug. It should be noted that there are some parts of the body that are better not exposed to excessively hot water.

The only other time that I’ve let out a scream in a bathroom was when I’d just about sat down and lightning suddenly struck outside; fear gripped me after this flash of light, I looked around panic stricken, who could be photographing me at this most vulnerable of times? The thunder soon followed and I breathed a sigh of relief that it had been the weather and not someone on a ladder with camera.

The double whammy is a rare occurrence in life but it’s good to have an action plan for it when it does, so here’s mine: