There are few experiences in life as unexpectedly delightful as one's first encounter with a Japanese toilet. Imagine a weary traveller, jet-lagged and disoriented, stumbling into the arrivals lounge of Tokyo's Haneda Airport. The urge to answer nature's call is strong, but the anticipation is tinged with trepidation-what if the facilities are, as in so many airports, a grim, utilitarian afterthought? Instead, the traveller is greeted by a gleaming porcelain throne, its seat already warm with anticipation, a control panel bristling with mysterious buttons, and, as they soon discover, a gentle spray of perfectly heated water that cleanses with a delicacy bordering on affection. At that moment, many visitors realise that Japan does toilets like nowhere else on Earth.
This national obsession with lavatorial comfort is not merely a matter of technological one-upmanship, though the Japanese do love a gadget. It is rooted in centuries of cultural reverence for cleanliness, a value that runs so deep it is practically encoded in the national DNA. In Shintoism, the indigenous faith of Japan, purity is next to godliness, and rituals of cleansing are woven into daily life. Even in the days when toilets were little more than holes in the ground, there was a certain mindfulness to the act, a sense that one was not merely discarding waste but participating in a cycle of renewal.
Yet, for all their spiritual hygiene, the Japanese were not always lavished with comfort in the loo. The squat toilet, a test of balance and thigh strength, reigned supreme for generations. Only in the late twentieth century, as Japan's post-war economic miracle brought Western influences and a taste for modern conveniences, did the toilet begin its remarkable ascent from humble necessity to high-tech pampering device. The introduction of the Washlet by TOTO in 1980 was a watershed moment. Here was a toilet seat that warmed your posterior and washed, dried, and deodorised it, all at the touch of a button. It was as if the toilet had evolved from a mere fixture to a caring companion, eager to anticipate your every need.
The relationship between Japanese people and their toilets is, in many ways, a love story. There is a tenderness in the way the seat heats itself just so, the water temperature is adjustable to your preference, and the bidet nozzle emerges with the shy courtesy of a butler offering a warm towel. Some models even play gentle music or the sound of running water to preserve your modesty, lest the person in the next cubicle overhear anything untoward. It is not uncommon for visitors to find themselves lingering in the bathroom, exploring the myriad functions on the control panel, and emerging with a slightly dazed expression, as if they have just experienced a spa treatment rather than a routine pit stop.
Of course, not all Japanese toilets are created equal. There are levels of sophistication that defy belief. High-end models boast air dryers, motion-activated lids, ambient lighting, and even health sensors that monitor your well-being in ways your doctor might envy. The toilet, in Japan, is not simply a receptacle for waste; it is a guardian of comfort, a sentinel of hygiene, and-if you spend enough time together-a trusted confidant. One almost expects to find a "thank you" button, so solicitous is the experience.
Nowhere is this devotion to the art of toileting more gloriously displayed than at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Tokyo. Here, on the 30th floor, the men's urinals are positioned before floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a jaw-dropping panorama of the city. There is something humbling and exhilarating about relieving oneself while gazing out over the sprawling metropolis, Mount Fuji on the horizon, the Tokyo Skytree piercing the sky. It is as if the architects decided that the act of urination should be elevated-quite literally-to an experience of awe and wonder. One can only imagine the existential musings inspired by such a view: "Here I stand, a mere mortal, communing with the city below, united in this moment of sublime release." Naturally, the toilets are equipped with every conceivable comfort, so even as you contemplate the vastness of Tokyo, your nether regions are cosseted in warmth and cleanliness.
There is a gentle humour in how the Japanese toilet treats its user. It is almost as if it is apologising for the indignity of the act, offering every possible amenity to make the experience as pleasant as possible. The seat is heated, the water is warm, the air is freshened, and the sounds are masked-all so that you may emerge from the bathroom not only refreshed but restored, your dignity intact. It is hardly surprising that many visitors develop a fondness for their hotel toilet, regarding it with gratitude and affection. Some even confess to missing it upon returning home, wistfully recalling the gentle ministrations of their Japanese commode.
Ultimately, the Japanese obsession with comfortable toilets is a testament to the nation's ability to elevate the mundane to the extraordinary. It is an expression of hospitality, ingenuity, and a deep-seated belief that even the most private moments deserve to be treated with care and respect. So the next time you find yourself in Japan, do not be surprised if you develop a relationship with your toilet. After all, in a country where even the loos are designed to make you feel cherished, who could blame you for falling a little bit in love?
Dr Sunoor is the Honorary President of The Himalayan Dialogues and an international expert in leadership & strategic communication and global health diplomacy. More on www.sunoor.net
