I remember being in the same situation as a teenager obviously not in India.
I used my boxer shorts
Told this one before, but here is my most personal shitting story -
"Summer 1996 -
I was in High School, Regents day (American History). The tests were in the afternoon, and you could come in early and go over things with the teachers, or just hang out. So I get there a few hours early, and as I'm sitting there in the library, I start getting that coffee maker rumble in high up in the pit of my stomach. It's that rumble you feel where you know no good will come of it.
So off to the bathroom I go, I pick one of the little used bathrooms so I can have some privacy. And I sit and wait. The first wave comes, it's nasty, but ok. There is no toilet paper in the stall, but I know this from years of going to this school, so I get the two emergency towelettes out from my wallet. Bang, crisis averted.
But that first wave, must of just been a warning shot. Because I get a few steps into the hallway, and the feelings start again. I rush back, and go again, but this time I've got nothing to wipe with, so I go through my pockets I've got my bus fare back home, a long Sears receipt and a wrapper from a candy bar. Welp, a man's got to do, what a man's got to do, so I configure the candy wrapper and Sears receipt into the best hand protection I could muster and get to work. It's not going to well, and right in the middle the feeling comes back. I toss my makeshift ass wipe and wait for it to do it's thing. Boy did it ever.
So this time I've got nothing, I start taking stock of which piece of clothing can be sacrificed to the poop gods, ah , the sock. So I kick off my shoes, get the sock off, drop the pants lower, hike the shirt up, start wiping, The rumble starts again, I toss the sock in the garbage can. Whammo, it's another explosion. So I'm down to one sock and the boxers. I figure fuck it, this getting to be a mess, and I didn't like the boxers(they were old style Fruit of The Loom's with no button on the pee hole). So off they come, and I tear them into a few pieces. Get down to business, more rumbles, but they're lower in my stomach, so I've got hope. After a few more bouts, everything has thankfully finished, and I feel better, and confident that it's over.
I take stock of what I got, a few clean boxer scraps and the clean sock. So I gather up some confidence, let myself out of the stall, and waddle to the sink with the boxer scraps. I figure, I'll scrub up a bit. I get the hot water going, pour a ton of this horrid pink fruit smelling soap on to my boxer scraps, and scrub my lower body down a bit. I finish up, I can't see anything wrong, the biggest problem is I smell like this soap. I gather up mess that was in the small trash can toss it into the way bigger one across the room. I finish up getting dressed, I wonder what I should do with the clean sock? Fuck it, I figure and stuff it into my pocket. It was almost new. Wash my hands one more time and leave.
And that my friends, is how I spent some of the time during the Regents. With a balled up sock in my pocket, hoping that no one asked me why I smelled like a 3rd world bubble gum factory."
