Getting a hair-cut at an old-styled barber shop in a lazy afternoon is one of those pleasures which India promises and delivers most efficiently unlike its promises in more serious domains of economics and politics. But sometimes I feel that the best way to relax is to venture beyond politics and economics, for which these days one has to run away to a place where you have no access to 24-hour news channels and their mules in the form of Ravish Kumar Rajdeep Sardesia, Barkha dutt etc. So today I decided to have a long session of hair-cutting at Gopal's shop.
Gopal owns a barber shop in Udaipur. Basically, he is from my village in Dungarpur district and his family has been in this profession for generations. His father Shankar Lal lived in village Baldiya (a kilometer away from village) and used to visit our house to give hair-cut to my grand father. In those days, the professional castes like barbers, washermen musicians worked under the jajmani system i.e. they did not charge any money for their services. In return, they used get food grains and other essential items like ghee, spices, pots etc.
Shankar lal used to visit our house frequently for some birth ceremony or some death rituals or my grandfather's hair cut. He would often tell the stories of entire village to my grandfather. I used to sit sometimes with both of them. Now I only have vague memories of what they used to discuss but, Shankar Lal, in his own way was a master story-teller and an extremely wise man who had an astute understanding of social relations, politics and religious systems prevailing in the society.
He really got along well with my grandfather. He would always come and endlessly complain about Pandit Ramnarayan Shukkal. Shukkal Ji was a notorious pandit in the village. He used to consume at least 20 laddus (sweet balls of wheat flour) and 10 batis in nyats (community feats on the occasions of marriages, deaths and births). After his meals he would consume copious amounts of opium and lie in pond in a half-sleepy state for hours, with his favourite buffalo viz. Ramkudi. Shakar lal was annoyed with him because whenever he would give a hair-cut to Shukkal ji, he used to release stinkiest of the farts which wreaked havoc on the olfactory pleasures of Shankar lal, which originated from the smell of malpuas cooked in pure ghee by shuklain(shukkal ji's wife), while he was doing his job. Whenever he raised a voice of protest, Shukkal would roar in his mighty voice,"so what, you fool, you should consider yourself luck that you are getting a chance to smell a pious brahmin's fart. Its a rare chance to earn punya(merit) and if you let it seep into your nostrils with a feeling of devotion, you will definitely get an entry to heaven". Shankar Lal would confirm it with my grandfather that whether smelling a brahmin's fart guarantees you a place in heaven or not. My grandfather with a sarcastic grin which unmistakably reflected the immense amount of pleasure which he was getting, confirmed the opinion of Shukkal ji as it was his duty to keep the varnshrama dharma in place, which could not ensured without an absolute faith in the piousness of brahmins.In this way Shankar Lal was a quintessential part of the village society. My grandfather and Shankar Lal were almost of the same age and in the last years of my grandfather's life he had only few companions which included Amritlal vaniya (merchant) and Shankar lal Nau (barber).
After my grandfather's death in 1990s Shankar lal became a recluse. He looked sad and now he rarely visited our house. In 1990s, India witnessed great changes after the liberalization of the economy. The utopian life of the idyllic village setting was coming to an end. Now only money mattered. The stories of ghosts, witches, miraculous babas, kings, queens and their illicit affairs did not interest anyone. Jajmani was coming to an end and people were migrating from the village in the search of better opportunities. The village youth, who spent their evenings playing kabbadi, swimming in the river, listening to the elder's stories of ghosts were now going to far-off places like Jalgao, Bangalore, Pune to do their MBAs and get better jobs.Gopal, Shankar Lal's son left his home and set-up a shop in Udaipur. His brother Magan Lal migrated to Kuwait and never returned back. Some years back, it was reported that he was murdered there. The migrations of two sons shattered Shanakar Lal emotionally and he died in 2004.
But, Gopal still retains those feudal ties and manners. He treats my father and me with the same respect with which his father treated my grandfather. He still does not charge money from us as a mark of respect. "Hukum, times may change but ultimately the blood, the customs, traditions and our faith commands us and we just can't move away from our roots. I fought with my father to run away from the village but now I feel that it was so futile. Although I made money but I brought tears and sorrow to the old man in his last days. What is the use of such money, which comes at the cost of tears in your own father's eyes? I want to go back, sahib and I want my children to bury me in my village. I have had enough of roaming around. Now I want to go back", said gopal, remorsefully.
Gopal informed me that very soon the old styled barber shops will be replaced by big saloons where one has to pay astronomical prices for a simple haircut. It has already happened in big cities like Delhi, but in Udaipur, it has begun recently. In those big branded saloons, one gets to sit in AC but one never gets entertained with the gossip and boiling ginger tea.
In the end he was rubbing my scalp with fragrant hair-oil and a very old Hindi song, "Jiya bekarar hai" was being telecasted on the radio. I was in absolute trance with my eyes drooping and sleep slithering into my eyes just like a slippery serpent slithers into a horny women's blouse.
Gopal's son has been selected into premier engineering institute of India and this brings an end to his family's association with the profession of a barber. it also brings an end to a tradition, tradition of gossips, storytelling and laid back afternoon hair cuts. I suppose that his son will migrate to an even bigger city and will never return. But Gopal, does not complain. he just wants to go back and spend the rest of his life in that empty village where his father Shankar Lal talked for hours on end with my grandfather over endless cups of tea and sugarcane juice. I am happy for him, but I will miss his dancing fingers on my scalp, which is no less than a quick session of hypnosis.
I also wish that I could also return to my village like him.....................................................probably someday I might and I certainly will..........................with all the stories of the far-off countries, beautiful women, strange people, big cities and the loss of my innocence.
Gopal owns a barber shop in Udaipur. Basically, he is from my village in Dungarpur district and his family has been in this profession for generations. His father Shankar Lal lived in village Baldiya (a kilometer away from village) and used to visit our house to give hair-cut to my grand father. In those days, the professional castes like barbers, washermen musicians worked under the jajmani system i.e. they did not charge any money for their services. In return, they used get food grains and other essential items like ghee, spices, pots etc.
Shankar lal used to visit our house frequently for some birth ceremony or some death rituals or my grandfather's hair cut. He would often tell the stories of entire village to my grandfather. I used to sit sometimes with both of them. Now I only have vague memories of what they used to discuss but, Shankar Lal, in his own way was a master story-teller and an extremely wise man who had an astute understanding of social relations, politics and religious systems prevailing in the society.
He really got along well with my grandfather. He would always come and endlessly complain about Pandit Ramnarayan Shukkal. Shukkal Ji was a notorious pandit in the village. He used to consume at least 20 laddus (sweet balls of wheat flour) and 10 batis in nyats (community feats on the occasions of marriages, deaths and births). After his meals he would consume copious amounts of opium and lie in pond in a half-sleepy state for hours, with his favourite buffalo viz. Ramkudi. Shakar lal was annoyed with him because whenever he would give a hair-cut to Shukkal ji, he used to release stinkiest of the farts which wreaked havoc on the olfactory pleasures of Shankar lal, which originated from the smell of malpuas cooked in pure ghee by shuklain(shukkal ji's wife), while he was doing his job. Whenever he raised a voice of protest, Shukkal would roar in his mighty voice,"so what, you fool, you should consider yourself luck that you are getting a chance to smell a pious brahmin's fart. Its a rare chance to earn punya(merit) and if you let it seep into your nostrils with a feeling of devotion, you will definitely get an entry to heaven". Shankar Lal would confirm it with my grandfather that whether smelling a brahmin's fart guarantees you a place in heaven or not. My grandfather with a sarcastic grin which unmistakably reflected the immense amount of pleasure which he was getting, confirmed the opinion of Shukkal ji as it was his duty to keep the varnshrama dharma in place, which could not ensured without an absolute faith in the piousness of brahmins.In this way Shankar Lal was a quintessential part of the village society. My grandfather and Shankar Lal were almost of the same age and in the last years of my grandfather's life he had only few companions which included Amritlal vaniya (merchant) and Shankar lal Nau (barber).
After my grandfather's death in 1990s Shankar lal became a recluse. He looked sad and now he rarely visited our house. In 1990s, India witnessed great changes after the liberalization of the economy. The utopian life of the idyllic village setting was coming to an end. Now only money mattered. The stories of ghosts, witches, miraculous babas, kings, queens and their illicit affairs did not interest anyone. Jajmani was coming to an end and people were migrating from the village in the search of better opportunities. The village youth, who spent their evenings playing kabbadi, swimming in the river, listening to the elder's stories of ghosts were now going to far-off places like Jalgao, Bangalore, Pune to do their MBAs and get better jobs.Gopal, Shankar Lal's son left his home and set-up a shop in Udaipur. His brother Magan Lal migrated to Kuwait and never returned back. Some years back, it was reported that he was murdered there. The migrations of two sons shattered Shanakar Lal emotionally and he died in 2004.
But, Gopal still retains those feudal ties and manners. He treats my father and me with the same respect with which his father treated my grandfather. He still does not charge money from us as a mark of respect. "Hukum, times may change but ultimately the blood, the customs, traditions and our faith commands us and we just can't move away from our roots. I fought with my father to run away from the village but now I feel that it was so futile. Although I made money but I brought tears and sorrow to the old man in his last days. What is the use of such money, which comes at the cost of tears in your own father's eyes? I want to go back, sahib and I want my children to bury me in my village. I have had enough of roaming around. Now I want to go back", said gopal, remorsefully.
Gopal informed me that very soon the old styled barber shops will be replaced by big saloons where one has to pay astronomical prices for a simple haircut. It has already happened in big cities like Delhi, but in Udaipur, it has begun recently. In those big branded saloons, one gets to sit in AC but one never gets entertained with the gossip and boiling ginger tea.
In the end he was rubbing my scalp with fragrant hair-oil and a very old Hindi song, "Jiya bekarar hai" was being telecasted on the radio. I was in absolute trance with my eyes drooping and sleep slithering into my eyes just like a slippery serpent slithers into a horny women's blouse.
Gopal's son has been selected into premier engineering institute of India and this brings an end to his family's association with the profession of a barber. it also brings an end to a tradition, tradition of gossips, storytelling and laid back afternoon hair cuts. I suppose that his son will migrate to an even bigger city and will never return. But Gopal, does not complain. he just wants to go back and spend the rest of his life in that empty village where his father Shankar Lal talked for hours on end with my grandfather over endless cups of tea and sugarcane juice. I am happy for him, but I will miss his dancing fingers on my scalp, which is no less than a quick session of hypnosis.
I also wish that I could also return to my village like him.....................................................probably someday I might and I certainly will..........................with all the stories of the far-off countries, beautiful women, strange people, big cities and the loss of my innocence.
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