My Village Barber

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The caste system will go ultimately. A hundred years from now, people will find it difficult to distinguish between a brahmin and barber. When the whole thing goes into the depth of oblivion, people will forget all the negatives associated with it; only literature, paintings and other objects of art will make them stay in the memories of the future generation. I can cite the example of palanquin here. We don't use palanquin these days but this object of transport has been immortalised through innumerable paintings. It's hard to remember that this object was once instrumental in degrading the dignity of some who were made to work as the palanquin bearers. In mythology we find a king employing a monk to carry his palanquin on his shoulder! Now, as for the exact historical use of it, what one can visualise is only the romantic dimension associated with it: the newly-wed bride aboard a palanquin going to her husband's place with a lot of dreams, the bearers singing their tunes to entertain the beautiful lady sitting behind the veil.... Some day barbers and brahmins will have to be illustrated in the dictionaries for imparting the meaning of the words. 

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My Village Barber

 Sitting folded his rickety legs

Knees projecting to shoulder height

With his dirty loin clothe sans undergarment

On the ancient bricks seasoned and hardened,

The old man did his brisk business

Month after month, year after year

My village barber.

Blunt razors honed umpteenth over

On the broken slate, the precious vintage

Stiff scissors for cutting hair

Of heads smooth or soiled, grey or bald

Thinned alum smeared with soap dried

Belonged to him as possessions dear

My village barber.

He could silence the juvenile impatience

Clasping tiny heads between his knees

Passing foul wind in cunning stealth

Straight into the nostrils of the hapless child

Raising dreadful screams to intimidate and scare

Yapping garrulous hour after hour

My village barber.

Broken English to impose his judgement

He feigned ignorance of dirty secrets

Shared gossips withholding their source

Agreed and cheered the rich and the famous

Had little time for his poor patrons

Treating their heads with disdain for ever

My village barber.

He took care of everybody's head

In every nook of my tiny village

They took care of his belly in exchange

Doling out each a mound of grains

A due for the hand that did care

A share for the hair- just and fair

My village barber.

Sons and daughters groomed unlettered

For schools modern would make them wayward

The leather and iron, the glass and alum

Stacked inside the box wooden

Had all the answers to his problems mundane

His present was vital, future misnomer

My village barber.

Age withered away his witty existence

A family of five left bereaved

With fashion flew his all customers

To the town saloons at dingy corners

His new generation with their fumbling future

Scrambled the soil as marginal farmer

My village barber.

PORT BLAIR

12-03-1997

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By

A N Nanda

Shimla

10-04-2014

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