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In the roaring 1960s of my youth there appeared a book by Desmond Morris titled: The Naked Ape. Those who didn't read its reviews ordered it thinking they had a titillating aphrodisiac in their hands for the night. Ha!
I am told that civilization started with man learning to make a fire, the epitome of which is the frustrating gas-lighter (which along with the desktop printer shares the first place in the list of tech-disaster gadgets).
But I guess civilization as we know it started with the invention of the shaving razor whose epitome is the Gillette Satin Care (for women).
I think in sports and games that are rough and tumble like boxing, wrestling and rugby football long hair is an obvious handicap.
Men, and more so women, have a natural affection for their hair and would resist tonsure as long as they can. But once they get their head shaven smooth like a bald egg, they see the immense advantages of a shiny pate; and they would be looking for opportunities to get their head shaven clean again and anon. It becomes an addiction.
In our AP, tonsure in the premises of the Tirupati Balajee Temple is supposed to be holy and the offering of hair to the Lord symbolizes the offering of one's ego, the all-time mischief maker. I have known a Hindi Teacher in my High School sporting a shiny Tirupati pate for six months and an unshaven head for the next six months. His pate passed through lunar cycles. And clean tonsure is much less expensive than keeping a stylish crop.
The only other occasions when one's head is tonsured is the bereavement of one's parents and in the Upanayanam (Sacred Thread) ceremony of brahmin boys.
In Bengal and perhaps in the Cow Belt, no one offers their hair to any deity and so when someone finds a Bengali with a shiny pate, the standard pourparlers is to ask solicitously: "Ki hoyechhe?" meaning: "Who passed away and how?"
And Bengalis of my generation at KGP had seen so few round-heads that no other explanation struck them.
So, when an AP Lecturer at KGP is found with a tabletop, his Bong colleagues used to ask: "Ke?" meaning: "Mother or Father?" And the AP chaps used to take umbrage and reply: "Tirupati," meaning that they are just back from Tirupati.
One evening I was walking alone in the Tech Market of IIT KGP with a shiny top. Amalendu, who befriended many AP-wallas and thought he knew all their customs, approached me and asked:
"When did you return from Tirupati?"
"No, I lost my Father"
And naturally his face reddened for his foot-in-the-mouth syndrome.
My son was so fond of his hair that he asked his Upanayanm Purohit to go to hell when he suggested tonsure.
And then, on one of his business trips to the US, he contracted an American fungal infection of the scalp as a bonus. On his return to India, he tried all ointments and tablets and lotions and creams but the itchy US fungi stayed put and flourished and made him scratch his head till his scalp bled...like:
There was a young belle of old Natchez
Whose garments were always in patches.
When comment arose
On the state of her clothes,
She replied, “When Ah itches, Ah scratches.”
...Ogden Nash
So, one day he got fed up and went to the nearest barber shop and had his itchy scalp shaved bone-clean. And found it was almost an orgasmic relief. Since then he never let his hair grow more than a millimeter.
The barber thrived.
Recently when his mom was known to be seriously ill for months, I was afraid that anyone of our relatives and friends who saw him might conclude (wrongly) that he was bereaved already. I didn't ask him though.
And while his pate was going through the 'clean' cycle the other day, his mom did pass away inconsolably. And so, the Purohit who visited us concluded that my son, who had to perform the last rites, had already visited his barber and got himself tonsured with a heavy heart.
The day after the last rites, he was driving his sedan with me and his pop-in-law as passengers. And as we approached the busy Khairatabad Circle, his Purohit started calling him on his cell phone to fix up some urgent rendezvous insistently. And for a moment my son forgot where he was and started replying on his cell phone.
The cops standing there were mighty pleased that they got their day's big fish. And in the resulting confusion he also jumped the red signal. And was promptly stopped and led aside to the kerb.
And the cops asked for his papers which of course were in tact. And he was whisked away to the Big Boss Police Officer standing by with his chalan book. My son pleaded guilty and offered to pay whatever was the fine but please do make it pronto since, if he gets delayed, the Purohit would ditch him and go away on some other more lucrative business.
The Top Cop got curious and asked him:
"What Purohit and why?"
And my son told him that he had performed his mom's last rites just then and was returning from the cremation ghat.
The Top-Cop looked at my son's head steadily and was convinced outright without demanding proof in the form of sundry Certificates and stuff.
And, with a broad gesture of his long arm of the law asked my son to GO...
The Bottom-Cop who caught my son was not so pleased and made it a point to mention that the waiver was a whopping Rs 800 (600 for signal jumping and 200 for cell-phone-chatting).
My son bowed his head thankfully and started moving back to his parked car.
And I took a Rs 100 note from my pocket and offered it to the aggrieved BC but, before he could grab it, the TC snatched it away and returned it to me as if saying:
"Some other time..."
Even hardy cops have soft sentiments...
...Posted by Ishani
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In the roaring 1960s of my youth there appeared a book by Desmond Morris titled: The Naked Ape. Those who didn't read its reviews ordered it thinking they had a titillating aphrodisiac in their hands for the night. Ha!
I am told that civilization started with man learning to make a fire, the epitome of which is the frustrating gas-lighter (which along with the desktop printer shares the first place in the list of tech-disaster gadgets).
But I guess civilization as we know it started with the invention of the shaving razor whose epitome is the Gillette Satin Care (for women).
I think in sports and games that are rough and tumble like boxing, wrestling and rugby football long hair is an obvious handicap.
Men, and more so women, have a natural affection for their hair and would resist tonsure as long as they can. But once they get their head shaven smooth like a bald egg, they see the immense advantages of a shiny pate; and they would be looking for opportunities to get their head shaven clean again and anon. It becomes an addiction.
In our AP, tonsure in the premises of the Tirupati Balajee Temple is supposed to be holy and the offering of hair to the Lord symbolizes the offering of one's ego, the all-time mischief maker. I have known a Hindi Teacher in my High School sporting a shiny Tirupati pate for six months and an unshaven head for the next six months. His pate passed through lunar cycles. And clean tonsure is much less expensive than keeping a stylish crop.
The only other occasions when one's head is tonsured is the bereavement of one's parents and in the Upanayanam (Sacred Thread) ceremony of brahmin boys.
In Bengal and perhaps in the Cow Belt, no one offers their hair to any deity and so when someone finds a Bengali with a shiny pate, the standard pourparlers is to ask solicitously: "Ki hoyechhe?" meaning: "Who passed away and how?"
And Bengalis of my generation at KGP had seen so few round-heads that no other explanation struck them.
So, when an AP Lecturer at KGP is found with a tabletop, his Bong colleagues used to ask: "Ke?" meaning: "Mother or Father?" And the AP chaps used to take umbrage and reply: "Tirupati," meaning that they are just back from Tirupati.
One evening I was walking alone in the Tech Market of IIT KGP with a shiny top. Amalendu, who befriended many AP-wallas and thought he knew all their customs, approached me and asked:
"When did you return from Tirupati?"
"No, I lost my Father"
And naturally his face reddened for his foot-in-the-mouth syndrome.
My son was so fond of his hair that he asked his Upanayanm Purohit to go to hell when he suggested tonsure.
And then, on one of his business trips to the US, he contracted an American fungal infection of the scalp as a bonus. On his return to India, he tried all ointments and tablets and lotions and creams but the itchy US fungi stayed put and flourished and made him scratch his head till his scalp bled...like:
REQUIEM
There was a young belle of old Natchez
Whose garments were always in patches.
When comment arose
On the state of her clothes,
She replied, “When Ah itches, Ah scratches.”
...Ogden Nash
So, one day he got fed up and went to the nearest barber shop and had his itchy scalp shaved bone-clean. And found it was almost an orgasmic relief. Since then he never let his hair grow more than a millimeter.
The barber thrived.
Recently when his mom was known to be seriously ill for months, I was afraid that anyone of our relatives and friends who saw him might conclude (wrongly) that he was bereaved already. I didn't ask him though.
And while his pate was going through the 'clean' cycle the other day, his mom did pass away inconsolably. And so, the Purohit who visited us concluded that my son, who had to perform the last rites, had already visited his barber and got himself tonsured with a heavy heart.
The day after the last rites, he was driving his sedan with me and his pop-in-law as passengers. And as we approached the busy Khairatabad Circle, his Purohit started calling him on his cell phone to fix up some urgent rendezvous insistently. And for a moment my son forgot where he was and started replying on his cell phone.
The cops standing there were mighty pleased that they got their day's big fish. And in the resulting confusion he also jumped the red signal. And was promptly stopped and led aside to the kerb.
And the cops asked for his papers which of course were in tact. And he was whisked away to the Big Boss Police Officer standing by with his chalan book. My son pleaded guilty and offered to pay whatever was the fine but please do make it pronto since, if he gets delayed, the Purohit would ditch him and go away on some other more lucrative business.
The Top Cop got curious and asked him:
"What Purohit and why?"
And my son told him that he had performed his mom's last rites just then and was returning from the cremation ghat.
The Top-Cop looked at my son's head steadily and was convinced outright without demanding proof in the form of sundry Certificates and stuff.
And, with a broad gesture of his long arm of the law asked my son to GO...
The Bottom-Cop who caught my son was not so pleased and made it a point to mention that the waiver was a whopping Rs 800 (600 for signal jumping and 200 for cell-phone-chatting).
My son bowed his head thankfully and started moving back to his parked car.
And I took a Rs 100 note from my pocket and offered it to the aggrieved BC but, before he could grab it, the TC snatched it away and returned it to me as if saying:
"Some other time..."
Even hardy cops have soft sentiments...
...Posted by Ishani
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