amusingmuse’s blog

"I don't want it short; I want to make a ponytail" the little girl declared. I watched with interest as the six something girl explained to her mother and the hair dresser just how long she wanted her hair to be and how much hair she wanted in the front. Reminded me of Seva Ram

Seva Ram, in his loose white pajamas, a dull coloured shirt and a Nehru cap went from home to home offering cheap shaves, haircuts and head massages. In a tin box, which he carried around as proudly as an executive carrying his first laptop case, Seva Raj carried his tools of trade ' Scissors of various sizes, a pair of shears, a cake of soap, alum, some oils, a white cape like cloth and a couple of dangerous looking 'ustras' or shaving blades

Seva Ram used to make regular visits to our house - to 'clean shave' my father with his 'Ustra' and keep the crowning glory of us three kids short and manageable! On the day of the 'hair cutting' event Seva Ram would round up all three of us and seat us on the ground outside our house. Grabbing whoever was closest at hand, he would wrap the white cloth around the child and start snipping. The exercise would be repeated on the remaining two children regardless of gender giving all three of us a hair style quite similar to what Lalu Prasad sports replete with the fringes. For my brother initially, there was an added step in the hair cutting procedure ' Seva Ram would run the shears down his neck. Not wanting to be left out from an interesting experience my sister and I demanded that the shears be run on our neck too and the nice man complied! In our active lives there was no time to bother about something as unimportant as a 'hairstyle' and Seva Ram's output was never questioned.

The turning point however, came when I was around eight which makes my brother seven! I, my sister and two friends were giving a dance recital in honour of my parent's anniversary. We had the 'Gopi's' but the very vital 'Krishna' to our version of the 'Raas' was missing. Of course, none of us girls wanted to forgo our pretty skirts and makeup to play the role of a dark 'Krishna'. Inspiration struck and the help of my brother who had so far been neglected by us girls was enlisted. He agreed albeit a little reluctantly.

On 'D' Day little Krishna was dressed up very imaginatively by five very dedicated little girls. The result was spectacular ' a wooden flute in hand, Krishna wore a borrowed purple satin salwar, gold dust gleamed on his face and bare torso, he had 'kaajal' in his eyes and lipstick on his cheeks. To accommodate the big peacock feather his hair was pinned up in a small little fountain on top of his head ' this revealed Seva Ram's handiwork, my brother's fringe in full glory.

After the initial chaos created by five giggling girls doled up in 'Sarees' and one very resplendent but doubtful looking little boy died down, the dance recital began in earnest. In the midst, a couple of the neighboring boys decided to show up. Intrigued they watched for a while and then in true boy fashion loudly expressed their disgust at my brother's involvement in such a girlie affair. "Look, look he is wearing kaajal", "look his hair looks like a girls" not surprisingly our mortified Krishna fled the makeshift stage leaving us 'Gopis' stranded and very confused. Needless to say the show was 'called off' since our lead actor was in hiding and we Gopi's couldn't remember the remaining steps.

Seva Ram never cut our hair after the incident; my affronted brother passed all blame on to innocent Seva Ram for having given him a girlie cut. Seva Ram was replaced by the young guy who ran the 'Rose' Hair cutting Salon. We girls, not to be left behind shifted loyalty to the same place. I don't think 'Rose Salon' did anything better with our hair but I guess they did get rid of my brothers fringes which haven't shown up since!

I don't remember when we stopped seeing Seva Ram on his daily rounds ' our childish hearts were too full of the changes that were taking place every day to even miss him. He seemed to slip into oblivion as did many others who once plied their daily trade on the road below our house. The man who carried two pots of curd suspended on a wooden stick on his shoulder- two different qualities of curd at two different prices, the washerman with his big bundle of clothes, the man who sold little cakes, buns and biscuits from a box he carried on his head, the door to door cobbler with his amazing toolbox