Chidiya Wala Baba Ka Dukaan
When I asked him about his father, who I met the last time I was there, he told me that he was on leave and had gone to Uttar Pradesh. Ansar bhai’s father, when I saw during my last visit, looked troubled. He was brooding over something as he snipped the hair off a toddler perched on a wooden plank kept on the arm-rests of the wooden chair. The neighbourhood Imam waving at him brought him a relief that I could not figure out. He talked to him about his deteriorating health and promptly offered a glass of water to the Imam. The Imam spoke a few ayaats in Arabic into the water and gave the glass back to Ansar bhai’s father, who gulped it down with the smile that had been missing from his lips. The five minutes of watching them made me feel strangely wistful. I remembered that my grandma would do the same. She used to get the neighbourhood priest to say ayaats softly in Arabic into a glass of water and made me drink it whenever she felt I was feeling down. As a kid, I thought that it did miracles.
On Sachapir Street leading to Shivaji Market, this old barbershop that does not have a name definitely had old furniture and a history. I visited the barbershop often, for shaves or haircuts. In January of last year, I had all the time in the world for a long chat. I spoke to bhaijaan and told him that he should cut my shoulder-length really short. Ansar Ali Sheikh getting on to the job told me that his shop was over 150 years old as the conversation became longer and my hair shorter. That nearly plonked me out of the old wooden chair. The shop was started by his Ajooba (great great grandfather) during the last quarter of the 19th century for a handful of middle class moderates and British soldiers.
He told me that the shop had been famously regarded as the chidiyawala baba ka dukaan. His great great grandfather was a bird-keeper and used to fly his birds often then. He had won many bird-flying competitions that were common in those times. He says he feels good when foreigners visit sometimes telling him that their grandfathers used to have their hair cut in his shop. Some of his foreign clientèle now include Osho Ashramites, who have been visiting him for about 16 years. He talked about the 50-year old furniture, adding that it was bought around the time M. K. Gandhi was assassinated. He intended to change it in another six months. He had some renovation planned including a board outside, but was not sure of a new name for the shop. He didn’t want a name that ended in Parlour. A fire, in the next-door dairy shop a decade ago, gutted most of the front of the shop. Some of the wood had given away to the dampness due to the water pumped in by the fire brigade action.
Although he wanted to talk on, he cut the conversation short and attended to other customers. I paid him and said good-bye. When I visited Poona again in September, last year, there was no new board outside nor was there new furniture; everything was the same.
On Sachapir Street leading to Shivaji Market, this old barbershop that does not have a name definitely had old furniture and a history. I visited the barbershop often, for shaves or haircuts. In January of last year, I had all the time in the world for a long chat. I spoke to bhaijaan and told him that he should cut my shoulder-length really short. Ansar Ali Sheikh getting on to the job told me that his shop was over 150 years old as the conversation became longer and my hair shorter. That nearly plonked me out of the old wooden chair. The shop was started by his Ajooba (great great grandfather) during the last quarter of the 19th century for a handful of middle class moderates and British soldiers.
He told me that the shop had been famously regarded as the chidiyawala baba ka dukaan. His great great grandfather was a bird-keeper and used to fly his birds often then. He had won many bird-flying competitions that were common in those times. He says he feels good when foreigners visit sometimes telling him that their grandfathers used to have their hair cut in his shop. Some of his foreign clientèle now include Osho Ashramites, who have been visiting him for about 16 years. He talked about the 50-year old furniture, adding that it was bought around the time M. K. Gandhi was assassinated. He intended to change it in another six months. He had some renovation planned including a board outside, but was not sure of a new name for the shop. He didn’t want a name that ended in Parlour. A fire, in the next-door dairy shop a decade ago, gutted most of the front of the shop. Some of the wood had given away to the dampness due to the water pumped in by the fire brigade action.
Although he wanted to talk on, he cut the conversation short and attended to other customers. I paid him and said good-bye. When I visited Poona again in September, last year, there was no new board outside nor was there new furniture; everything was the same.