Today, a head was shaved... not mine (am not that adventurous yet),
but the little' one's!
It's a very common practice in
India to shave the heads of babies. The belief is that with this, the baby hair
will be removed once and for all, to be replaced with better, stronger, blacker
hair. Now this event, that of getting the baby's head shaved, usually doesn't
mean just taking a walk up to the salon and getting it snipped. It is a “ceremony”.
In Kerala, where I come from, it means travelling hundreds of kilometers and going to one of those big temples like
Thirupathi or Pazhani that specializes in head-shaving ceremonies. In
Kanpur, where the hubby comes from, this means having a big function, with
friends and neighbours pouring in, a feast organized and the ceremony performed
at home. In other words, in both worlds, it’s pretty much a big deal and
requires weeks, if not months, of planning.
In our case, the planning lasted for about 15 minutes this morning.
It all started with a conversation with the hubby, over chat, when both of us
were in our respective offices. It started with a mere “We gotta do mundan (the
Hindi word for the head shaving)” to “We might as well do it sooner than later”
to “ We might as well do it today because parents (i.e. my mom and the hubby’s
dad) are in town”. That’s it. Before we really even realized it ourselves, the
local temple authorities were informed, the barber was booked, the parents were
informed, the little one was ready and we were on our way to the temple, the
venue of the mundan.
After a short puja (prayer) led by the priest, the barber started
to shave off the little one’s head. She was seated on the hubby’s lap, who in
turn clung to her with all his might, making sure she kept still. It’s no fun
watching a blade on the head of your child and both of us were nervous. I hid
my nervousness behind my camera, clicking pictures incessantly.
The barber did the shaving in three phases, with short breaks in
between. The little one kept still, seemingly enjoying the process in the first
phase but wailed her lungs out during the second and third phases. But everytime
there was a break, she would switch to her wide mouthed, toothless grin, as if
she is oblivious of what just happened and in turn making me feel a lot less nervous.
Within minutes, those tiny little strands, even the ones that she
used pull with all her might in her waves of anger, were all gone. (Yes, the
girl has a temper and during fits of rage, she used to love pulling her own hair
from the back of her head).
As I later (very funnily) proclaimed on Facebook, “Eka became
Egg-a”!
Post the mundan ceremony, all
of us, including my brother and sister-in-law as well as her brother who had
all arrived by then, went to Kailas Parbat for “post-mudan party” as the hubby called
it. There we stuffed ourselves with a variety of chaat topped with a serving of
their lovely cutting chai, while the little one figured that she can no longer
pull her own hair. As she grasped for a handful of hair, all she got was air, bringing
a priceless look of confusion on her face.
Thus the Mundan came to an end. Quickly, Happily, Beautifully!
