Musings of an Undercover Yogi

During our childhood, every February, Baba diligently took a city bus to the Nashik railway station. The commute took an hour either way, but that didn’t discourage him. He stood in long queues to book train tickets to Bengal for our annual vacation, which began in April. Baba generally spent a couple of weeks with us in Bengal before heading back to Nashik. Maa and us kids stayed longer and visited family near and far. A generous portion of our holidays was spent at my maternal grandparents’ home.

My maternal grandparents headed a joint family spanning four generations in Ichchapur. Their two-storeyed white house, almost a mansion, was built in a C-shape with sharp turns instead of curves. From the railway station, a two-minute walk down a brick-cobbled street led to their home. Ancient houses with quaint blue doors and shuttered (louvre) windows lined one side of the narrow road. The other side led to a beautiful pond. Along the pond, Krishnachura, Radhachura, Banyan, and Bokul trees formed colorful canopies.

During a vacation in my teenage years, as Maa oiled my long hair, she told me a story. When I was a toddler, we were visiting Ichchapur one summer. One day, the family heard loud cries of “Jai Jagannath!” accompanied by conch blows and ululations coming from the road. It was the auspicious day of the Ratha Jatra. Maa scooped me up and rushed outside the main entrance of the house. Her siblings and cousins joined her on the verandah, which had the hallmark red-oxide floor with thick black lines running along its borders.

Children from the neighborhood entered our lane in a small procession, dragging a beautifully decorated miniature Ratha (chariot) carrying the deities Balabhadra, Subhadra, and Jagannath. The trio was taken out for the traditional annual ride that mimicked the Ratha Jatra in Puri in a humble, sweet way. The children carried Bhog (food offered to the deities) for sharing with devotees met along the way. Passersby paused, and residents from the neighborhood came out of homes to honor the procession. Devotees prayed with folded hands, collected the Bhog, and handed out small amounts of money, typically coins, as donations.

Remembering something suddenly, Maa rushed inside the house with me. Quickly grabbing a pair of scissors, she cut a lock of my hair. Carrying my lock and me, Maa made it outside just in time as the procession reached our house. Descending on the street, Maa bent to place my hair in front of the first wheel of the Ratha, then stood aside, making way. The wheel soon rolled over my hair, followed by the second wheel. The divine trio blessed us as the Ratha moved away, surrounded by the merrymaking of the devotees.

“And that’s why you have long hair,” Maa finished her story. The younger me couldn’t comprehend the connection between the length of my hair and Jagannath’s Ratha. Mulling over the story for a while, I asked Maa for an explanation. In her younger days, she had heard a saying—if the wheels of Jagannath’s Ratha rollover a lock of your hair, you receive His blessings. Your hair will grow, its length matching the distance covered by the Ratha! I have held on to this story ever since; it never fails to bring a smile of gratitude. After all, the saying proved to be true for me!

I got my ankle-length tresses chopped to waist length at Habibs in 2008. Sitting on a revolving chair, when I let loose my bun, my hair cascaded down and lay folded on the floor. The staff and other customers dropped their work to gape. Someone rushed to the second floor of the salon, another ran outside. I heard cries, and in a couple of minutes, strangers from the second floor and neighboring shops poured in to witness the wonder. Thoroughly embarrassed by then, I wished I’d dissolve into thin air. Inquiries about my brand of hair oil and shampoo followed the appreciations. In several different ways and by more than one stylist, I was asked if I’m sure I want a haircut. What an unforgettable experience!

Back then, we weren’t click-happy. Moreover, I’m not used to flaunting my hair. On my insistence, the husband did click a picture of the ankle-length hair before heading off to Habibs. That picture is buried somewhere in a hard drive that lies somewhere! For now, sharing two beautiful shots to represent the sweet history I share with Jagannath.

I am grateful to my sister for several reasons—clicking and preserving these shots, digging in the archives to locate these, and sending these across. Gratitude to my friend Vinayak for letting me use the picture of Lord Jagannath.

Post #1 in the Triology: https://colorsofatulip.wordpress.com/2021/07/10/the-divine-gift/