Life is moving fast . . . slow down a bit!

When I was a kid, I would go to my maternal grandfather and grandmother’s house in Habba Kadal, Srinagar for the night. There was an event/ritual, I would wait for every morning.

My nanaji Late Prathvi Nath Sapru, was a saintly personality. Tall, thin, staunch vegetarian, soft spoken, and extremely calm. He owned Laxmi Silk Mills and his factory produced one of the best silks in the country and would go to several states including Gujarat. Business was not his cup of tea and with handlooms being replaced by machines, his interest kept dwindling.

His interest wained perhaps because he was in pursuit of other worldly journeys. It was not uncommon in Kashmir to see saints or know of people who chose that path. Bhaisahab, as he was fondly known, was on a similar path. There were saints who would visit him from other parts of the country and when they were there, it was a very different atmosphere. Even for a small kid of my age, I could sense the energy and the difference. I distinctly remember one swamiji called MuniJi who used to be in Tapasya in Srinagar only.

Deemaa (my mother) once told me that when she was young, Bhaisahab took her to Haridawar for some time. He was in his Tapasya and was observing Maun Vrat (a vow of silence) for several days. One fine morning they were going to some place and he was trying to tell her to see behind her. Since he could not speak, it took Deemaa time to figure out what was being told to her. By the time she realised and looked behind, she could see few Satpurush walk and vanish into thin air. My mother was stunned at what she saw, she kept her head down and did not utter a word. That was the day she discovered what her father was upto.

Coming back to the event /ritual. Every morning Bhaisahab would sit on a day bed, which had an entry door on the right, small temple at the back, a Bush radio with vacuum transistor on the back shelf and an open kitchen in the front. He would open a tin box which had his shaving kit and then meticulously take out his soap cake, brush, blade, razor system, mirror, astringent stone, a small katori and his small towel. He would then place these in a particular order and start the process of giving himself a clean shave. The finesse with which he spent those 10–15 minutes was like an eternity for me. It was a calming experience that filled me with sheer joy.

I recently decided to ditch my Gillette shaving system, foam, after shave etc etc with what Bhaisahab would use. To my surprise and joy, I found out that those 15 minutes of calming myself down, slowed the madness and life that was passing by. I found that those 15 minutes were one of the few instances I was solely focused on my shaving, not ten other tasks. I still can’t get over the fact how fun it is to give yourself a shave and follow a pattern to achieve calm. Of all the things this was an unexpected surprise.

It also brings memories of sadness. Bhaisahab, after migration could not continue on his path. He was, like every other Kashmiri Pandit, in survival mode. Moving from one room accommodation to another one room accommodation because the tenants did not want them to over stay. He lost his self and what made him different. He was bitter from inside and did not have a direction to follow.

I know for sure that he died a bitter man. Of the many regrets in my life, the fact that I could do nothing for him, is the one right on top. Had he not been forced to leave Srinagar and Habba Kadal, he would have attained the impossible.

Every time I shave now, I subconsciously think of him and the calmness he would carry himself with. I wish I could be 1% of what he was.

To Bhaisahab and his pursuit of the other world!