‘Haircutting factory’ at Shimla with roots in past

Shriniwas Joshi

Vishwa Nath Sood, an old Shimlawallah, told me that he had spent his childhood living in Ganj Bazaar, which in the past was known as Edwards Ganj got built in 1848 by William Edwards, a British reformist having a heart for the locals. In his childhood, Sood had seen a number of hairdressers near his house sitting under the sky and applying tonsorial on the clients. The locals named it ‘Haircutting Factory’. This factory that has seen the ups and downs of Shimla, in say 70 years, still exists under a shed. Sita Ram, from Sarkaghat of Mandi, is, today, the senior-most hairdresser and the day I met him, he was sitting on the junction of Lower Bazaar and the stairs that takes one to Ganj Bazaar, where this ‘factory’ functions. He, in a low tone, was asking people climbing down the stairs whether they wanted a haircut. He asked me the same question and when I said that I wanted to meet Sita Ram, he was surprised and told me that the person in front of him was the one I was looking for. He told me that our ancestors and the elders who came here long back, year not known, used to sit on these stairs and do hair cutting and shaving here only. They were in good numbers and used to go to the houses of the clients too, if called. “We still go but rarely. We work in the shed mostly and our charges are less than the market rate,” he said. He gave me the information about the shed which was got constructed by the Municipal Committee in the year 1954. I saw that there were 14 chairs in the shed attended by only nine hairdressers. The business appeared healthy as was evident from the number of clients in the ‘factory’ . Initially, the Municipal Corporation used to charge Rs100 per chair but now the rent is fixed at Rs 6,000 annually, irrespective of the chairs therein.

Although they now prefer calling themselves hairdressers yet the original English word for them is ‘barber’. The word ‘barber’ has been drawn from Latin ‘barba’, which means ‘beard’. Because their job is mainly to cut, dress, groom, style and shave a person’s hair, they are called hairdressers or hairstylists. And generally their shop is also a place of social interaction and information transmission. One of our ministers visiting his constituency used to alight from the official vehicle and enter into the shop of a barber to know about what-is-what of his electorates. And he never lost any election as long as he lived. French call a barber coiffeur (pronounced kwo-fo) which means a person who arranges the hair. But in Hindustani the word ‘nai’ is derived from the Sanskrit word ‘napika’, one who cleans the nails. Its etymology is also suggested from the word nahna meaning ‘not to refuse’ or the person who would not refuse to act and always carry the messages of his patrons (jajmaan) to the right destinations. Ibbetson writes in 1881 that once Akbar asked Birbal to find a person who would carry his message to Kabul without holdup. Birbal, at that time, selected a nai to do the job and he did it. Hence, ‘not-to-refuse’ expression got associated with nai.

A nai is honoured on ceremonial occasions of marriage in the warmer districts of Himachal Pradesh. He plays an important role in negotiating marriages for his patrons. He acts as personal adviser and/or attendant to the bridegroom and also decorates him on marriage. Sudarshan Vashisht, well versed with the culture of Himachal Pradesh, told me that nai is treated on a par with mamma, mother’s brother, during marriages. 

Jonathan P. Parry wrote a book in 1979 Caste and Kinship in Kangra and in that he described the activities of nais during the Sairi Festival, a festival falling in the month of September where people wish for the prosperity and well-being of all. 

The barbers decorate lemons with kumkum, rice and flowers placed in the baskets which are taken from household to household. Every householder waits for the basket to come to his door and then fills the basket with sweets, grains and some cash. 

See, how important for us are the persons working in this ‘haircutting factory’ and how lucky are we, the Shimlaites, to have them long, long years back. 

Tailpiece

“And go and get your haircut. You look like a chrysanthemum”

— PG Wodehouse, in his novel Hot Water.