Chanukarma

Today was a big day for my dear friend Priya Puri. Her youngest grandson was having his chanukarma, or haircutting ceremony, traditional for Brahmin male children, coupled with a thread ceremony, which is a sort of initiation into his caste. Rohan's dad, Priya's son, had never had the ceremonies performed on himself as a child, so he decided to make it a father-son affair. Priya took advantage of relatives and friends coming from all over the country--and India--to throw her own party in the evening, making for pretty much a day-long celebration.

In the chanukarma, a lock of hair is cut from four places on the child's head, symbolizing health, fame, power (shiva), and long life. Then the whole head is shaved, and finally the child is bathed to cleanse him.

The thread ceremony used to involve an elaborate tying of a red thread around the body and wrist. This occasion was an opportunity for the priest to educate the boy about proper male hygiene, the thread serving as a reminder. Today, however, the thread was simply tied around the wrist in a symbolic gesture. Various rituals involving flowers, fruit, incense, prayers, etc., etc., completed the ceremony.

Little Rohan, fifteen months old, was quite blasé about the sequence of events, seeming not to realize or care that he was the center of attention. He mainly wanted to sit on the lap of his Polish grandmother. A former hairdresser, Maria was given the honor of shaving the boy's head, which she did neatly and quickly, without a peep from her grandson, who was just happy to be back in her lap.

What I specially love about Hinduism is its total acceptance of everything. An air of gaiety as well as solemnity pervaded the gathering. Rohan helped himself to one of the bananas intended as a ritual offering, and noone, including the priest, hissed or frowned. Priya's very non-Indian blonde daughter-in-law, wearing a stunning lengha choli from Priya's collection, gamely submitted to a vermilion bindi on her forehead, various sprinklings, and prayers uttered over her and her child. Parshant good-humoredly parroted the priest's words (including "wat siti" several times, until he realized the priest was asking him, "What city?" so he could insert the location of the ceremony into his incantation).

And of course, after the ceremony was over and many group photographs had been taken to mark the happy occasion, a spendiferous feast was provided. Even the weather cooperated, the oppressive heat and humidity having been replaced by a gloriously and auspiciously sunny 80-something day, complete with a mild breeze. Rohan's a lucky boy, though he's yet too unrelentingly happy and comfortable to realize it.