Pandian Saloon – A Memoir of Perfect Sundays

A brief memoir of the sundays I spent with my uncle.

Siruvar-malar (Kid’s Journal), which was one of the add-on journals of the dhina-thanthi magazine of the Tamil homeland, was how I came to take a liking for the Pandian saloon shop first. For quite a normal but geeky moody kid I was, I never got the chance to explore the whole world of books and magazines then; the monthly haircuts were the only times I got to read magazines. So naturally, I took a liking to this Siruvar-malar; it was a true delight with all the cute little short stories and puzzles and quizzes. I might have been 4 years old when my uncle first took me here. My uncle, with his blood-shot eyes and an unbelievably kind heart, never missed a month to take me for the haircut (if only I could tell you how much I miss him). When one sat on the saloon chair (a vintage 90s wood chair) for the haircut, they could see the railway track straight opposite to the entrance, partly covered by the wild flowers that grew on the sides of the track. For kids, Pandian uncle placed a wooden slab on top of that chair to make it easy for him to cut their hair (to my surprise, he still hasn’t changed that slab); for me, that little slab meant better views of the world outside; and I got to mention that he had quite a hard time turning my head to the right side. Now, about Pandian uncle, the Saloon shop’s proprietor, he was everyone’s friendly neighbourhood gossiper and an expert hair stylist; when one told him that the color rushing to his cheek was such a happy sight (even today), he was one chatty uncle who took a liking to me. He knew almost half of the crowd that walks across his shop on a Sunday morning. (For someone who is not that much of a fan of gossip, even I do enjoy gossiping with him these days.) In appearance, he was quite like a person who we could’ve seen in common places; nothing’s distinguishable about him except his comical moustache. Actually, it is quite remarkable that he has managed to maintain the same moustache for almost 22 years now. 

Over time, I came to realize that there were a few more reasons to amplify that liking for those monthly haircuts, and we developed a routine around these likings:

1. This saloon is located very close to our Mayiladuthurai railway junction, which used to be one of the places I went whenever I felt like some peace was needed (until last year, before they had to dig everything up for smart station conversion). Even though it is one of the busiest road junctures in our town, you could hear nothing but the birds when you stood underneath the peepal tree in front, which still stands guard at the railway station.

2. Raja Uncle’s Toy Shop: It’s the next shop to Pandian Saloon. Raja uncle used to live on the same street as us when I was a kid, and I always got big discounts on all the toy cars I bought from him. As a kid, the excitement I got when he showed the new model toy cars to me was unmatchable, and I always had a feeling that my excitement rubbed on him too. Adulting hit me hard when I realized that I had somehow outgrown that excitement.

3. The smell of onions! Yes, onions; the road beside the junction is known for its onion and rice markets. This road is one of the rare places that has stood its ground to the test of time, and one can still smell the onions when they drive by that parched and partly muddy road.

4. Saarangapani Bridge: A symbol of the ‘Anti-Hindi Imposition Movement’ that still stands strong. This bridge is another personal favorite for me; one can see the trains coming in and out of the ever-charming Mayiladuthurai railway station from above it. Counting the trains and getting excited if I found one or two more from the previous month used to be another happy thing for me. Even now, whenever I wake up too early, I just cycle to the bridge and stand there, watching the trains from the middle of it.

5. The GVS coffee shop! Yup, there is a 90s coffee shop that still serves THE best coffee in town. Don’t believe me? Come visit that shop even at 12.30 on a hot summer afternoon, and try your luck at getting a seat to sit.

6. I’ll leave that as a reason for you to read ahead.

Now that I have told you about why I love going to the Pandian uncle’s saloon, let me also paint you a picture of what my Sunday mornings (once a month) looked like.

So, when that happy Sunday comes, we, my uncle and I, would start from our place at 8 sharp in the morning. I was more specific about that timing than my uncle, and you’ll know why soon. My uncle, before starting, would always check if I had kept my ankles at a distance from the bicycle wheel. As a kid, I saw most of the world from my uncle’s bicycle; that backseat is still my favorite traveling seat. My uncle, though not the best of jovial people, had a unique way of explaining things; he knew how to pique my interest. 

Now, back to our Sunday ride, after a while we would cross the peepal tree (in front of the railway station), and sometimes I would demand to stop there to gaze on its noisy chirping inhabitants jumping between branches and playing cheerfully, and then we would take a right turn to reach Pandian uncle’s shop. The first thing I always did on reaching the shop was to fish out the Siruvar-malar versions for the past 2-3 weeks from the pile of magazines; while I was doing it, Pandian uncle would pat my head first and would hold my hair and say, ‘that’s some length this time’, exact sentence, every time. After he was done with the others who came before us, he would clean the chair, put that little wooden slab on top of it, and tap it twice as a signal for me to go and sit. Like I mentioned earlier, he must’ve had some trouble chopping my hair off because my head was always turned towards the railway track outside. Once he was done, he would always say, ‘Right, ready for your marriage now maaplai’. Then my uncle would get himself a shave and let me finish up what was left of Siruvar-malar. Then all three of us would go and get a coffee in the GVS shop, after which Pandian uncle would bid bye to us (I would get another pat on my head).

Then I would bring off my usual drama to get a new toy car from Raja uncle’s shop, who always welcomed us with a big beaming smile; Crocs, Skechers, it’s all today’s thing for me; I was wearing footwear from Raja uncle’s shop till I was 17. After successfully getting a brand-new toy car, we would then go to the railway station (platform tickets didn’t apply to my uncle then) and wait for the Chozhan express to come; usually it would not be a long wait (well, I wonder who insisted on leaving home by 8) before the train would come with all the screeching and honking into platform number 3, and then would come a great rush of people of all sorts.

Hmm, why did we wait for that train, though? For the Jackfruits, the juiciest tastiest one could ever get! Fresh from the day’s export of the Jackfruit District, Cuddalore! (As you can understand, that was my reason no. 6.) We would get a proper paper bag full for just the two of us. Then we would walk parallel to the track, with all the onion smell drifting in the air as we reached the parched road, and would pick the cycle and would change to the bridgeside and walk up on the cycle way to get to the middle of the Saarangapani bridge; we would then find our usual spot in the exact middle of the bridge’s span, sit cross-legged, and watch the trains come and go for good 10-15 minutes while we ate the jackfruits (I usually wiped off the most of it, but my uncle always pretended he ate more, citing his size). Once we finished the jackfruits, we would slowly cycle back to our home, saying bye to the peepal tree on the way, and that marked the end of our perfect Sunday morning. I would then count the days until my next haircut so that I could do all these things again.

Now, coming to think of it, of all the rides I can take, I would always pick that ride to Saloon, and of all the places I can be on a Sunday morning, I would always choose to be in Pandian Saloon Shop.

While there has been a lot of change over the years, except for those revolutionary undergraduate years, I have never stopped going to Pandian uncle’s. I went to his place last Sunday, from which this piece of memoir took life; aging almost triple than me now, he still pats my head when I enter the saloon and says, ‘That’s some length this time’ (even though my hairline is receding faster than my age)! And I still fish out Siruvar-malar (the name has changed now) while he does that!! And it will always remind me of those perfect Sunday mornings! 

Now, if you have made it this far, tell me about one Sunday routine you looked forward as a kid in the comments..

Until next time,

Prasanth