MY INITIATION (POITAY) Dr. Kaushik Bagchi. Albany, NY I was afraid to look in the mirror. My younger cousins were giggling in the background while their fists were covering their faces. My uncles and aunts who walked past me looked at me half-admiringly, half-pleasantly surprised. I knew they were trying really hard to understand my situation, especially since I did not know all the ways of India. I woke up at four in the morning today, having slept for at least fourteen hours. Yesterday, I was with my parents, Tinku, some of my uncles and aunts, and several of my cousins visiting Alipore Zoo. That was one of the most fun days I had experienced in my life, and certainly the most enjoyable part of my visit to India in 1981. But the fun trip had left me exhausted. During most of my childhood in Brooklyn, summers were completely open. Baba was a professor at Manhattan College and my mother taught school, so we would be able to spend an uninterrupted period of three months in India. Baba and Ma always looked forward to seeing their family, and I missed seeing my cousins with whom I always had fun. My parents’ day-to-day frugality allowed them to afford trips to India every three to four years. The last trip was in 1978, and thus we were due for another visit. Other than the oppressive heat and humidity, unpredictable monsoon showers, load shedding, noisy and disorganized local travel in crowded buses and trains, and Tinku’s abject fear of flies, we all thoroughly enjoyed our stay in India. My scalp still was stinging from the antiseptic. The family barber, Noggen, had rubbed a slippery white rock, which was dripping with an astringent, over my recently shaved head. It smelled like Baba’s aftershave, but it stung like the orange mercurochrome Ma would slather on my scraped knees and elbows whenever I got hurt. As I looked in the mirror, I confirmed that my head was not bleeding as I had thought. My cousins, Picklu (age nine) and Ghotu (age eight), kept looking at my head in amazement. I was the center of attention, and was wearing an orange robe and holding a sack that carried grains of rice. As part of tradition and emphasis on humility, I had to beg for food from my relatives and other guests in the house. Many visitors blessed me and even rubbed my bald head for good luck. They saw a boy who was being initiated formally to priesthood. Today was the day of my poitay ceremony, when I would earn the sacred thread of the same name routinely worn by Brahmins. Just before dawn, Ma awakened me and advised that I bathe thoroughly before I meet with my guru. I had a long day ahead of me, and I was thankful to have slept soundly the 9
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