Friday 22 December 2006

Religious offering: Faith, hope - and Western vanity

(Photo: Jerome Taylor)


The practice of Hindu pilgrims shaving their heads has created a £3.7m business for a southern Indian temple that sells tons of hair to Westerners. Jerome Taylor reports from Tirumala, Andhra Pradesh

Published: 16 December 2006, The Independent.

Dressed in her best yellow sari Mahibha Basu laughs nervously and threads her long, dark hair through her fingers as she sits on a stool awaiting her turn to see the barber. All around her, nimble-fingered professionals with razor-sharp blades are cutting hair with the kind of speed and precision that is only honed by years of practice. Ms Basu is not waiting for just another haircut. She is in one of Hinduism's holiest temples and is taking part in a pilgrimage of enormous religious significance.
Three minutes later she emerges into the crisp morning sunlight and makes her way to the main temple complex. With a bright red tikka mark adorning her forehead and coconut offerings in her hand, Ms Basu looks like any other Hindu pilgrim but with one startling difference. Her head has been completely shaved.
Her hair, meanwhile, has been carefully tied together and placed in a giant steel tub for storage. Within a matter of months Ms Basu's black tresses could be half a world away, adorning the head of any of the A-list celebrities in the West, from Paris Hilton to Victoria Beckham to Donatella Versace, who have embraced the fashion for hair extensions.
Ms Basu is just one of thousands of devotees who travel to Tirumala temple in the southern Indian state of Andhra Pradesh, one of Hinduism's most sacred religious sites and a place all Hindus are expected to visit at least once in their lifetime. Forty thousand pilgrims arrive every day to worship at the feet of Lord Venkateswara, a powerful avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu who, devotees believe, has the ability to grant the wish of any pilgrim who has made the journey to his temple. During major religious festivals the authorities prepare for up to 120,000 pilgrims to make the journey up the forest-clad mountain where the centuries-old Dravidian temple stands. So many people come to Tirumala, in fact, that many Indians claim the temple is the world's most popular pilgrimage site, even outstripping the Vatican and Mecca in the sheer numbers arriving on a daily basis.
Tirumala's draw is largely down to the awesome power of Lord Venkateswara. But what makes this particular temple stand out is the incredible number of people who have their heads shaved as part of the worshipping ritual in a tradition known as "tonsuring". Practised by Hindus for thousands of years, it symbolises the devotee's desire to overcome their ego, a fundamental teaching of the Hindu faith. But nowhere is tonsuring more enthusiastically practised than at Tirumala.
Ms Basu has travelled 1,500 miles from her native Bengal to ask the presiding deity to grant her most fervent wish. Four years ago she fell pregnant but miscarried shortly afterwards. "Now I am trying to get pregnant again," she says. "I have come here to ask the god to grant me and my husband a child."
In one of the many buildings surrounding the main complex, pilgrims queue in long snaking lines as they wait to see one of the temple's 600 barbers. Working in shifts around the clock and using nothing but a sharp razor, water and immense skill they can cut off a pilgrim's hair in a matter of minutes.
The effect is astonishing. All around the temple thousands of bald devotees stand in groups, their laughter echoing off the walls as they joke and point at each other's new, unfamiliar look. Bald-headed children run between the multitude of hat wallahs that line the surrounding streets selling a vast array of baseball caps to protect heads from the baking sun.
For the authorities who run Tirumala, the enormous volume of hair produced each day has spawned a lucrative business courtesy of the Western world's newly discovered desire for human hair extensions - a fashion that has become hugely popular over the past couple of years thanks to the endorsement of celebrities. The temple has been able to cash in on an incredible growth in demand. Thomas Gold, whose Italian-based company Great Lengths International buys hair only from Tirumala, says the price of hair from the temple is now 10 times what it was five years ago.
"It's really amazing how the price has just shot up every year," he says from his company headquarters in Rome. "The Indians started understanding that this was a booming business and that we would still purchase at whatever price."
The industry has also benefited from a shift in the public's perception of hair extensions. "Up until five or six years ago," says Mr Gold, "it was unthinkable for a woman to say 'Look I'm wearing hair extensions'. Now women will positively show them off to their friends. The taboo has been abolished."
The global hair industry is now worth an estimated £160m and is growing by 25 to 30 per cent each year. Indian hair is particularly sought after because it is cheaper than European varieties and will not have been chemically treated or dyed. Moreover Chinese hair, which globally still makes up the majority of hair exports, is considered too coarse to make good hair extensions.
Over the course of a year, the temple auctions 90 tons of hair, providing revenue of around £3.7m which is then ploughed back into charitable causes, including a number of specialist hospitals. "The money from hair is significant but it isn't our main source of income," says the temple's executive officer, APVN Sarma. "Our primary source is donations but the income from hair is still very important."
The temple has an annual budget of £90m, making it one of the richest religious institutions in India and also one of the country's largest charities. Part of the reason why Tirumala is so popular with devotees and donors is the temple's long tradition of welcoming all visitors regardless of caste and religion. It is one of the few major Hindu temples that allows non-Hindus to enter the inner sanctum that holds the deity.
"There is no shrine in India where so many subdivisions of Hinduism recognise this as a holy place," says Mr Sarma. "We even have a number of Muslim and Christian devotees. It has always been a temple where other religions are recognised." But for the temple authorities, hair wholesalers and the thousands of low-income Indians employed in the country's hair trade, the popularity of hair extensions could not have come at a more opportune time. Two years ago the Indian hair market was on the verge of collapse thanks to a surprise religious ruling from an orthodox rabbi.
Until then Tirumala's main clients were not the exclusive hair salons of Mayfair and Rodeo Drive but the Jewish wig makers of Brooklyn who provide many orthodox women with sheitels to cover their hair. The business, much of which is run from New York, is a lucrative one with some of the costlier wigs selling for anything up to $4,000.
Indian hair was popular with sheitel makers for the same reasons it is now popular for hair extensions; it was cheaper than European hair but equally thick and glossy. But after travelling to Tirumala in 2004 a London-based Rabbi, Dayan Aharon Dovid Dunner, issued a decree arguing that sheitels made from Indian hair were not kosher because the hair came from an idolatrous ritual. Although Judaism follows no central religious authority and even though a majority of rabbis disagreed with Rabbi Dunner's ruling, the orthodox community obeyed the decree almost unanimously. From Brooklyn to Tel Aviv giant bonfires were erected as women burnt their Indian sheitels. "It was chaos," says one manufacturer who asked not to be named. "Overnight sales of Indian hair dried up as everyone frantically bought up European wigs. No one uses Indian hair now."
Hair wholesalers in India saw their market disappear over-night. Yet salvation came in the most unlikely form: the hair extension-loving celebrity, and soon the industry was booming again.
As the hair extension industry grows so do the question marks over where and how the hair in our salons came to be there. Stories have emerged of impoverished European women desperately selling hair that took them years to grow. Even worse, human rights groups have made accusations that much of China's hair comes from labour camps. But for those clients worried about the moral repercussions of buying human hair for their extensions, Indian temple hair has the added bonus of being one of the most ethical sources not only because the money goes to charity but also because the hair is given up wholly voluntarily.
It is a fact that has not gone unnoticed by those wishing to market temple hair to its full capacity. "There is nothing to hide about this beautiful business. It's a win-win situation for everyone," says Mr Gold, who feels more clients are starting to insist on ethically-sourced hair.
It is a wonderful irony that hair discarded by pilgrims in order to prove they can overcome their ego is then shipped and sold to Westerners looking to improve their physical appearance and self-confidence. The bizarre role reversal the hair goes through is not lost on the temple authorities. "People in this part of the world tonsure their hair to lose their pride," says Ramapulla Reddy, one of the temple's senior administrators. "On the other side of the world they do the opposite."
Even though the vast majority of devotees at Tirumala have little idea what lies in store for their hair, they seem unconcerned by the idea. "I don't care where the hair goes afterwards," laughs D Vasudevarao, a pilgrim who has been coming to Tirumala for 20 years. "What is most important to me is that I have left my ego outside the temple. What happens to the hair afterwards is immaterial."
For Ms Basu the idea that her hair might one day adorn someone else's head is a delightful surprise. "I think it's wonderful that my hair might be used in the West to make someone happy," she says. "Why not? I have no need for it."
ends.

http://news.independent.co.uk/world/asia/article2079344.ece

Friday 1 December 2006

Poles apart: how gay people suffer under the new regime

(Photo: Kampania)

By Jerome Taylor in Warsaw

Published: 01 December 2006, The Independent

Twenty-five years ago, two identical twins, once childhood stars in Poland during the Sixties, were on the run from the Communist regime's secret police. Today, they are the President and Prime Minister of their country, and fiercely proud of Poland's feisty role in Europe and its close friendship with the United States.
One of the brothers, President Lech Kaczynski, flew to Britain this month to meet the Queen and Tony Blair, part of an official visit during which the two countries celebrated their close alliance, built on a mild mutual Euroscepticism and a firm belief in pursuing the "war on terror". Lech's brother, Jaroslaw, remained in Warsaw running the country as Prime Minister.
But the journey they have made from being on the run to running the country has come at an unacceptably high price for many Poles. The country's gay community today feels the cold blast of exclusion, just as the twins did 25 years ago.
Homosexuals in Poland are under siege, as right-wing youth groups carrying banners proclaiming "zakaz pedalowania" ("ban paedophilia") hurl stones at gay pride marches, and mainstream politicians mutter dark threats of sacking homosexual teachers to "protect the nation's children".
For young gay Poles like Dominik Piotrovski, a student from Warsaw, homophobic attacks are on the rise, especially against those gay men and women brave enough to be publicly open about their sexuality.
"In the last few months, homosexuals have become public enemy number one. We are now part of a very targeted group," he says. Two weeks ago, Dominik and his boyfriend were attacked by a group of skinheads shouting homophobic chants. "I felt like an animal. When you feel like you're being hunted it's a horribly scary experience."
His friend, Lech Vliasz, says that the pressure to hide his sexual orientation in public is exhausting. "We're tired of having to pretend we're not gay," he says.
To be openly gay, even in Warsaw, Poland's cosmopolitan capital, has become increasingly fraught with danger.
Hidden deep within the warren of narrow, labyrinthine back streets that make up Warsaw's picture-perfect old town lies Tomba Tomba, a dark and cavernous nightclub packed with young Polish men and women enjoying a night out.
But Tomba Tomba is more than a nightclub - it is a sanctuary, one of Warsaw's few gay clubs. Silhouetted against a backdrop of homoerotic murals stand young couples kissing, savouring moments of public intimacy and the brief respite they bring from the increasingly homophobic atmosphere in their country. But whether this sanctuary will remain open is unknown. Tomba's sister club was shut down by police earlier this year. It is a sad legacy for a country that legalised homosexuality as early as 1932, years before many of its western European counterparts, and many point the finger of blame squarely at the Kaczynski twins.
Opponents accuse the brothers of legitimising homophobia through statements critical of gays, and also by allying their party, Law and Justice, with politicians from the ultra-nationalist and openly homophobic League of Polish Families.
Although the pair have somewhat toned down their anti-gay rhetoric since sweeping to power in elections last year, the two brothers, known in Poland as "the terrible twins", have a long history of expressing open hostility towards homosexuality.
As mayor of Warsaw, Lech Kaczynski twice banned gay pride marches, telling protesters: "I respect your right to demonstrate as citizens, but not as homosexuals."
During campaigning for the general elections, Jaroslaw described homosexuality as an "abomination" and has publicly said he would rather gay men and women did not teach. Such sentiments are popular with the devoutly Catholic and traditional rural classes that make up then twins' political power base. According to recent polls, 89 per cent of the Polish population think homosexuality is abnormal.
Gay rights groups, NGOs and many in the teaching profession say they are now suffering from a major homophobic backlash. In June, Poland's state prosecutor was ordered to investigate all gay groups for illegal financing, criminal connections and links to paedophilia.
Equating homosexuality with child abuse is now common in Poland. Some politicians speaking in parliament and the media have begun using the word pederasta to describe homosexuals. But Malgorzata Sadurska, a member of Law and Justice, rejects accusations that the government is homophobic.
"I cannot pretend our party is not in favour of a union based on a man and a woman," she says in the restaurant of the Polish parliament. "But our image has been publicised through the prism of President Kaczynski's decision to refuse a gay parade when he was Mayor of Warsaw. We are in favour of the classical family model. Poland is a tolerant country." But activists accuse the Polish government of legitimising homophobia by inviting the League of Polish Families into their coalition, and in particular by awarding the party's leader, Roman Giertych, the position of Education Minister.
Mr Giertych's party has a long history of virulent, verging on violent, opposition to gay rights. During Poland's pride season earlier this summer, the league's deputy said gay rights activists should be "bludgeoned" if they held any marches. The parades did go ahead, but in April, right-wing protesters, many from the party's youth wing, hurled stones and eggs at pride marchers in Krakow. In response to the pride marches in Warsaw, Roman Giertych led his own self-styled "normality march".
Pawel Leszkowicz, who writes on gay issues in Poland and recently held a controversial exhibition of gay art in Gdansk, the home town of anti-government dissent, says the decision to award Mr Giertych the education ministry encourages ordinary Poles to believe that homophobia is acceptable.
"Poland's far right is now entering into mainstream politics," he says. "The worst thing about Poland is that politicians in government officially voice homophobia or prejudice towards homosexuals, whereas in western Europe most right-wing parties have long abandoned that approach." Any attempt by teachers to promote sexual equality in schools has been ruthlessly dealt with. When the deputy Education Minister was asked by a Polish newspaper to comment, he calmly replied: "Oh, the world used to manage without tolerance and it will keep going without it."
The gay rights debate in Poland has become a crucial, highly contested part of the wider social and political struggle being played out in the country between the traditionalist, Catholic elements and the more secular, liberal sections of society.
The former are in the majority. It is not uncommon to hear broadcasts, particularly on the highly popular Catholic radio station Radio Marya, voicing the view that homosexuality is a sickness which can and should be cured.
The twins' unwillingness to publicly encourage sexual tolerance has serious repercussions for those trying to eradicate homophobia in Poland.
Marta, a 28-year-old psychologist with Kampania, an NGO working against homophobia, finds her work frustrating.
"They just don't want to do anything," she says. "The situation is so much worse now. I get letters every week from teenagers saying they want to kill themselves because they don't want to be gay anymore."
But for young people like Dominik and Lech, the rise in homophobia has turned them into activists and forced them to battle prejudice. "Now I actually treat my everyday life as a form of activism," says Dominik.
"Sometimes I feel I wouldn't be so passionate about activism if there wasn't such a good reason to be so." Lech agrees. "It's like Gandhi said: 'First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.' So in that case we're very close to winning."


ends.