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Published: February 2nd 2009
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Inside the shop
wedding paper cut on the door On the eve of the New Chinese Year, 2009, year of the Ox, I tentatively approached a man in the old Pingjiang district of Suzhou with a hanzi hand-written request that I had asked my friend to write for me. Every morning for the previous 2 months, I had walked my dog past the little barber’s shop deep in the back lanes of Pingjiang and I’d noticed more and more of the life within the tiny shop. The man inside had become accustomed to me walking by and, after a while, on seeing me pass, every time raised his hand in a welcoming way.
I saw him either through the window or through the door as I lingered for more than a normal non-breaking-stride moment. Each day his trust grew more although nothing was ever spoken and he never left his shop to come into the lane to see me. Every day I have walked the mile or so from my home and aimed through the narrow lanes, past many old wells with women washing clothes and food and walked towards the barber’s shop to try to begin to piece together more tiny snap shot details from behind his door.
There was always business happening inside, even as early as 8am and there were always comings and goings. Every day, my mind tried to piece together what my eyes briefly saw - a photograph, another door leading to the back room, Buddhist images on the walls and calligraphy, tins, plants, cloths, a group of hard chairs around the edge of the room and holding the scene together in the middle - the barber’s chair with arms cellotaped around and around with a sinking seat indented heavily with memories and stories.
On his red door, a red paper cut, a Buddhist mantra and a paper notice - all carefully chosen, all meaningful. I began to recognise that this man’s mother lived next door. I had seen her sitting by her table in the early mornings, facing into the street with the lamp lighting the left hand side of her face, the rest in darkness - even in full daylight hours. Sometimes it took me 20 minutes to walk by his shop, some mornings it took a lot longer but every day my goal was to walk by.
The man’s life looked rich, full, content and real. The note that
I handed to him on the eve of this Chinese New Year was simple- it asked if I could write his story, if I could bring a friend to interpret for me, if I could try to write something down. He read the hand written note, smiled, nodded and said ke yi - yes, I may.
And, so, this is a snap shot.
In 1945, Cai Gen Lin was born in this house next door to the barber shop in Suzhou, the second child of 9 - he is now 63 years old. For almost 50 years he has been a barber. He works from his home in Pingjiang but this place has not always been this way and he didn’t always do this.
When Cai Gen Lin and his wife moved into the house, it was an old wood store for a big house. At the age of 12, In 1957, China’s 1st principal was to think of self but it changed to become Mao’s dream of ‘Our country first’ and self did not register again for over 20 years. His father worked in the bath house and was also a barber. The family were
very poor and Cai Gen Lin left school to begin working at 12 years old. He worked with metal but after 2 years (and he significantly remembered the date to be) 25th October 1961, he went to work as an apprentice barber in Guan Jian Road. He spent most of his three years apprenticeship learning how to shave people properly. In his first year he earned 12yuan (£1.20), then in his second year he earned 14yuan (£1.40) and in his third year he earned 16yuan (£1.60). His wife’s uncle was his teacher, which is how he met his wife. She was the second eldest child of seven. She is 4 years younger than her husband, they met when Cai Gen Lin was 25 years old and they married four years later. There are no photographs to show this event happening. They have one son who married last year. The red paper cut on the door of the barber’s shop was handmade by an 82 year old neighbour to celebrate the wedding last year. It has been taped to the shop door ever since.
Cai Gen Lin worked in Guan Jian Road for just over forty years until the road
became what it is today - a pedestrianised tourist area with many new modern shops bearing no resemblance to being in China whatsoever. When the city began to be modernised and the old tailors and tea houses were moved out for the newer look that Chinese people prefer today, Cai Gen Lin had nowhere to work so he turned to his own home and decided to work for himself in the room at the front of his house. This is where he has built his business surrounded by his own unique style, every morning, 7 days a week, for the last eight years, cutting the hair and shaving the faces of the old local people who cannot walk far. These are his clients - his oldest being ninety two years old. And, if they become sick or too ill to get to his little shop, he will go to their house and do the work there. No one ever books - they just drop by.
Ten years ago, Cai Gen Lin became a Buddhist. This I knew already before I entered his shop - from the mantra, the chanting sounds coming from his TV in a back room, the
beautiful drawings on his walls, the way he stood, the way he held his hands together in greeting me, the way he looked directly at me and the complete air of calm rhythmical harmony flowing out of his door and briefly into the lane outside and drawing me in. He told me that he is not as good as his wife. She has been a Buddhist for twelve years and since they both have had this faith they have never quarrelled once. Before, he was a fighter. In the temple, they gave him a mirror and a towel and asked him to look at himself to find his weaknesses and shortcomings. The most difficult act for him to achieve is endurance. Being kind and amiable is easy and he told me that harmony comes from depending on your heart. Nothing makes him sad because his faith tells him to not be sad or happy because it will pass and there is no Self and those feelings are for self. I admire him greatly.
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violet chai
hidden stories
When I look at these pictures, I have a strange feeling that behind everything, there is an untold story.