The mysterious head driver

Mina Surjit Singh

THE host of associations that spawn in my head with the notion of ‘headship’, have often been intriguing if not mind boggling and as confusing as the subtle nuances of the English language. Although one attempts to understand it broadly as the conception of a hierarchal order or graded system of governance which enjoins upon every individual the dual responsibility of obeying a superior and controlling a junior, it is even more baffling to determine who is a natural superior and vice versa.

I have therefore often wondered what ‘Head of Department’ actually stands for. Does it mean the brains of an entire department rolled into one, the practice of rotational headship notwithstanding? Is it the head that lies uneasy? Or does it have nothing to do with matter? But never mind! Mindless or matter-less it is the ‘Head’ nevertheless that matters. However, to the layman untutored in the finer distinctions of political discourse, it simply means a ‘position of authority and power’ thus, mai-baap! Ironically, in my already befuddled mind this raises the further problem of swell-heads. 

But then, substituting the designation of ‘Head’ with ‘Chairperson’ doesn’t help much either. It remains at bottom a kissa kursi ka, doesn’t it? This ‘Game of Thrones’ promptly evokes images of demagogues in royal durbars replete with court intrigues, pretence, sycophancy, loyalties, betrayals, escapades, alliances, misalliances et al. Such is the mind, or is it ‘Head’ now, or are they synonymous? However, what I do understand is that unforgettable Miltonic profundity: The mind is its own place, and in it self/Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n  

The other day, during a discussion with a friend over the alluring nature of ‘Headship’, an incident that happened in the 60s flashed across my mindscape. My husband, who was then in the IB, had recently been posted to Tezpur, where we first encountered the strangest of twig-like insects and snails as large as tortoises alongside loads of oranges and pineapples in our backyard. We got accustomed to the new sunrise and sunset timings and the new culture around us. The Assamese too were unfamiliar with the ways of the Sikh community given its miniscule presence. A number of Sikhs were either planters or transporters while others were small traders or motor mechanics and drivers. 

Often during our walks to the market we would come across trucks with Sikh drivers and the lighted picture of Guru Nanak Dev displayed on dashboards or above the windscreen. A group of men caught in an argument approached my husband and asked him to unravel the mystery. “He is our first Guru,” he said.

“Is that why the picture adorns every truck?” “Yes, because they worship Him,” said my husband. 

“Oh! Now I understand,” said the man gleefully, “he is their head driver!”

In one pithy statement he conveyed the essence of worldly wisdom and faith in the fountainhead.