Head Shakes of a “Hair dresser”
For a change one of the short stories I have penned .. needless to print copyrighted
© 2009 Manoj Chennamangalam
Head Shakes of a “Hair dresser”
Erstwhile owner of “Ambili Hair Dressing Saloon” and once the most famed barber in Mattom ( area in square miles : nearly “four” including vast stretches of paddy and numerous basketball court sized ponds). Vasu, now lived in a thatched one room hut on the shores of the meandering Achankovil river that flows through the northern border of Mattom. The hut once the resting room / changing room for the womenfolk who worked in the adjacent lush green paddy fields was abandoned once paddy cultivation got out of fashion and unprofitable. Growing big then growing small then up and then down again , Vasu had seen most of it. The meaning in the meaninglessness of it all.Vasu was born Vasudevan in a poor ambattan family (traditional hairdressers) sixty years ( some long, some not so) ago , called Vasu by his friends and famly for the first 15-20 years and then Vasu Ambattan for the next ten and then Vasu Modalali (literal translation of which would be Vasu “the Capitalist”) upon success of “Ambili” for the next fifteen and then back to Vasu upon the failure of his small edifice of capitalism in a small pocket of a big world.
Paddy workers borne children who grew up to be electricians,plumbers,mechanics and nurses to repair, service and mend automobiles, machines and humans in lands far from Mattom. They earned in foreign money which when brought home became ten or fifteen times more valuable magically.The magic led to huge houses being built,paddy fields being laid barren (and later turned into landfills) , imported cars being driven around in the still narrow Mattom roads and bakeries being setup to feed obese kids with their daily supply of junk food.Vasu thought it was funny that dark and thin but muscular parents who toiled hard to produce food directly from the ground had kids who struggled hard to get away from the smell of earth and obese grand kids who had no clue as to where food came from ultimately.
Vasu did not recollect how ait all came about, was it his wife Ambili who left him first or was it Ambily the saloon ?. His thoughts and memories that made him happy on the onset and then took him to the depths of despair were now hidden in the cob webbed corners of his mind. There was a time not long after returning to the second “Vasu” phase when alcohol used to visit Vasu’s mind everyday as a maid who would clean the cobwebs and open the box to let the owner enjoy the contents.The maid then started staying for longer and longer durations, cleaning and breaking mud pots full of thoughts and then finally left Vasu for good when there was no money left..
Vasu walked silently on the narrow edge of the narrow road that led from his hut to the Mattom temple wearing a clean but dirty looking mundu which was white once upon a time. Vasu had washed his mundu as he bathed early morning as he did everyday in the river, but there only so much whiteness that a old rag can produce. His mundu fluttered about him, sometimes hugging him and sometimes trying to fly away from him in the mid morning breeze as we walked past the last of the once-upon-a-time paddy fields. His naked torso was darkened by all the sunlight that he had collected and reflected over the period of his existence. Under his armpit he held his tool kit, the one he had inherited from his father Narayanan Ambattan. The tool kit contained his Made in England stainless steel scissors (gifted by Munro Saipu to his father when the British left) that still had not lost much of its gleam or its sharpness thanks to the occasional grinding that Vasu performed on the grinding stone which was another of his valued tools. Besides, the tool kit also contained couple of plastic combs, couple of old used shaving blades, couple of old unused shaving blades, a rectangular mirror with mercury peeled off at the edges, a shaving brush, and a lather soap and its pad. This was the very same tool kit that Vasu Ambatttan had started his career with when his father Narayanan(Nanu) could no longer walk to his client’s homes to perform his operations. The tool kit was given a much needed rest at a corner of Ambili Salon , when Vasu moved into the Modalali phase of his career, and there it remained unmoved except for the slight movements imparted by a passing broom,until the end of the “Vasu The Capitalist “phase.
Vasu ambled along with an intention to check if any of the oldies who too an occasional haircut from him had made it to the temple, most didn’t have much hair on their head or much money to spare for their old acquaintance. His potential customer base was dwindling by the day due to deaths, sickness and old age homes taking up his clientele. His head shook from side to side as ever as he walked, with the speed of the vibrations reflecting his sight change of speed in walking or changes in directions. Nobody in Mattom even the oldies could say for sure when the head shaking started, some thought it all started after the end of the Ambily Salon/Wife phase, some thought it has started even before. There could have been a physical reason for the shaking head but Vasu’s deep, melancholy but occasionally gleaming eyes gave the whole head shake a meaning. It was a head shake of gentle disagreement, of mild despair and deep wisdom of the meaning of the meaninglessness of it all.
© 2009 Manoj Chennamangalam
© 2009 Manoj Chennamangalam
Head Shakes of a “Hair dresser”
Erstwhile owner of “Ambili Hair Dressing Saloon” and once the most famed barber in Mattom ( area in square miles : nearly “four” including vast stretches of paddy and numerous basketball court sized ponds). Vasu, now lived in a thatched one room hut on the shores of the meandering Achankovil river that flows through the northern border of Mattom. The hut once the resting room / changing room for the womenfolk who worked in the adjacent lush green paddy fields was abandoned once paddy cultivation got out of fashion and unprofitable. Growing big then growing small then up and then down again , Vasu had seen most of it. The meaning in the meaninglessness of it all.Vasu was born Vasudevan in a poor ambattan family (traditional hairdressers) sixty years ( some long, some not so) ago , called Vasu by his friends and famly for the first 15-20 years and then Vasu Ambattan for the next ten and then Vasu Modalali (literal translation of which would be Vasu “the Capitalist”) upon success of “Ambili” for the next fifteen and then back to Vasu upon the failure of his small edifice of capitalism in a small pocket of a big world.
Paddy workers borne children who grew up to be electricians,plumbers,mechanics and nurses to repair, service and mend automobiles, machines and humans in lands far from Mattom. They earned in foreign money which when brought home became ten or fifteen times more valuable magically.The magic led to huge houses being built,paddy fields being laid barren (and later turned into landfills) , imported cars being driven around in the still narrow Mattom roads and bakeries being setup to feed obese kids with their daily supply of junk food.Vasu thought it was funny that dark and thin but muscular parents who toiled hard to produce food directly from the ground had kids who struggled hard to get away from the smell of earth and obese grand kids who had no clue as to where food came from ultimately.
Vasu did not recollect how ait all came about, was it his wife Ambili who left him first or was it Ambily the saloon ?. His thoughts and memories that made him happy on the onset and then took him to the depths of despair were now hidden in the cob webbed corners of his mind. There was a time not long after returning to the second “Vasu” phase when alcohol used to visit Vasu’s mind everyday as a maid who would clean the cobwebs and open the box to let the owner enjoy the contents.The maid then started staying for longer and longer durations, cleaning and breaking mud pots full of thoughts and then finally left Vasu for good when there was no money left..
Vasu walked silently on the narrow edge of the narrow road that led from his hut to the Mattom temple wearing a clean but dirty looking mundu which was white once upon a time. Vasu had washed his mundu as he bathed early morning as he did everyday in the river, but there only so much whiteness that a old rag can produce. His mundu fluttered about him, sometimes hugging him and sometimes trying to fly away from him in the mid morning breeze as we walked past the last of the once-upon-a-time paddy fields. His naked torso was darkened by all the sunlight that he had collected and reflected over the period of his existence. Under his armpit he held his tool kit, the one he had inherited from his father Narayanan Ambattan. The tool kit contained his Made in England stainless steel scissors (gifted by Munro Saipu to his father when the British left) that still had not lost much of its gleam or its sharpness thanks to the occasional grinding that Vasu performed on the grinding stone which was another of his valued tools. Besides, the tool kit also contained couple of plastic combs, couple of old used shaving blades, couple of old unused shaving blades, a rectangular mirror with mercury peeled off at the edges, a shaving brush, and a lather soap and its pad. This was the very same tool kit that Vasu Ambatttan had started his career with when his father Narayanan(Nanu) could no longer walk to his client’s homes to perform his operations. The tool kit was given a much needed rest at a corner of Ambili Salon , when Vasu moved into the Modalali phase of his career, and there it remained unmoved except for the slight movements imparted by a passing broom,until the end of the “Vasu The Capitalist “phase.
Vasu ambled along with an intention to check if any of the oldies who too an occasional haircut from him had made it to the temple, most didn’t have much hair on their head or much money to spare for their old acquaintance. His potential customer base was dwindling by the day due to deaths, sickness and old age homes taking up his clientele. His head shook from side to side as ever as he walked, with the speed of the vibrations reflecting his sight change of speed in walking or changes in directions. Nobody in Mattom even the oldies could say for sure when the head shaking started, some thought it all started after the end of the Ambily Salon/Wife phase, some thought it has started even before. There could have been a physical reason for the shaking head but Vasu’s deep, melancholy but occasionally gleaming eyes gave the whole head shake a meaning. It was a head shake of gentle disagreement, of mild despair and deep wisdom of the meaning of the meaninglessness of it all.
© 2009 Manoj Chennamangalam
Nice narrative. Although not quite sure what to make of it. Change is good? bad? meaningless? Enjoyed the nadan references.
ReplyDeleteThanks !! Question is an indeterminate one , to paraphrase your quote "Not even supposed to ask where an electron is" - jist of which applies to change as well in my opinion.
ReplyDeleteObjectivity , Objectivity , Where art thou ?? :-)