Chapter 8 – My Life… (Haircutting - brother vs brother)
Annamalai and his younger brother Chinnappan were the answer
to Ramanathapuram villagers when they needed a haircut. Annamalai ran the barber shop full time under a thatched
shed. There were no high chairs; instead there was just a wooden plank on the
floor where the customer should sit for the haircut.
Pre-dawn
visitors to the shop had often to risk their heads to his artwork under a dim
lantern light. Side-burns of differing lengths and patches here and there were
the highlights of those guess work sessions. When it rained, one could enjoy a
shower at no extra cost under the thatched roof. Occasionally a snake or
scorpion blessed the premises as a bonus to cause commotion and suspend the
session temporarily. But Annamalai made light of such moments: “Mind you, we
are occupying their space, so we shouldn’t grumble.”
The duo catered more to elders who constituted a majority.
So they specialized in Kudumi of varying kinds, and shaving. They served the
younger generation too, but not to its much sought-after MGR cut, Sivaji cut,
or Premi Nazir style. For them the instructions had to be specific: Crop, Motta
Crop, or Mottai – nothing more, nothing less.
Saloons were aplenty in Sultanpet, a mile away. In fact
there were twelve of them, six on each side in a row, all fitted with swivel
chairs, king-size mirrors with no wavy faces, radio, fan and tubelights, and
magazines to read. But one had to pay through the nose. The duo charged four
annas, whereas in Sultanpet it was ten-annas. The type of economy at work among villagers was such that
even the rare households that subscribed to The Indian Express, Hindu, or the
Matrubhumi newspaper had to content reading them in instalments as neighbours
thronged to get a page or two immediately on arrival. Against this backdrop, to
get one’s parents to agree to shell out more than double for a haircut was next
to impossible.
The solitary exception was Hari, the only son of the uncle
who returned from Burma with all his savings. Thus, when Hari arrived for a
bath to the pond after a haircut, everyone flocked around and subjected him to
an intense assessment and evaluation as he unfolded his experience. “You look
up at the ceiling and the hairdresser would immediately switch on the fan; pass
a side glance at the radio mounted on the wall, he would turn it on,” he
continued. “When I turn back, he
would hand me a magazine.” And to cap it all, he added, “after hair-dressing he
would hold a large mirror at my back for any last-minute suggestion.” Annamalai
persisted with the hand-held smoke-filled mirror that was part of the dowry for
his marriage.
Chinnappan gave a helping hand to his elder brother till
about 10 in the morning. He would then set out on his single-ox-driven bullock
cart to meet the transport needs of villagers. His superannuated ox maintained
a record of never having overtaken even a pedestrian, let alone a vehicle. The
young ones in the village had several times tried unsuccessfully to paste a
label on his vehicle: Slow and Steady Wins the Race. But then the villagers
were in no hurry either. If and when they did, they gave sufficient allowance
if his vehicle was to be the mode of transport.
Over the years friction began to surface between the
brothers thanks to their wives. Partition seemed the sole solution. As was
expected, both requested Thatha to mediate and settle things once and for all,
everything legally documented. With the two brothers putting forward their plea
at the top of the voice and Thatha lending his ear, and guiding them with
conciliation, persuasion, reasoning and logic for a rapprochement, it all
seemed like watching a court in session right in our backyard.
The week-long proceedings were marked by arguments and
matching counter arguments. In the end Thatha settled everything to the satisfaction
of both. To express his gratitude Chinnappan rushed home and plucked two ready
to eat jackfruits from the backyard that had since become his in the partition.
Annamalai, not to be outdone, followed suit with a basketful of juicy mangoes.
Thatha politely declined the offers. “Both of you are like part of the village,
and I won’t accept anything in return.” Unable to bear the sudden deflated face
of her grandchildren at Thatha’s stand, Patty rose to the occasion and
interjected. “Yes, at the same time it doesn’t augur well to shatter the
sentiments of the two brothers just when they are on top of the world having
concluded everything satisfactorily,” and gestured to them where to keep those.
In the partition the major chunk went to Annamalai. Chinnappan
was no less happy at the share allotted to him. In addition, he got the entire
poultry that the two had reared jointly – about ten or twelve in number - a
recurring income. Annamalai gave him the pigeons that they had groomed. Last
but not the least, their dog, Tiger, which tailed Chinnappan wherever he went,
arbitrarily chose to be with him.
It was agreed that the well would be common to both with
each accessing it from his side of the house. Like the decision to postpone the
Kashmir issue to a later date proved a pain in the neck for Indo-Pak relations,
this decision too boomeranged. One heard outbursts on occasions when both the ladies
were face-to-face drawing water at the same time. The silver lining was that
children of the two families remained chummy and wellknit as though nothing had
happened ever. Thus, in the long-term perspective the decision didn’t go off
the mark.
To be Continued…
26 May 2012
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