Two More Barber Tales

While scanning my ‘Tale of the Poppy Boy’, I thought about two more hair-cutting incidents in which my friends had a lot to laugh at me. Though, there are two incidents, I will make them short as I have decided to write my posts in brief so that my blogger friends won’t get bored.

In the first incident, I caught an auto (at that time I din’t have my sincere bike) and asked the driver to take me to a barber. This man took me to a suburb of the city and finally dropped me in front of a very old salon in a bleak state. The barber there was a very old one who even didn’t have his teeth. He wondered seeing a young boy, who likely to go only at city salons instead of old fashioned barbers like him. Anyway, he said me to step in and asked my choice. I asked him to make my hair short but he was not satisfied. He asked me whether I would like to have ‘step cut’ or some other modern styles. I said him to just shorten it. But not convinced enough, he said,

"no…boy I will make your hair in the most stylish fashion so that your friends would ask about it”. He started his work and I noticed him doing his best to make my hair stylish.

In the end, when he finished his work, I saw my hair in the most pathetic condition – somewhere more, somewhere less and somewhere in a zig-zag manner. He again repeated,

"boy, your friends will appreciate you and will ask you to know from where you made it".

After reaching my hostel, I knocked at my friend’s door. He opened the door in the middle of his cat nap and started laughing at the moment he saw my hair. The barber was true! My friends repeatedly were asking me, ‘from where you made your hair so ‘stylish’?’

Later, I found a barber where I go usually to cut my hair. I used to give him suggestions and he was smart to make my hair in a preferable style by following my suggestions. But, he used to ask me,

"why you are giving me suggestions? I know your choice, just sit there, let me continue my work".

So, one day, I stopped arguing and after his work, I heard him saying with a relief,

"oh...after so many months, today I cut one’s hair satisfactorily".

I smelt a danger, and I glanced at my head to see only my hair in the most pitiable way. He was not looking at my face. After his job, I noticed him charging only lesser than his usual amount from me on that day.

Making of Ee Manohara Theeram

The past is a tale. One can write about his past life experiences in the format of a well-packed suspense and terror-filled story so that no reader would even imagine that the narrated incidents were once happened in the writer’s life. But it is different, when we write about our present ongoing incidents. Instead of the nature of a story, writing about the present incidents usually assumes the nature of documentation.

I don’t know how many of you have seen my amateur attempt of making a short video on Shankhumugham beach in Kerala. I have posted the entire script of that video titled ‘Ee Manohara Theeram’ (This beautiful shore), which happened during my journalism student days in this blog itself. One can see them by visiting the first post of this blog or simply clicking here. You necessarily have to read the post, because watching the video will not give you the required effect as it is in Malayalam. Now, you might ask me, what the relevance of this post is. There is a small reason; the video has won a consolation prize in the recent video festival organized by Kerala Tourism and YouTube, which invited amateur entries from across the world and the first prize has been won by a candidate from Lisbon.

I had written the script of the documentary in a few hours’ attempt and though I was a frequent visitor of the beach in the evenings, I visited it again to inquire about the place’s history and peculiarities. I visited the public library in Thiruvananthapuram and collected a little historical information. After writing the script, I rehearsed my self in front of my friend and the mirror so that my effort of presentation would be easy.

On the day, I made myself a little bit more ‘handsome’ and on a car allotted from my institute I visited the Shankhumugham beach with the cameraman, camera and tripod. We started shooting in the morning and it was easy for me to face the camera as the place remains usually unpacked during the day time. The support from the car driver was memorable, who helped me carrying the tripod even though it was not part of his assigned jobs.

After collecting some different visuals of the beach, I decided to shoot the parts in which I appear for giving details of the beach. We successfully shot the portion where I make the entry into the frame from the right hand side on the backdrop of the sea at a distance. Then we moved to the ritualistic platform for the temple proceedings, where also I had to face the camera. Then there was the Shankhumugham Sagara kanyaka (virgin of the ocean), the sculpted figure of a nude mermaid. Actually the video starts from her face. Then we went to the sea pier, star fish restaurant and the fishing nets. We got some accidental shots of a flying bird, a plane and some Korean tourists, which were not in the script. We left the beach in the noon time planning to come back at the time of the sunset.

We came back in the evening and the beach was crowded fully with visitors. I had changed my dress for the sunset portion of the video. With my innate shyness, I successfully shot my final ‘face to the camera’ at the time of the sunset. We returned after shooting the sun setting to the sea being covered by dark clouds. My job behind the video is those of directing, script writing, dubbing, presenting, video graphing (a few shots), and even the job of camera assistant. Fortunately, it did not need a light boy; otherwise I had to do that job also.

At the editing table, the editor was very co-operative; he easily understood my demands and which resulted in better outputs. He added good background music. The video ends with my comments from the background of the visuals. I dubbed for it in the studio, and he chose one from many of my raw materials.

My friends and gurus appreciated me for the video and they also suggested some errors and betterments. The video was well received in the internet, with many good comments and many video sharing sites and private site owners featured it in their sites. When Kerala Tourism announced such a competition for the amateur video makers in association with YouTube, I hesitated to apply. But, only later when they extended the last date for a few more weeks I applied it with my usual last minute hurry.


NB: Though I did it as my course project, the examiners did not evaluate and thus I didn’t get a desirable result in exams.

Mysterious Affair at Thina Island

When sighted the rustic arch shaped bridge that connects the infamous Thina Island with the outer world, I stopped my bike for a few seconds hesitated. My comfortable travel ends here, I thought. Now I have to travel through the forest like terrains of the isolated Thina Island.

The Island was encircled with foul smelling dirty waters of the nearby backwater. The only connection between the Thina and outer world is the aforementioned bridge and it swayed in a dangerous way making some horrible echoing sounds as my bike climbed through the slippery surface of it.

A small cut road opened before me as I passed the bridge and with an agitated heart I turned the accelerator to ride my bike over the ups and downs of the broken path.

With my staring eyes I found myself inside a forest and the calmness of which was broken by the chirping of crickets in equal intervals. Three things my senses caught as queer were:

- A smell of blood mixed with the stinking odour of decayed dead body, which I took as coming from the centuries old huge dark trees

- The feeling of the presence of some unnatural things, though I had no clue on where this feeling was coming from

- The feeling that I had been keenly observed by some one, but I had no evidence to prove it

I drove further through the broken path of the isolated island searching for my hermit like friend. A writer himself, my friend had told me the way to reach his settling place and he had showed me a drawn map of the island. As he had told me, the Island is inhabited only by a strange race of fishermen, who have very different physical figures with dark complexion and powerful limbs and absolutely huge stature.

Following his hand drawn map, I reached a seemingly endless curve at the road. I saw something white moving at the end of the road in front. Within the next moment, it vanished. I stopped my bike. With some made up courage, I carefully drove my bike slowly and as I turned the curve of the road, I saw what scared me. It was a white goat with long beard. Surprised by the sound of the bike engine, it stopped grazing and stared at my eyes with no fear. With a relief I moved forward looking for my friend. ‘What thing on earth makes him to choose such a queer place for living?’ I asked myself.

Finally, a tiled old fashioned house was sighted at a distance. I was amazed seeing no other houses in the neighborhood. The house was in an absolute decayed condition. I stopped my bike in front of the small door of the surrounding outer wall of the house, which too was decayed and degenerated. As I stepped inside the compound of the house by pushing open the door of the outer wall, at the exact moment, my friend too appeared in front of the house by opening a cave like ancient door. He greeted me with glittering eyes and his usual cheerful manners.

We entered his room and I noticed him carefully locking the door. We talked about his new stories, and the films that he saw in recent times. Our conversation went on with no particular aim and I was not conscious about the passing time. When I felt that it was too late, I made up my mind to go. As a claustrophobic, I became suspicious about the locked door. I sensed something strange creeping inside the room and I frequently felt the presence of some unnatural things there.

“Am I being suffocated by something alien?” I asked in my mind.

I asked him, “You are staying here alone. Have you ever been encountered with the things that we call in stories with the name ghosts or superhuman?”

Hearing an unexpected question, he slowly raised his head and changing his look to the floor he said in a careless manner, “ha… something, sometimes, not frequently”.

“What?” I startled.

He cleared, “I usually feel something beats me while I am sleeping or writing my stories”.

I was mum and was staggering with no words. I noticed that he was not looking at me.

Suddenly, I heard some sharp thudding sound from the closed window at the left side of the room. I stared at the window and there was nothing. I looked at him and it was clear from his unchanged looks that he was unaware of such a sound. But, as far as I was concerned, not hearing such a sound inside that room was impossible.

While I was looking for a possible reason to prove this sound phenomenon, my friend raised his head and looking at me with twinkling eyes he said, “Have you seen an old mango tree there in front of the house? It was happened there!”

“What happened there?” I asked without a breath.

“The murder of that beautiful pregnant girl. It was nothing, happened a few years ago!” he said.

I startled. I saw a strange and queer smile at my friend’s face. With no further explanation I said, “I have to go, it is very late now”

“Want to go now? Spend a little bit more time,” he said.

“No! It is already late now,” I said trying to conceal my trembling sound.

“Okey!” he stood up and I hurried to open the bolts of the locked door with my shaky hands.

He helped me to open the door and after collecting my cap I stepped outside. When I turned back to say him goodbye expecting his usual twinkling eyes, I saw his eyes were covered then with a pair of glowing specks.

With no word, I ran through the open courtyard of the house. There was raining outside till a few minutes ago, I thought as I felt wetness on the ground. I jumped outside of the surrounding wall opening the locked small door. I was relieved seeing my sincere bike outside. I hurried to unlock the handle and my tension was not lessened till I started the engine by kicking the starter several times.

After driving a few meters away, I stopped my bike and looked back to see some eerie air escaping through the opened chimney of the house in the backdrop of an intense light.

NB: 1. The post is roughly based on a real life incident
2. I believe that the reported encounters with ghosts and inhuman things are manipulated by the human emotion called ‘fear’.
3. You can read the verse form of this same incident here in my Little Lyrics blog. I think the lyrics version is more interesting.

The Adventure of Alva and Jagan Jugg

It was the festival time. To contribute to the charm of the festive spirit, she decided to do something creative, and what looked the most appealing to her was the idea of staging a play. Next day, I found her with full enthusiasm saying me, “brother, so this is the matter. Last night I got the theme of a drama. If we stage it, people would definitely receive us with full applauds.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“This is the story of two friends. One is called Alva and the other one is his close mate Jagan Jugg. The story deals with some adventures that the twosome had involved,” she explained.

“Ok, liked the theme, but tell me this, who is Alva and who dons Jagan Jugg?” I inquired.

“Oh…what is in it...It is as simple as that. I will do the role of Alva and you will be Jagan Jugg,” she didn’t give me her face while allotting the roles.

I felt what she offered me was the smallest pie. So I said an excuse, “What people will think? You are a girl, and how can you do the role of a male character and that of Alva?”

“Just think this; people know that we are kids, so there is nothing if I do the role of a male character. No one is even going to identify the fact that I am a girl,” she was very practical.

I had no answer and she added, “but we have to start the rehearsal now itself;  the most important thing is that both the characters of Alva and Jagan Jugg are very much complicated and complex in nature. So to stage the characters, both of us have to involve fully in the rehearsal. In my opinion, from now onwards, both of us have to act, behave and speak to everyone as if we are in reality the respective characters of our play until we stage it in the next week.”

Now I had no option, and it was done. I called her Alva and she called me Jagan Jugg and we wore only the attires of the characters. In those costumes and specifically designed behavioral patterns, even ourselves could not have identified each other. It was a total transformation.

With full liveliness and zeal, Alva went on with the other matters required for the staging of the play like costumes, other artistes, time schedule, properties and PRO works. Being a person, who was worried with a good quantity of stage fright, Jagan Jugg was becoming more and more nervous as the days passed and the staging day getting closer. To escape from such a mentally disturbing situation, Jagan Jugg decided to run away from the location and to come back only after the scheduled date.

Though at first he didn’t notice the absence of Jagan Jugg, Alva soon identified that his close mate was missing. Holding all the preparations, Alva started an operation to trap his friend who went missing.

Alva went to so many places like, beaches, religious places, streets, parks, hotels, and any other spots where, Jagan Jugg could have hidden himself. At last, Alva reached a Gamblers’ Den where a group of people were smoking and playing cards. Standing at the doorstep, Alva loudly asked,

“Is there anyone called Jagan Jugg among you people?”

No one replied.

Alva put one more step ahead to found him inside the den. He again called out the same question,

“Is there anyone named Jagan Jugg in your group?”

This time, Alva noticed a stir in the gang. Somebody said loudly,

“Escape Jagan Jugg… run!”

A person from the group suddenly stood up and hurried towards the door in an attempt to escape. Alva thought once, ‘if some one responds to the name ‘Jagan Jugg’, he could only be the owner of the name’. Alva didn’t make any delay to catch the running man with both his hands. This time, Alva was sure about the capture of Jagan Jugg. Meanwhile, the trapped Jagan Jugg was thinking about the incredible incognitos that both of them had been practicing.

The whole incident was my sister’s dream. When I saw her in one of the fine mornings of our childhood days, she was struggling with her memory to recollect the names of each characters of her dream. Though she found the names successfully, she had failed to see whether they had staged the drama during that weekend to enrich the festival season.