Ego gundulu

Shailaja sits on the small rickety wooden stool, under a shady tree on the street leading to the temple. People pass by, unconcerned, uncaring, and uninterested. She feels a movement behind her as a large white cloth floats down on her. It is pulled back around her neck and tucked in firmly. She feels the fingernails of the barberette scrape her skin as the cloth is secured. A few yellowing leaves float down from the tree, landing on her, and falling at her feet. She turns around to look at her co-sister Vanaja, who is simply watching proceedings with a smile that is more like a smirk. She sighed internally. She feels humbled and humiliated. She had arrived at the barber shop barely ten minutes ago. She was supposed to offer her hair as a family tradition and a mark of respect to the goddess. There were half a dozen women in the shop, patiently awaiting their turn with a single barber. There was also a low stool kept outside the shop, attended by a young barberette. A table beside it had a small tray with cutting tools. Several cut braids, ponytails and a couple of hair buns were stacked beside the tray. A basket underneath it that was filled with hair. In her usual brusque manner she approached the barber. “Can you take us next? There’s only two of us.” “Sorry, ma’am. It is not acceptable for us to interrupt a family group offering their hair. You can wait your turn. If not, my daughter has a stool outside. She can take care of your offering.” “I am not letting a girl touch my hair. My hair is easily among the longest ever offered.” “The length of your hair does not matter. That ‘girl’ happens to be twenty, and she has shaved more women than you might think.” The barber continues to shave the woman sitting in his chair. He is on the back of her head now. He holds her head down firmly as he runs the razor down to her neck. She looks at the second empty chair in the shop. “What about that chair? Where is the other barber? Why can’t the women go to that girl?” “That does not concern you. You have two choices. Wait for me to finish this family, or go outside and sit before my daughter.” He brushes off the woman’s neck and removes the cape covering her. She gets down from the chair. “I am not a village bumpkin. I shouldn’t have to wait for them to finish. I shouldn’t have to sit on the footpath to be shaved under a tree.” “Excuse me, it’s not polite to say that about people you don’t know. You are here to offer your hair, so you are bound by the rules of the temple and the shop. Lose your ego and wait your turn. Or if you are in such a hurry, you can go to the woman barber. As you can see, she is free. She is more than capable of handling your hair.” A woman with a thick shoulder length bob interjects as she gets into the vacated chair. Making eye contact with Shailaja, she obediently bends her head, while the barber capes her for the shave. The sprayer’s hissing sound fills the air as the barber begins to wet her hair down. She looks around at the other women. Looks ranging from condescension to pity. “Like I said ma’am, Priya is free. The choice is yours.” She turns around and walks out of the shop. It’s the last day of the festival. She has been putting this off long enough. Swallowing her pride, she goes outside. She takes off her slippers as a mark of respect, then goes to the stool and sits down, pulling the pallu of her saree around her waist. “Yes, Ma’am?” “Shave.” “What was that?” “Headshave, please.” Tough words for her to say. That brought her to the present, sitting on the stool, awaiting the attention of her young barberette. A shadow passes over her and she is aware of Priya standing before her. Firm fingers grip her chin and lift her face up. She reluctantly raises her face, looking at Priya. Her cheeks redden with embarrassment as she can’t bring herself to look in her barberette’s eyes. Fingers press firmly into her cheek, and her lips pout slightly. A comb runs through her overgrown bangs, which now fall to her nose. The comb is shifted to the hand that holds her chin. “Your barberette’s age is of no consequence. You are surrendering your hair to them. Obey them.” A gleam of metal passes in her vision and cold steel brushes against her forehead as she realizes that her bangs are the first to go. She feels a slight shiver and draws a quivering breath as she tries to prepare herself. Without warning the sharp blades cut into her bangs, following her hairline. Exposing her high forehead. She could see the strands of hair slide down her face. Some of them sticking and some of them drifting in the slight breeze. She was always self conscious of her high forehead and had worn bangs all the time to cover it up. Her chin was released. She sees the scissors getting tucked into the waist of Priya’s saree. Her hand is now on Shailaja’s crown, bending her head down firmly. She is surprised at the firmness of the push, despite her resistance, she finds herself bending her head down. As her head drops, her feelings of humility start shredding her pride. As she looks down into her lap, she spots her cut off bangs, clinging desperately to the coarse fabric. The sight of those few strands of hair cuts into her ego, and she feels humbled. She feels the nimble fingers of the barberette running over her head. She feels the pressure and the familiar click of the tic tac clips holding her wisps in place, getting removed. They are handed to Vanaja. The fingers then poke around in her tight bun, made out of a braid, fishing out the hairpins, which are also handed to Vanaja. Then a firm yank releases her braid as it rolls out, unwinding to its full length, falling down her back. She tries to raise her head, but Priya’s firm hand repositions her head. She gives up, awaiting Priya’s tender mercies. Her head is pulled forward slightly and repositioned again. Strong fingers close around her braid, inches from her nape. The weight is lifted ever so slightly and she feels a firm pull. She tries to raise her head again, but her head is kept down by the other hand. Her chin is again held in a firm grip as her head is repositioned. And then the moment she’s been dreading: the hand removes the scissors from their place. A few snips in the air, in front of her eyes. Though she cannot see a thing, she closes her eyes instinctively. Her braid is lifted a little higher, and the pull becomes a little harder. She feels something cool brush against her nape, and then she hears the sound she’d been dreading. The sharp scissors digging into her braid. The back of her neck is ticked as hair spills out from the cut, no longer held in place. Her head shakes with each bite of the sharp blades as Priya mercilessly cuts away. She has a job to do. And this is one of the best parts of it. She is an agent of the goddess: in humbling pride, and deflating ego. To keep her own pride in check, Priya also offers her hair every five years. Back in the moment, the sharp blades cut off the braid, which is then secured at the cut end, coiled and tossed casually into the overflowing basket of wet hair. One more braid among the many harvested today. This casual act deflated her ego further. Priya’s firm fingers ruffled what was left of her hair: a rough chin length bob. A firm grip on her chin again readjusted her head. This time, she saw a straight razor in Priya’s hands. Looking into her eyes, she slid a fresh blade into the holder. Before she processes what was happening, she feels her scalp stretched, and a sharp scrape at the crown, peeling off a small patch of hair. “W-Water?” “I thought you were in a hurry?” A series of quick short strokes from the razor ran down the top of her head. A tuft of shaved hair rolls down her face and falls into the lap. The wind blows away the dry clump of hair like a tumbleweed as it goes drifting into the crowd, crushed underfoot. It feels like a knife in her heart, deflating her ego further. This is the moment she realizes that all her ego came from the compliments she received for her hair. Thick, long, and lustrous, it was the envy of her friends. She expected the barber to gush over her hair, the same way a stylist would when she went to the salon for a trim. This time though, she has a barberette who treats her like another head that needs to be shorn. The sharp razor blade has no lubrication as it shaves through her soft thick hair. The dry shave starts to give her razor burn. Her tender scalp is irritated and sore as the sharp blade swiftly removes her hair. The rain of hair into her lap continues as she tries to control her emotions. The pile grows bigger, some of it slides off her lap, and falls at her feet. On the sidewalk. Tufts of hair are blown about getting trampled underfoot. Her head is continually adjusted as the controlling barberette shaves her bald. The razor feels weird as it scrapes over her temples, and runs down her sideburns all the way to her jaw. Her head is pulled lower progressively as the rain of hair continues. Soon she is back in almost the same position as the back of her head is shaved. The deft razor strokes reach her nape, making her squirm. Priya gives her a stern warning to hold still. Her grip tightens as the last bits of her hair are shaved off, rolling down her back and falling lifelessly to the sidewalk. Priya’s hands run over her bare scalp, and a few more scrapes are made. Her ears are folded one by one and checked over. So are her sideburns. Once Priya is satisfied, she loosens the cloth and removes it. A pile of soft dry hair lands on her feet as she is released from the stool. Shocked and humbled, Shailaja gets up from the stool, running a hand over her irritated scalp. She looks down on the hair lying at her feet. She can see the wind playing with it. She herself has to trample on her hair as she walks over to put her slippers on. Feeling her hair under her own feet is the last straw as she goes over the bench to sit down. She feels completely deflated: her ego and pride gone. She barely notices Vanaja going over to offer her hair after being called over by Priya. Vanaja takes her place on the stool. She sits with her back straight and her head bent slightly. A pose signifying humility and surrender. Hands together in her lap, eyes down respectfully. Her thick wavy ponytail falls past her shoulders. Her bare feet are in the pile of hair left behind by Shailaja. Awaiting her barberette’s attention. Shailaja looks on, surprised at Vanaja’s demeanor. Priya shakes out the cloth and the last strands of hair stuck to it fly free. Vanaja raises her head ever so slightly to let the cloth wrap firmly around her neck. Priya brushes aside the ponytail as she tucks the cloth in. Priya strokes Vanaja’s ponytail a couple of times, twirling the ends. A couple of hairpins are extracted and placed aside. The elastic on her ponytail is loosened ever so slightly and the scissors are placed in position. Vanaja immediately bends her head, all the way down in perfect submission. Shailaja feels ashamed of herself as she sees her co-sisters’ humble attitude. Humility and submission were the cornerstones of the offering. Not the length and quality of the hair being offered. No final question. No warning. The sharp blades slice into the soft hair as Vanaja’s ponytail is cut off. The sounds of the busy street seem to fade into the background as the only sound that can be heard is the sharp blades crunching through soft silk. Her hair curls and swings loose from the ponytail with each cut. Her head shakes with each bite of the scissors, yet she keeps her head obediently still. Seconds later, the thick bundle of hair is in Priya’s hand. She strokes the ponytail appreciatively and places it respectfully on the table, beside the tools. A few rose petals are dropped on the cut ponytail. A marked difference from the way Shailaja’s braid was casually tossed into the basket. Priya takes the sprayer and starts to wet Vanaja’s remaining hair. She takes her time, running her fingers through the soft thick hair, massaging the water into her scalp. Shailaja is stunned by the difference made by obedience and humility. Water drops rain from the ends of the short curly hair, falling on the coarse cloth that covers her. They also run down her face. Priya flicks open the razor and slides out the blade that shaved Shailaja. A fresh blade is placed in the holder and locked in place. Vanaja’s head is positioned, almost lovingly. A gentle scrape at the crown of her head, followed by a series of short strokes that work down to her forehead. The first strands of wet hair fall on the cape. Her head is turned gently as the shave proceeds. Each precise stroke removes a bit more of her wet hair. Hair that clumps together, wet and dripping. As the clumps get heavier, they separate and reluctantly fall to the cloth. Vanaja has her eyes closed. She obeys the slightest touch and adjustment from her barberette, a picture of complete surrender. By contrast, one could say that Priya was treating her like a delicate and tender flower. Shailaja’s cheeks are red from embarrassment as is her head from the dry shave. She tries to rub her tender scalp, wincing a little as her fingers touch her skin. Vanaja has her head down again, giving Priya full access to the back of her head and her nape. The razor glides down the scalp, dropping chunks of wet hair that falls heavily to the pavement. Falling on a carpet of dry hair shorn minutes earlier. Trampled under the barberette’s feet. The cape is loosened and spread out. Priya runs the razor down Vanaja’s neck all the way down to her shoulders, removing all of the stray hair on her neck. Gently she rubs the freshly shorn head, stroking and checking for stray strands that might have escaped. Finding none, she removes the cape, dropping a pile of wet hair on the pavement. “Wait a moment.” Vanaja, ready to get up, obeys her and stays seated. A yellow paste of soothing sandal and disinfecting turmeric is applied to the smooth scalp. Shailaja is surprised as she’s also called up and the same paste is applied to her head. The cool sandal soothes her skin, though there’s a slight sting from the turmeric. It feels like her transgression is finally forgiven. As she watches Vanaja pay the barberette, she realizes that she has sacrificed her ego, along with the source of it. Her hair.