Of childhood and memories

Many decades ago when we were children all summer holidays were spent staying at a relatives place in Kerala. Most of them were grandparents homes or homes of aunts and uncles. On my fathers side his elder sister was like a mother to all as the parents were dead by the time we learnt the meaning of grandparents so our summer holidays were spent in the homes of my aunt or uncle. My aunt has the distinction of having a son and a granddaughter with just a year between them. As children it shocked us that such a thing was possible so I had a niece who was some ten years older to me and she was more like a cousin than a niece. My aunt has a large brood of children and most of them were just years younger than my father. In face her eldest daughter was older than my mom. Now because she had some eight children,her house was overrun with children and grandchildren,nieces and nephews. It was one of those sprawling homes were children could loose themselves . Like most homes of that day it had large gardens at many levels. So if one wanted a bath one had to carry ones toilet bag down two or three levels to access a well,draw water and then have a bucket bath. Sometimes this was a ritual or rather a community activity. We would walk a kilometre or two to a bath house and while the mothers washed clothes the children took turns having a bath. The older girls always had baths together and I suspect this was their time to share confidences without being overheard by sharp eared m others. We younger ones had to wait our turn till one of the mothers decided to bath us. This was done in assembly line methods. We were lined up and soaped and washed in turns. The most miserable time was when the mother in a hurry to get the job done would soap us rapidly and move on. This meant soap got into our eyes but everyone was too busy to bother so we waited in agony till our turn came to be washed. Going to to the loo was another operation. Because those were the days when attached bathrooms were non existent it was assumed that children all had to go to the loo before they went to sleep. God forbid one wanted to wee during the night. We were so terrified that we learnt blader control the hard way.

Our meals were all mostly things grown on the land so we had to know how to dig up tapioca,yam and plantain. We were taught how to hull a coconut,milk cows(something I never learnt being terrified of cows) we hunted for wild mushrooms after the rains,plucked all manner of fruit and veg from the gardens and surrounding forests and not once did we go to a shop to buy food. It was all fresh and healthy. We had no TV or internet and the only books we read were the ones we tool from home to see us through the holidays though we never found time to read them. As the sun set we would all gather on the varenda to listen to the old people gossip and we picked up what ever news we thought was important (most times it was irrelevant) just before after dinner which was eaten in shifts(too many people for the dining table) my aunt would gather her own brood and the extended ones into a large room. She made it a point to make us read the bible in turns. Since we only spoke English and couldn't read in our native language we were allowed to listen. After bible reading we had to sing a few hymns and then my aunt who fancied herself a preacher (in the days were woman were not allowed anywhere near the pulpit) would give us a little sermon. Having filled our stomachs with food we would all start falling asleep y the time she finished but she wasn't done with us so it was prayer time. For some reason she loved to pray and would pray loud and long so much so that when she finished all her children,grandchildren and extended family would be fast asleep on the floor. She lived to a ripe old age of a hundred and three and did this prayer ritual long after her family had dwindled to two or three. Today as her granddaughter visited me after a gap of some forty years she brought back memories of childhood and summer. Today we live in hotels or guess houses even when we have relatives and I realised that an entire era of family and times together was just a memory in these times

The long and short of it

Time was when I was taken to a barber shop by my mother to do some serious hair repaire after my sisters had deemed it fit to give me a haircut....no read that as they'd took to hacking my hair any which way. They took great pleasure in using me to better their haircut ting skills but as nothing came out of it and they ended up teaching English one can imagine how dog eaten I looked. I told myself then that I would always have decent haircuts and the search has brought me a few decades later to being none the better. The thing I liked about the barber shop was the chair. The chair could be height adjusted it was comfortable and I could swing around in it. The barber always used a colourful bottle to spray my hair and the click click of his scissors was music to my ears. But the best part was how he would use a razor to trim the back. I always came out looking more boy than girl and smelling of sticky sweet perfume. To this day that wiff will bring back memories. When I was about thirteen the Chinese started by beauty parlours in the city and the barber shop soon became a thing of the past. The new parlours were a little more up market. For one they had hair dryers,those upturned egg shaped things,they had blow dryers and the girls were smartly dressed (till then only men had cut my hair). I spent the next twenty or so years making regular visits to these places which made me feel oh so grown up and smart. Haircuts slowly but surely became more expensive but more interesting too. Since most people in our country still have long hair having a short cut was a novelty and more difficult. As someone who had always had short hair it was a challenge to keep my curls looking decent and a good hairdresser was like finding a good doctor....if you found one never let them go. My obsession with hairstyles soon became a joke among my friends..it started with me hunting down a good one in the neighbouring city and taking a train there,then I grew my hair real long  just to make sure that there was enough for a hairdresser to something spectacular . When it was long enough I went to Paris,did some research and got a haircut. I remember paying 90franks in the days before the euro but even I can say that it was money well spent. I came out looking stylish and smart and till date I haven't had a better haircut.

By the time the twenty first century rolled around haircuts were becoming more and no expensive. A srilankan chain opened shop and charged an arm and a leg for a hair cut but the hairdressers were trained,had many awards to their credit and could make a clear diagnosis o n what would suit me. I fell for it and made friends with the boy who came close to making me look good. I though my quest was over. But he moved on and once again I grew my hoar got along with sub standard hairstyles and was never really happy about it until an international chain opened shop near my place. Now here was a salon that only cut hair . The whole place was air conditioned,the lobby had comfortable leather sofas,the girls at reception were so smart they made me feel positively scruffy,the hairstylist was trained in London,did a full clinical analysis of my hair,while offering me coffee tea or a soft drink. This was luxury and I paid dearly for it. At a whopping fifteen hundred quid a hair cut was not only becoming a one a month affair but also burning a large hole in my pocket,add to that a hair colour or two (this when the bag lady looked like she should be in vogue....me all grew and old) and I was watching the bank balance beginning to look like a bad hair day. But ofcourse I was paying for a lot more than just the haircut,the hairdresser and I had long chats and he would take a hour to cut my hair,wash it condition it blow dry it and there I would look so good I would always turn around to see if the person in the mirror was really me. Ofcourse that lasted only until the first wash at home and I would look nothing like my salon self.

Now all things considered I decided to grow my hair till Christmas and then spend a bit of money. But as luck would have it some one or the other kept mentioning this girl who cut hair for a hundred quid. Now where was hundred compared to fifteen hundred? And as none of them looked too bad I simply had to try out this girl and her skills. So off I went to this hole in the wall,the reception stuffed with washing machines and in tears,no air conditioning,reception girls who couldn't speak English. Curtains that had seen better days and no shampoo or conditioning. The girl made me sit in a chir she just about dusted,combed my hair out with a comb that had just been used on someone else,cut my hair in five minuted and charged me eighty quid,which is less that the tip I pay at the fancy place. Well I looked ok nothing great and maybe a bit like I did when I was ten and used the barbe shop but could I complain? I doubt it,I mean at that price what did I expect and it wasn't a bad job either. I am in two minds now. The snob in me says go back to sofistication and the practical in me says well as the look isn't very different why not use her services till Christmas and the use the posh chap only for a treat. It's hard when one has got used to the good things in life but I am going to be less of a snob,I think in times of recession,simplifying life is the key so for now,economics wins over style but who know when tempation overpowers me....will wait and see