The news of his death was a surprise to me. Thats one thing about death it always comes unexpectedly. I pay my condolences to his family members and I pray that let his soul rest in peace. He was the one who had thousand names, but to me and my colleagues he was the man with the Natural Head Band..adieu sir...We will one day come after you, don't know when...We will miss your smile and brisk walk...
Once again I was drawn into the world of movies and this time it was the Counterfeiters, an Austrian movie which won the Oscars in the foreign film category. Watching this movie I also realized why an Indian movie never won an Oscar in this category. The three shortcomings of Indian cinema is listed below.
Indian formula of hero centered movies
Lack of originality in script
Too much of embellishments like songs and overacting.
I befriended ‘The Counterfeiters’ some three months back when I saw the Podcast, Movie Minutes from New York Times where A.O Scott reviewed the movie in his own impeccable style. The discovery of the DVD at the B’lore ‘cinema paradiso’ made me feel quite cinematic and the quality of the print was excellent. This is not an English movie but it has got three languages – German, Austrian and Russian. Subtitles help us a lot. The movie is based on a true story and it is based on the Nazis project called Project Bernhard," the aims of which include destabilizing the economies of Britain and the USA by producing and circulating vast quantities of forged banknotes. This is also the story of Salomon 'Sally' Sorowitsch who is described as the King of Counterfeiters. He is an artist and through his art he saves himself and the life of others around him. Outstanding acting from Karl Markovics is one of the highest points of the film.
The tags that I found attached to the film were –
A genius con artist put to work by the Nazis. A survivor's tale you've never seen before.
It takes a clever man to make money; it takes a genius to stay alive
O.Henry’s story ‘The Gift of the Magi’ clearly shows the true value of a gift and the sacrifices involved in giving and receiving a gift. This blog examines the concept of gifts and how it is plays a part in human life.
According to me a gift is political, personal and divine. These three classifications are kind of far fetched but still they cover the whole gamut of this concept. Being brought up in a country where the word colonial hangover had a strong affect I couldn’t but notice the political implications of a gift. India in the past was nothing but a collection of princely states and they were not at all amicable with each other. When the British made their presence felt many of these princely rulers sought their help to crush their enemies. One way they struck an alliance with the British was by offering them gifts which included rare gems, diamonds and even their beautiful women subjects which led to the establishment of the Anglo-Indian community. The history of gifts can be traced further back to the splendid days of the Mughal emperors. Birbal, the Grand Vizier received gifts from Akbar for his witty remarks and administrative capabilities. Down in South India a court-poet of the Vijayanagara Empire in the 16th century CE by the name Tenali Raman received gifts from his emperor. Even today congress leaders move towards 10 Janapth to present the Madame with gifts hoping to win her favour. The same is the case with AIDMK followers who revolve around Poes Garden to get the ‘darshan’ of Amma.
When it comes to personal level of gifts it becomes emotional and there is lots of excitement in the air. Here the heart matters whereas in the political scenario it is the head that matters. My life is a gift from my mom and dad and my gift to them is take care of them when they need me. Lovers exchange gifts and make the feeling of love commercialized. Valentines Day thus becomes a day for exchanging gifts which sometimes involves little ego and a high dose of snobbishness. I am reminded of the Amul ad of the 90’s which had a beautiful caption which said ‘A gift for someone you love’. The art of giving and receiving gifts in the personal domain sometimes borders on politics when a husband tries to woo his wife by giving an expensive kanchipuram saree. It is nothing but love politicized.
The third type of gifts which to me is apolitical and sacred is the one involving divinity. Nothing equals to this one. It cannot be copied or faked it 100% original. All the singers in this world, players, and even leaders they are gifted from above. SPB, K.J Yesudas, K.S Chitra, A.R Rehaman, Kishore da and all others who were truly gifted by God himself. Sachin Tendulkar, Kapil Dev, V.Anand, Schumi and thousands of others received a rare and exquisite gift from god which we can call as – Talent or Genius. Even I feel that I have received some precious gifts from my maker, like this one what I am doing, writing - plus interpersonal skills.
I feel that each one of us posses a gift from above and the whole purpose of our life is to figure out what exactly is that gift as the quote goes - “Everyone is gifted - but some people never open their package”
Rumi was a Persain poet who lived in the 13th century (1207–1273). He was also a jurist and a theologian. During a 25 year period, he composed over 70,000 verses of poetry. The main themes of his poems are love and longing for unity. He believed that music, dance and poetry were a path for reaching God.Rumi's work has been translated into many languages around the world, including Spanish, Arabic, German, Turkish, Russian, and English, among others. His works are being performed at concerts, readings, workshops, dance performances, and in other artist creations.
Most of my blogs are based on music, cinema and books, because these three are the lifelines of my life. This blog is all about connecting music and the supreme power which is described by three letters as GOD. Songs and prayers have always co-existed. I have enjoyed the Christian hymns that were sung in our church and also the devotional songs on Lord Ayyapa and Guruvayoorapan.
Recently, I came across four songs which celebrated unbridled devotion and support to the supreme one. Music composer undoubtedly was A.R Rehaman and the movie is Jodha Akbar. I feel that the movie is all about celebration (religious sense), an ecstasy filled atmosphere where something is worshipped. There are two songs in the movie which celebrates something that is mundane i.e. Love for the Kingdom and the King and the emotion of love between Akbar and Jodha. The other two songs are purely devotional and they are my favorites.
The song Azeem-O-Shaan Shahenshah celebrates the magnificence of the Emperor Akbar. The crowd sings eulogies to him and refers to him as Shahenshah; they welcome him and enthrone him in their heart. The song is fast paced with the drum beat kind of reflecting the fact that Akbar is the heart throb of the people. The movie, as the title indicates also talks about the attraction that Akbar had towards Jodha Bhai and later it became mutual. Besides celebrating the oneness of Hindu-Muslim community, the movie celebrates love between individuals. The song Jashn-e-bahaara gives a musical expression to this universal emotion.
The other two songs which as I have mentioned before are my favs is pure classical music and one is sung by Rehaman himself. The song is Khwaja Mere Khwaja and it is based on Sufi rhythms. It begins in a humble & simple way and then gradually picks up tempo as if the song, singer and the listener are caught up in a trance like state. I am reminded of the dervishes who dance to the tunes of Rumi music. The song is meditative, melancholic and it speaks about the total surrender before the ultimate one. A.R Rehaman has got that pure magic in his voice which is so evident in the song Vellai Pukkal from the Tamil movie – Kannathil Muthamittal. The next song is Man Mohana sung by Bela Shende. She is a treat and I feel that she will dominate the Indian cinema when it comes to classical music. The voice is tantalizing and the lyrics penned by Javed Akhtar is meaningful. The song worships Shi Krishna and there is a stage in the song where she sings the Man Mohana in four different ways. WOW – that’s indeed a treat, amazing voice. God bless her…
I am kind of excited when I write this words coz the topic is close to my heart. I do not know whether I can really document the true spirit of music and its influence in my life. I owe a lot to my dad who is a true connoisseur of music. One object which he bought with his first salary was a gramophone record player. It is still there gathering dust in a corner of our house. Everybody has moved on to CDs and other digital gadgets. I also remember my friend Shenoy who used to share his cassettes with me. He is also the one who introduced me to western music. I have listened to George Michaels Wham – The Best a hundred times which had the lovely track – Last Christmas. Then it was Shenoy again who introduced me to one of my favourite band till date – MLTR. Shenoy moved away from our colony and I don’t know where he is now.
My Dad had even managed to find a place in the city of Calicut where they recorded music and rented cassettes for a nominal fee. If I remember it was 2rs per cassette. The name of the shop was Ragini Music. I used to make frequent trips to this shop and dad supported me irking my mom. Most of my evenings were spent sitting in front of the Fischer player either listening to radio or playing my favourite tape.
My love for western music took a new turn when DD2 started a trial transmission of MTV for two hours every evening. I became a voracious viewer. I still remember some songs which came in MTV during that period. Oasis with Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Enya – Time (which mom liked) and Michael Jackson’s Earth Song. I found a shop near Nadakkavu market which recorded music from CD. The shop name was CD FX.They charged a hefty 50 bucks for each cassette, but it was worth it. Jon Bon Jovi enthralled me with Its My Life and MJ with Heal the World. This is also the time when A.R Rehaman became part of my life. I also remember forcing my dad and mom to sit watch Yanni performing at the Taj Mahal
It is only after I started earning on my own that I got the freedom to buy music and try out new things. I owe a lot Sahaya Illam Chezhian who introduced me to the world of New Age music and Trance. He had a lovely collection and sometimes if he is in a good mood used to describe the songs to me. I still remember one CD which was titled – Chants of India by Ravi Sankar which he made me buy from Landmark – Chennai. It was worth buying. In many ways musically I owe a lot to Che (in Spanish it means mate or partner). I cannot forget the day when me and Che played Enigma – Principles of Lust on a stage that was supposed to be the altar for Maundy Thursday services at Loyola. Che also introduced me to the exciting world of movie soundtracks. The next person who influenced me was my own student – Manickvel. He used to do part time work at Music World at Spenser’s and he had a mammoth collection of songs. I used to sit with post midnight and record songs. We had planned project to record the songs of all artists according to the alphabetical order but some how the project got fizzled out. We started with Aerosmith, did BSB, Corrs, and then ended with Dire Straits.
At MCC, it was Shainu, Prince, and Vimal who shaped my musical sensibilities. Shainu and Vimal took me to the world of 70’s and 80’s of Western music with artists like Peter, Paul, and Mary, The Doors, Billy Joel. There is one person in MCC who is still a bachelor and is the greatest music lover I have ever met in my life. We all call him Suri sir. I like him for three things – First he is still a bachelor, second – he spends large sums of his salary to buy music and thirdly I like him for his possessiveness about his music collection. He never gave me music CD or a DVD, but still I do not have any grudges against him. He is the one who got hooked me into Travelling Wilburys and the legendary Beatles.
The more I got to know the world of music, I feel all the more deprived. I am more like Einstein who described himself as a small child standing on the shore of knowledge picking a pebble or two while the vast ocean of knowledge is stretched out in front of him.
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Dogs and cats always fascinate me. It is something which runs in my family. We had two German shepherds, one poodle, one Doberman and finally two Daschunds. My parents loved them so much that they use to make us jealous. Anyway, we were given the invaluable lesson in life that dogs and cats can be trusted more than a human being. My parents after the death of the daschunds stopped looking after dogs. They simply refused to buy a new puppy after that – the reason cited was that they cannot bear the pain caused by their death. I salute my parents for these Maneka Gandhi like thoughts. After some time months, since they were no dogs in our house, cats started visiting our house and they easily befriended my parents. I think they are there to stay. So this one in the photograph is named as ‘kuttapan’ which can be roughly translated into English as the smart one. Last night I heard from my Mom that Kuttapan got killed and was taken away my some street dog. The pain continues…
This snap had surprised me. I was pillion riding on my brother's bike and Naethan was seated on the fuel tank. He was strapped on to my bro's body. He is just 2 year old and likes to go for jaunts on my bro's bike. I am happy that the photograph clearly shows the excitement on his face. His face is captured in the mirror and the expression shows how he is engrossed in the sights and sounds around him.
Below is given some ways we all can grapple with bad times in our lives. Human life is quite interesting and much more interesting is the fact that we ourselves create all the misery in this world - by our thoughts, actions, and by our behavior. So the problem solving part is quite easy because we ourselves are part of the problem and we should know the way out if we know the way in. I recommend the following for people who think life is choking them to inertia.
- Prepare yourself to take in the fact that the bad thing has happened and there is no point in spending too much time on that.
- You got every right to feel bad about the problem. Most of the times, there are only few problems for which you can find a solution all by yourself. Certain things and events are beyond your reach or control.
- Allow yourself to think about the situation not to feel about it. I am sure that the logical and analytical method will be helpful than shedding some tears or heaving some sighs.
- Listen to some instrumental music and try to get the music inside by closing your eyes.
- Read some books which will take you away from this world at least for some time.
- Take a walk and try to be aware of the sights and sounds around you as you walk.
- Talk to your friends about the problem or some other topics which are interesting. If nobody is around, talk to yourself. If you have a voice recording software with you, records your voice and document it.
- Look forward for something interesting, maybe a trip, a movie, a good dinner…
I have done the following in my life and if you succeed please drop me a line at jith77@gmail.com
The other day I had a chance reading of a saying on a book cover. It went something like this
Do not worry about the past.
Do not dream about your future.
Live in the present and enjoy the moment.
I was really excited about these words. This morning when I read the preface to the collected works of Jane Austen, I encountered the real Jane Austen which was quite different from the literary persona I had met in her novels. I felt really inspired reading about her past which was quite contrary to the essence of the saying which is quoted above. I feel that we should worry about our past, we should feel guilty about our past but we should not dwell on the past for quite long time. We should move on…
Like a roller in the ocean, life is motion
Move on
Like a wind that’s always blowing, life is flowing
Move on
Like the sunshine in the morning, life is dawning
Move on - (ABBA – Move on)
I am here reproducing the life of Jane Austen as I read in the book - The Complete Collection of Jane Austen . The persona who is behind all those great novels including Sense and Sensibility (which we Indians remember as Kandukondein Kandukondein starring awesome Aishwarya and terrific Tabu) is quite different.
Jane Austen, the modest, gentle – natured daughter of the rector of Stevenson...
Her short life could scarcely have been more uneventful. Apart from occasional visits to London, she lived entirely in peaceful rural or provincial surroundings, performing a seemingly uninterrupted round of domestic chores and polite social obligations. Few people in our modern age of rapid communications and strident media of mass entertainment could have hoped to achieve such complete, impenetrable isolation from the outside world.
What distinguished this girl from thousands of others of similar age, upbringing and social standing was the possession of uncommon intelligence and perception, and an even rarer literary ability which flowered into genius. The very seclusion which must have caused others to languish in boredom, and a few perhaps to seethe with rebellion was in her case a positive and indispensable asset. For it was in this unlikely environment that the young Jane Austen dedicated herself to writing, and produced six novels of manners as perfect in conception and execution as anything written before or since.
Her other occupations included helping around the house, sewing and needlework, writing letters, playing the piano and singing. She enjoyed indoor games, amateur theatricals and gardening and the occasional treats of picnics, parties and dances. Walking in the country, calling on sick friends, entertaining visitors, chatting with neighbors – doubtless each day was well –filled
Seated at her desk in the family sitting room, she created the world of the Dashwoods, the Woodhouses and the Ellliots, assumed a reality and a significance out of all proportion to ordinary world of Stevenson and Chawton.
Text Courtesy: The Complete Collection of Jane Austen
The word love can refer to a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes, ranging from common pleasure to intense interpersonal attraction. The diversity of meanings and the complexity of the feelings involved, makes love unusually difficult to define. The concept of love usually refers to a strong, ineffable feeling towards another person. Religions and philosophers have attempted defining love in different ways. It is easy to see love as bonding with a person or a thing. Love is like air it is everywhere but it is hard to pin point that this is it. Scientists say that the amount of love that a person displays is mark of his/her mental health.
I have roughly divided the idea of love into three – First one is Love, then comes romantic possession and finally it is attachment. The first type is more sexual in nature or the attraction is more sexual or it involves sex-drive and bodily measurements. It is physical and it involves fleshy thoughts. We have different variations of the same in our culture. The second type of love is romantic obsession. This type involves romantic passion. This is a much more serious type of love and many see it as a gateway to marriage. Physical equations are applicable here also, but they are minimized. The third stage is attachment and this bonding lasts forever. Scientists have discovered that the chemical involved in this third stage is Oxytocin.
Stephen King is one of my fav authors and I have also enjoyed some of his screenplays – like Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile. The Mist is a movie adaption of his short story which had the same name. It’s a tale of a group of shoppers who are caught in a store. They cannot come out since the whole area is engulfed by mist which contains you-name-it –you- have – it-kind of monsters/creatures
I also got a chance to watch a documentary which showcased the failed plans of the US government in Iraq. No End in Sight examines the real cause for this failure and does it in a systematic way. A well documented documentary.
Talking about documenting takes me into the next movie which was really good coz it gripped me in a way that even today as I prepare the effect remains. Cloverfield is a movie shot using a handy cam and it shows (documents) the life of five friends and a monster which attacks their city. The whole movie is told from the point of the camera which I think is the back bone of the movie.
We would do anything to escape from the mundane (sometimes mediocre) existence called life. For some this exit happens through ‘colored water’ (some call it booze) for others it is through sucking on the fire at the tip of a cigar (holy smoke). Escapism later on can become an addiction. Maybe, IPL can be considered as the latest entry in this search for an escape route. Interestingly for me, my escape route has not changed for the past few years. For the past ten years I am hooked on to strategy games. When I was a ‘financial parasite’ (feeding on the money from my parents hard earned savings) I used to spend a colossal amount playing strategy games in internet cafés. Some café owners where magnanimous enough that they used to give me a concession as I was not online. The game which got me really hooked on was The Age of Empires and the series that followed like Age of Kings and Age of Kings – Expansion. I loved the game for its rich texture and animation. Earlier I didn’t have a strategy to play the game, but as I progressed through the game I started devising strategies to defeat my opponent. Similarly I used cheat codes to gather resources and to convert my units to destructive weapons. Cheat codes were so handy that, you played with a ‘sadistic confidence’. When I got my own PC, age of empires became a kind of obsession. If my memory is accurate, one night I played for 6 hours. The game itself is a result of much research and planning. Anybody who is curious to know about the history will find enough material here for a research paper. I have become – Attila the Hun, Joan of Arc, Barbarossa, El Cid, Saladin and I felt that I was fighting a real war in the real world. The fascinating part of the game is the CGI; the birds that fly cast their shadows on the terrain below. The monk with his scepter or staff, the paladin and the trebuchet – all add to the majestic nature of the game.
These days I have made some progress in the field of strategy games. I have started playing – The Rise of Nations. Another strategy game which has got more options and richness. The game begins in the Classical age and then progresses to Information age in which you can have a nuclear missile shield. It is again a fascinating game where you can learn about the new art of war. It also has got campaigns by Alexander the great, Napoleon and a campaign where you can take role of a nation and conquer the whole world.
Some other games which I have enjoyed are – Project IGI, Hitman, Medal of Honour, Corvette and NFS series.
I think that the barber is an indispensable character in real life and in the domain of art. As I was doing some investigation into this indelible persona I came to know that SRK is all poised to don an important role in the movie - Billu Barber (which is a remake of the Mallu flick).
Now some trivia regarding the profession of a Barber -
A barber (from the Latin barba, "beard") is someone whose occupation is to cut any type of hair, give shaves, and trim beards. In previous times, barbers also performed surgery and dentistry .In more recent times, with the development of safety razors and the increasing rarity of beards, most barbers primarily cut hair. (Thank you ...Wikepedia for this trivia)
If I am to share my personal reflection on ‘this man with the sharp razor in his hand’, the first thing that pops into my mind is the face of Mr. Jeeva who has cut my hair since I became eligible for that act. He got his own salon which is a simple room. Normally it used to be crowded and customers are expected to wait. I remember as a child ( and even today) enjoying the act of waiting coz Jeeva used to subscribe to film magazines and I enjoyed reading them. Now things have changed he is got a TV installed in his shop along with a FM radio device. Jeeva himself has not changed much. He’s got that special knack of doing his job which makes most of his customers relaxed and unperturbed. Even today if I want a hair cut I make it point to sit under the watchful eyes and skilled hands of Jeeva. We both kind of developed a personal bond with each other. He used to talk about his family, how his son is not that interested in continuing the profession, about his old age and failing eye sight.
There is a trust that develops between the barber and his client. When you are subjected to a hair cut or shave you are both unarmed and helpless. The barber can do whatever he wants to physically wound you. Even the expression in English language which means – a close shave might have originated from this situation. But as the General in the story – Just Lather, That’s all says – " They told me that you'd kill me. I came to find out. But killing isn't easy. You can take my word for it.” . There are some barbers whom I have met who talk incessantly – I think they possess a tongue which is sharper than the knife which they are holding in their hand. I remember the one in Tarhuna (North Africa, Libya) who being of the fact that I cannot speak Arabic spoke a lot when he did the act of cutting and shaving. Hopefully a barber (demon barber) like Sweeny Todd (or like the demon barber in one of Sherlock Holmes mystery stories) should never surface on this planet earth.
The Presentation:
To know a fellow Indian, to know India, to know ourselves…
Over-populated cities (especially the 4 metros)
Displacement / Refuges in our own land.
MBA redefined/ to look at the other side/ to take the road less travelled.
Corporate culture/ becoming a dead fish when you are young/ world of pink slips.
Concept of rural management/ social entrepreneur/ social engineering/the ‘real’ people management.
The Book:
Number of pages – 143
Published on March, 2003
Translated from Marathi into English.
37 chapters
Front cover and back cover description.
Three quotable quotes on the inside front and back cover- (RS 1, 2, & 3)
What’s on the blurb?
Candid/ Authentic / Inspiring
The Making of the book (page # 9)
Anna Hazare - His Philosophy of life:
His early life – born Jan 15, 1940/education- seventh class/ flower business/ prosperity/bad company/ joined the army/aimlessness in life/suicide/1965-the bombing incident/ rebirth/retired from army/ returned to Ralegan Siddhi/model village.
Three major influences in his life –
§ Swami Vivekananda – ‘Call to the Youth for Nation Building’/ Suicide/Bachelor struggles.
§ Gandhiji – school grant & fasting/open grazing.
§ Achyutrao Patwardhan – removal of ego/ no ‘I’ or no ‘mine’ (RS 4)
Influence of Swami Vivekananda and other saints (RS 5, 6, 7)
Social work is a religious ritual in itself (RS 8)
The importance of sacrifice (RS 9)
The need to have a goal in your life (RS 10)
His message for the young generation (RS 11)
The Village:
It was – (RS 12)
It is - Starting with the re-building of the temple/ Watershed development/Restoring the green cover/Uprooting alcoholism/Milk production/Education for living/Removal of untouchability/Collective marriages/Gram Sabha/Village Birthday.
Today Anna has almost acquired the stature of a saint. He donated his land for the hostel building. He gives his pension money to the village fund. A confirmed bachelor, he lives in the village temple with a bare minimum of personal belongings. He eats simple food normally cooked for the hostel boys. This moral authority growing out of his selfless life has made him an unquestioned leader of the village.
Exercise
Creating your own ideal village
Writing a short and sensible message to Anna HazareThe Presentation:
To know a fellow Indian, to know India, to know ourselves…
Over-populated cities (especially the 4 metros)
Displacement / Refuges in our own land.
MBA redefined/ to look at the other side/ to take the road less travelled.
Corporate culture/ becoming a dead fish when you are young/ world of pink slips.
Concept of rural management/ social entrepreneur/ social engineering/the ‘real’ people management.
The Book:
Number of pages – 143
Published on March, 2003
Translated from Marathi into English.
37 chapters
Front cover and back cover description.
Three quotable quotes on the inside front and back cover- (RS 1, 2, & 3)
What’s on the blurb?
Candid/ Authentic / Inspiring
The Making of the book (page # 9)
Anna Hazare - His Philosophy of life:
His early life – born Jan 15, 1940/education- seventh class/ flower business/ prosperity/bad company/ joined the army/aimlessness in life/suicide/1965-the bombing incident/ rebirth/retired from army/ returned to Ralegan Siddhi/model village.
Three major influences in his life –
§ Swami Vivekananda – ‘Call to the Youth for Nation Building’/ Suicide/Bachelor struggles.
§ Gandhiji – school grant & fasting/open grazing.
§ Achyutrao Patwardhan – removal of ego/ no ‘I’ or no ‘mine’ (RS 4)
Influence of Swami Vivekananda and other saints (RS 5, 6, 7)
Social work is a religious ritual in itself (RS 8)
The importance of sacrifice (RS 9)
The need to have a goal in your life (RS 10)
His message for the young generation (RS 11)
The Village:
It was – (RS 12)
It is - Starting with the re-building of the temple/ Watershed development/Restoring the green cover/Uprooting alcoholism/Milk production/Education for living/Removal of untouchability/Collective marriages/Gram Sabha/Village Birthday.
Today Anna has almost acquired the stature of a saint. He donated his land for the hostel building. He gives his pension money to the village fund. A confirmed bachelor, he lives in the village temple with a bare minimum of personal belongings. He eats simple food normally cooked for the hostel boys. This moral authority growing out of his selfless life has made him an unquestioned leader of the village.
Exercise
Creating your own ideal village
Writing a short and sensible message to Anna Hazare
Now the short story...Just Lather, That's All...
Born and educated in Bogotá, Téllez entered very early the world of journalism with which he is primarily identified having been on the staff of some of Colombia's most popular newspapers and magazines. It was not until 1950 with the publication of his short-story collection Cenizas al viento, that his name became more widely known. His tragicomic tales evidence the keen and extremely sensitive observer of contemporary life and more particularly of the anguishing reality of his native country. (Translated by Donald A. Yates)
He said nothing when he entered. I was passing the best of my razors back and forth on a strop. When I recognized him I started to tremble. But he didn't notice. Hoping to conceal my emotion, I continued sharpening the razor. I tested it on the meat of my thumb, and then held it up to the light. At that moment be took off the bullet-studded belt that his gun holster dangled from. He hung it up on a wall hook and placed his military cap over it. Then be turned to me, loosening the knot of his tie, and said, "It's hot as bell. Give me a shave." He sat in the chair. I estimated be bad a four-day beard. The four days taken up by the latest expedition in search of our troops. His face seemed reddened, burned by the sun. Carefully, I began to prepare the soap. I cut off a few slices, dropped them into the cup, mixed in a bit of warm water, and began to stir with the brush. Immediately the foam began to rise. "The other boys in the group should have this much beard, too." I continued stirring the lather. "But we did all right, you know. We got the main ones. We brought back some dead, and we've got some others still alive. But pretty soon they'll all be dead." "How many did you catch?" I asked. "Fourteen. We had to go pretty deep into the woods to find them. But we'll get even. Not one of them comes out of this alive, not one." He leaned back on the chair when he saw me with the lather-covered brush in my hand. I still had to put the sheet on him. No doubt about it, I was upset. I took a sheet out of a drawer and knotted it around my customer's neck. He wouldn't stop talking. He probably thought I was in sympathy with his party. "The town must have learned a lesson from what we did the other day," he said. "Yes," I replied, securing the knot at the base of his dark, sweaty neck. "That was a fine show, eh?" "Very good," I answered, turning back for the brush. The man closed his eyes with a gesture of fatigue and sat waiting for the cool caress of the soap. I had never had him so close to me. The day he ordered the whole town to file into the patio of the school to see the four rebels hanging there, I came face to face with him for an instant. But the sight of the mutilated bodies kept me from noticing the face of the man who had directed it all, the face I was now about to take into my hands. It was not an unpleasant face, certainly. And the beard, which made him seem a bit older than he was, didn't suit him badly at all. His name was Torres. Captain Torres. A man of imagination, because who else would have thought of hanging the naked rebels and then holding target practice on certain parts of their bodies? I began to apply the first layer of soap. With his eyes closed, be continued. "Without any effort I could go straight to sleep," he said, "but there's plenty to do this afternoon." I stopped the lathering and asked with a feigned lack of interest: "A firing squad?" "Something like that, but a little slower." I got on with the job of lathering his beard. My bands started trembling again. The man could not possibly realize it, and this was in my favor. But I would have preferred that he hadn't come. It was likely that many of our faction had seen him enter. And an enemy under one's roof imposes certain conditions. I would be obliged to shave that beard like any other one, carefully, gently, like that of any customer, taking pains to see that no single pore emitted a drop of blood. Being careful to see that the little tufts of hair did not lead the blade astray. Seeing that his skin ended up clean, soft, and healthy, so that passing the back of my hand over it I couldn't feel a hair. Yes, I was secretly a rebel, but I was also a conscientious barber, and proud of the preciseness of my profession. And this four-days' growth of beard was a fitting challenge. I took the razor, opened up the two protective arms, exposed the blade and began the job, from one of the sideburns downward. The razor responded beautifully. His beard was inflexible and hard, not too long, but thick. Bit by bit the skin emerged. The razor rasped along, making its customary sound as fluffs of lather mixed with bits of hair gathered along the blade. I paused a moment to clean it, then took up the strop again to sharpen the razor, because I'm a barber who does things properly. The man, who had kept his eyes closed, opened them now, removed one of his hands from under the sheet, felt the spot on his face where the soap had been cleared off, and said, "Come to the school today at six o'clock." "The same thing as the other day?" I asked horrified. "It could be better," he replied. "What do you plan to do?" "I don't know yet. But we'll amuse ourselves." Once more he leaned back and closed his eyes. I approached him with the razor poised. "Do you plan to punish them all?" I ventured timidly. "All." The soap was drying on his face. I had to hurry. In the mirror I looked toward the street. It was the same as ever: the grocery store with two or three customers in it. Then I glanced at the clock: two-twenty in the afternoon. The razor continued on its downward stroke. Now from the other sideburn down. A thick, blue beard. He should have let it grow like some poets or priests do. It would suit him well. A lot of people wouldn't recognize him. Much to his benefit, I thought, as I attempted to cover the neck area smoothly. There, for sure, the razor had to be handled masterfully, since the hair, although softer, grew into little swirls. A curly beard. One of the tiny pores could be opened up and issue forth its pearl of blood. A good barber such as I prides himself on never allowing this to happen to a client. And this was a first-class client. How many of us had he ordered shot? How many of us had he ordered mutilated? It was better not to think about it. Torres did not know that I was his enemy. He did not know it nor did the rest. It was a secret shared by very few, precisely so that I could inform the revolutionaries of what Torres was doing in the town and of what he was planning each time he undertook a rebel-hunting excursion. So it was going to be very difficult to explain that I had him right in my hands and let him go peacefully -alive and shaved. The beard was now almost completely gone. He seemed younger, less burdened by years than when he had arrived. I suppose this always happens with men who visit barber shops. Under the stroke of my razor Torres was being rejuvenated-rejuvenated because I am a good barber, the best in the town, if I may say so. A little more lather here, under his chin, on his Adam's apple, on this big vein. How hot it is getting! Torres must be sweating as much as I. But he is not afraid. He is a calm man, who is not even thinking about what he is going to do with the prisoners this afternoon. On the other hand I, with this razor in my hands, stroking and re-stroking this skin, trying to keep blood from oozing from these pores, can't even think clearly. Damn him for coming, because I'm a revolutionary and not a murderer. And how easy it would be to kill him. And he deserves it. Does be? No! What the devil! No one deserves to have someone else make the sacrifice of becoming a murderer. What do you gain by it? Nothing. Others come along and still others, and the first ones kill the second ones and they the next ones and it goes on like this until everything is a sea of blood. I could cut this throat just so, zip! zip! I wouldn't give him time to complain and since he has his eyes closed he wouldn't see the glistening knife blade or my glistening eyes. But I'm trembling like a real murderer. Out of his neck a gush of blood would spout onto the sheet, on the chair, on my hands, on the floor. I would have to close the door. And the blood would keep inching along the floor, warm, ineradicable, uncontainable, until it reached the street, like a little scarlet stream. I'm sure that one solid stroke, one deep incision, would prevent any pain. He wouldn't suffer. But what would I do with the body? Where would I hide it? I would have to flee, leaving all I have behind, and take refuge far away, far, far away. But they would follow until they found me. "Captain Torres' murderer. He slit his throat while he was shaving him a coward." And then on the other side. "The avenger of us all. A name to remember. (And here they would mention my name.) He was the town barber. No one knew he was defending our cause." And what of all this? Murderer or hero? My destiny depends on the edge of this blade. I can turn my hand a bit more, press a little harder on the razor, and sink it in. The skin would give way like silk, like rubber, like the strop. There is nothing more tender than human skin and the blood is always there, ready to pour forth. A blade like this doesn't fail. It is my best. But I don't want to be a murderer, no sir. You came to me for a shave. And I perform my work honorably. . . . I don't want blood on my hands. Just lather, that's all. You are an executioner and I am only a barber. Each person has his own place in the scheme of things. That's right. His own place. Now his chin bad been stroked clean and smooth. The man sat up and looked into the mirror. He rubbed his hands over his skin and felt it fresh, like new. "Thanks," he said. He went to the hanger for his belt, pistol and cap. I must have been very pale; my shirt felt soaked. Torres finished adjusting the buckle, straightened his pistol in the holster and after automatically smoothing down his hair, he put on the cap. From his pants pocket be took out several coins to pay me for my services. And he began to bead toward the door. In the doorway he paused for a moment, and turning to me he said: "They told me that you'd kill me. I came to find out. But killing isn't easy. You can take my word for it.” And he headed on down the street.
