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A couple of minutes after the youthful Assistant Surgeon pushed his anesthesia shot into my lower eyelid, he ensured by several tests that my eyeball had become as immobile as that of a dead goat. And with a crayon he marked my right eye so that his Chief wouldn't make a mess cutting up the wrong eye.
And I was led by a liveried attendant into the Operation Theater (OT), holding my hand.
As I entered I saw the Chief sitting by the side of an empty bed on a high stool beside a massive machine as large as a primitive B&W TV set. And a Sister was standing on the other side of the bed all ready to assist her Boss with the right instruments at the right time.
And my attendant helped me on to the bed and clamped my hands. I don't recall his clamping my legs...I guess it was not indicated in my reports. And as soon as my head touched the hard bed, he inserted a vise-like pillow sort of a thing under my head and belted it so my head got as fixed as my eyeball staring into the lamp that shone on it overhead.
This head-fixing business recalled my trials and tribulations with our village barber when I was Ishani's age (3.Something) circa 1946. Our village then didn't have the Balajee Hair Cutting Saloon which came a decade later. And it had only a single barber who made his living by periodically visiting all the houses where his victims were waiting.
My Father was very particular that I started having my crops as early as possible...he couldn't stand the sight of my locks falling over my forehead and reducing my visibility.
We of the Gurram lineage have protruding foreheads which is the hallmark of our genes...Father had a pronounced forehead, so do I, my son, and Ishani.
A funny thing happened during the negotiations of the marriage of my son in 2007. Although I belonged to Nellore district, I left AP at the age of 21 and stayed in Bengal all of 40 years to return at 62. And my son's would-be wife's family have been staying all along in Nellore.
And during our pourparlers I claimed that I am the son of Late Gurram Radhakrishnaiah, the renowned HM of Nellore district. My sambandhi trusted me; but not his eldest brother who was eightyish and had poor eyesight. So, one of those days when I was visiting them, this old gentleman came forward and shielded his eyes with his palm to see better and inspected my face and declared:
"Oh, yes! He does look like a Gurram alright...his forehead shows it"
So whenever our village barber was on the horizon I used to shy away and hide myself behind doors and under cots to escape his wrath. For, he was truly a tyrant, not having any sympathy with kids. And Father insisted that I would be the guinea pig that day before he was tackled. And my sisters who had never had to undergo this barbarism used to betray me with sadistic pleasure.
Those days there were no revolving barber chairs of adjustable height...a truly revolutionary invention. All we had was a low wooden peetham about 3 inches high from the ground on which I had to squat. And our barber would sit behind me on his haunches and refuse to move. He would hold my head tight and rotate it and try to do his job as easily for him as possible.
Indeed the smell and sight and touch of this barber was scary...he came holding a tin box full of his sharpened instruments like a couple of scissors of different sizes, combs, and razors that looked like mini-swords. Indeed in Telugu his toolkit was referred to as the Ambula Podi which roughly translates to the quiver in which arrows were held by Arjun and Lord Raam.
And the ghastly maneuver he would repeat ad nauseum was to noisily clip the air with his scissors (instead of my hair)...possibly to frighten me into submission. He would hold my head at a rakish angle and order me not to move it till that part was tackled. As everyone knows, it is impossible for any red-blooded kid to stay put without moving...kids are by nature fidgety...even in the IV th Year Physics Lab at IIT KGP.
And he would then give a clump on my head and turn it the other side and order me not to move it...this ritual went on front and back and right and left trying to fix my head at all possible angles about all possible axes.
The result of all his labor was that he would inflict bloody nicks here and there on my head and Father would arrive, inspect, and shout at him for not doing his job properly...the left half and the right didn't match...and we were back to where we were...with a couple more nicks.
And my mom would give me a hot bath which would aggravate the wounds and Father would dry me up and fetch his Tincture of Iodine bottle and sprinkle drops of the deadly thing on my cuts...the whole street would hear my yells.
Ishani too is troubled by the locks falling on her Gurram forehead masking her eyes. And her Dad would carry her to the Royal Barber @ Hyderabad operating in his A/C saloon. He would make her sit on the improvised chair meant for kids.
And I was told that one day the Chief Barber of the outlet tried to hold her head. And apparently she was so cut up with his touch that she shouted:
"Don't hold my head...I won't move it, OK?"
That is so very like our spirited Ishani...
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A couple of minutes after the youthful Assistant Surgeon pushed his anesthesia shot into my lower eyelid, he ensured by several tests that my eyeball had become as immobile as that of a dead goat. And with a crayon he marked my right eye so that his Chief wouldn't make a mess cutting up the wrong eye.
And I was led by a liveried attendant into the Operation Theater (OT), holding my hand.
As I entered I saw the Chief sitting by the side of an empty bed on a high stool beside a massive machine as large as a primitive B&W TV set. And a Sister was standing on the other side of the bed all ready to assist her Boss with the right instruments at the right time.
And my attendant helped me on to the bed and clamped my hands. I don't recall his clamping my legs...I guess it was not indicated in my reports. And as soon as my head touched the hard bed, he inserted a vise-like pillow sort of a thing under my head and belted it so my head got as fixed as my eyeball staring into the lamp that shone on it overhead.
This head-fixing business recalled my trials and tribulations with our village barber when I was Ishani's age (3.Something) circa 1946. Our village then didn't have the Balajee Hair Cutting Saloon which came a decade later. And it had only a single barber who made his living by periodically visiting all the houses where his victims were waiting.
My Father was very particular that I started having my crops as early as possible...he couldn't stand the sight of my locks falling over my forehead and reducing my visibility.
We of the Gurram lineage have protruding foreheads which is the hallmark of our genes...Father had a pronounced forehead, so do I, my son, and Ishani.
A funny thing happened during the negotiations of the marriage of my son in 2007. Although I belonged to Nellore district, I left AP at the age of 21 and stayed in Bengal all of 40 years to return at 62. And my son's would-be wife's family have been staying all along in Nellore.
And during our pourparlers I claimed that I am the son of Late Gurram Radhakrishnaiah, the renowned HM of Nellore district. My sambandhi trusted me; but not his eldest brother who was eightyish and had poor eyesight. So, one of those days when I was visiting them, this old gentleman came forward and shielded his eyes with his palm to see better and inspected my face and declared:
"Oh, yes! He does look like a Gurram alright...his forehead shows it"
So whenever our village barber was on the horizon I used to shy away and hide myself behind doors and under cots to escape his wrath. For, he was truly a tyrant, not having any sympathy with kids. And Father insisted that I would be the guinea pig that day before he was tackled. And my sisters who had never had to undergo this barbarism used to betray me with sadistic pleasure.
Those days there were no revolving barber chairs of adjustable height...a truly revolutionary invention. All we had was a low wooden peetham about 3 inches high from the ground on which I had to squat. And our barber would sit behind me on his haunches and refuse to move. He would hold my head tight and rotate it and try to do his job as easily for him as possible.
Indeed the smell and sight and touch of this barber was scary...he came holding a tin box full of his sharpened instruments like a couple of scissors of different sizes, combs, and razors that looked like mini-swords. Indeed in Telugu his toolkit was referred to as the Ambula Podi which roughly translates to the quiver in which arrows were held by Arjun and Lord Raam.
And the ghastly maneuver he would repeat ad nauseum was to noisily clip the air with his scissors (instead of my hair)...possibly to frighten me into submission. He would hold my head at a rakish angle and order me not to move it till that part was tackled. As everyone knows, it is impossible for any red-blooded kid to stay put without moving...kids are by nature fidgety...even in the IV th Year Physics Lab at IIT KGP.
And he would then give a clump on my head and turn it the other side and order me not to move it...this ritual went on front and back and right and left trying to fix my head at all possible angles about all possible axes.
The result of all his labor was that he would inflict bloody nicks here and there on my head and Father would arrive, inspect, and shout at him for not doing his job properly...the left half and the right didn't match...and we were back to where we were...with a couple more nicks.
And my mom would give me a hot bath which would aggravate the wounds and Father would dry me up and fetch his Tincture of Iodine bottle and sprinkle drops of the deadly thing on my cuts...the whole street would hear my yells.
Ishani too is troubled by the locks falling on her Gurram forehead masking her eyes. And her Dad would carry her to the Royal Barber @ Hyderabad operating in his A/C saloon. He would make her sit on the improvised chair meant for kids.
And I was told that one day the Chief Barber of the outlet tried to hold her head. And apparently she was so cut up with his touch that she shouted:
"Don't hold my head...I won't move it, OK?"
That is so very like our spirited Ishani...
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