Write about any other story you know where the character in the story lies about himself/herself just to take advantage of someone else.
Answers
Velu lived to lie but he never lied to live. Lie was, to Velu, an art. An exalted process of convincing someone about something that wasn’t; a creation above and different from the truth, which, to him, was dull, boring, a given. So, since childhood, he lied for the ecstasy of lying – never to win a point, never to save his skin, never to get him what truth couldn’t.
As Velu sometimes said to his only friends down at the barber shop, “What is there in the truth, anyway? It is a given. It doesn’t demand from your intelligence. Any idiot can tell the truth as it is. It is there in spite of you, the teller
Listening to him would be old Sureshan the barber, Poulose the grocer and Thambi, the incredibly dirty orphan who had wandered into Karuthupuzha some years ago. Thambi perpetually had an iron crate full of glasses of tea which he went around distributing to the shopkeepers every morning and evening.
“But the lie is all up to you,” Velu would tell them. “It is more personal, it is yours. You imagine it, carefully create it, until you believe in it, and then you make someone else believe in it, immediately establishing your superiority over him, because he now thinks what you want him to think. His reality is what you have painted for him. When you tell the truth you are just a messenger carrying what is given to you, but when you lie, you are a creator, a god even. In your believers you have created followers of a different reality, one of your own making.’
Barber Sureshan would often look like he might fall at Velu’s feet, but he limited himself to expressing his admiration by applying soap gently on the great liar’s cheeks. Sureshan’s motions upon the face and head of his customers betrayed his opinion of them. If he loved and respected his customer – as he did Velu – he would touch his face with gentle, subservient care, like a loving concubine. If he disliked the customer, positively hated him, he would shove the head around like a jackfruit on the market floor. In the way he placed blade on cheek, in the incessant song of his scissors, and in the language of his long and old fingers, Sureshan expressed his feelings for the people of Karuthupuzha.
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