Of Haircuts

A little background first. Yesterday was Diwali, and I spent my day at a relative’s place. Now relatives are people who have only two functions- they stuff you with good food (mostly) till you begin feeling uncomfortable; and they ask uncomfortable questions or make uncomfortable remarks till you begin feeling stuffed. Now, it had been almost a month since I last got a haircut, and the old mop did have the general look of a bird's nest. The uncle chose to remark on it while I was having lunch, and after drinking sufficient quantities of water, I politely informed him that I was aware of the problem, and planned to have a haircut today.

Now today, after having been unfortunately woken up around 8 by the insistent doorbell ringing of the garbage man who seems to have sworn to make my house trash and sleep free, I decided that it looked like a good day for doing chores. So I went out and bought eggs. For lunch, not for my hair.

Anyway, I go this saloon then, and the guy straps me in in a chair, lest I run away, and in walks this kid. You know the kind of hair which originally came in fashion when polecats were crossbred with headbangers? Yes, the kind which cannot seem to make up its mind about where it is growing, and to what purpose. Still don’t recognize it? Well, the kind of hair that would have gotten you many a thwack on the bottom from the father had you tried to pull it off as a kid. So, this kid walks in with the kind of hair which probably should be getting him spanked from his parents, earphones, a loud voice, and a whole general attitude which probably does get him slapped everyday, though probably not by his parents.

Well, this kid asks for a hair straightening, and while the barber looks a bit perplexed w.r.t how much money to make from him, the owner walks in. ‘Which one do you want?,’ said gentleman asks, ‘ek mahine waala ya poore saal waala?’

‘Kitne ka hai?’

‘Ek mahine waala chhe sau.’

Kid begins to look majorly crestfallen. I begin to listen intently. This is vital information for any person who is old enough to fall within a stone’s throw of the venerable and horrific institutions of marriage, and subsequent parenthood.

‘Das barah din waala nahi hota? Mera dost kara ke gaya tha.’

’Wohi hota hai ek mahine waala. Six hundred ka hota hai.’ Mr. Saloon Owner is definitely a hard bargainer. Kid now looking to go into a major depression. In a barely audible voice, he says ‘but who to pachas-saath rupaye bolta tha.’

Mr. Saloon Owner stifles a chuckle. Not the best business practice to laugh in your customer’s face. ‘Itne mein to haircut hota hai.’ Glaring at barber, ‘Hair cut kar do inka.’

And so kid also gets strapped down, and I feel warmth flooding in at this enforced discipline wrought if not by parents then by hardselling saloon-owners. The barber begins reading his combs and clacking his scissors. Then the gentleman goes on a tirade about how the barber should be serving customers better and asking them what they want and how they want their hair done etc etc which stops the barber in his scissor-clicking tracks and ends with the owner asking the barber to ask the kid if he wanted his hair done in spikes. Duly asked in a small voice. Kid begins to look a bit perkier- his day can still be salvaged. Spikes, he says. Barber proceeds.

What of my haircut, meanwhile, you ask? Well, I ask the barber catering to my hair to cut them short at the sides and back of the head, and leave the rest pretty much untouched. This worthy proceeds to shear my head more closely than a greedy shepherd shearing sheep. Well, not that close but it is a damn sight close run thing. Having taken considerable pains to grow my hair a bit long after a lifetime of very short hair, I am fairly disconsolate about this transgression, and muster up the courage to ask him why he did it. It did take a fair bit of courage, I must explain, because by then, only the scissors part of the haircut was over; the razor was yet to come out.

‘Dhyan nahi raha, sir. Next time jaisa kaata tha, waisa hi kaat diya.’

I handed him his sixty bucks and fled.