Haircuts and me

So this evening I decided I needed a haircut. This was much to the annoyance of my wife, who always feels that I do not need one. It often leads to an argument. My hair can be creeping down my back but it is always the same refrain, “it’s already so short”

Being lord and master of myself – or so I think, off I went.

Now let me put things in the right perspective- For me haircuts are a bore, a drag  and a waste of time but a necessity so I endure the 25 minutes or so that it takes.

In my hometown,  as a young boy,  I had my haircut a shop named “UP TO DATE”. He was an old person and definitely OUT OF DATE but  someone once said names are deceiving – don’t ask me who and when .

In Pune, I   resided in The Bishops School campus and the same barber who cut the boys’ hair gave me a haircut as well. He was called “HANDSOME”. I was told that many years ago, some boarders gave him the nickname and it stuck. HANDSOME cut my hair for 20 years and I never complained. He did a good job – he came home and all was well.

When I moved to Dubai in 2001, I needed a haircut so I went downstairs from where I resided and found a Pakistani barbershop. 19 years later and I now drive 5 km to the same barbershop although there is one just a hundred meters from where I stay. I am sure you have realized by now that I am not fussy where haircuts are concerned.  Actually I don’t have much hair on my head and its pretty fine .

The shop is clean, the barbers are polite and that is all that matters.  I fail to understand what all the fuss is about where haircuts and barbers are concerned.

So back to this evening. Being in Pune and with no HANDSOME around, I walked into the first shop I saw, which was about fifty meters from my house.

Yes, the saloon was clean and busy and that told me he was good! In I went.

Cloth around my neck and neatly tucked in and he stumped me with his first question, “which style Sir “

Now no one has ever asked me this question before.

It is usually me enter shop, I am wished, I sit down, cloth goes around my neck and in a short while I am out. It’s a no brainer .

“Which style Sir “was a new one and I said, “TRIM” rather nonchalantly and without looking at him.

He smiled as if to say, “OK you are not fussy”

Fifteen minutes later I was done. He immediately produced one of those square mirrors to show me the back of my head. I could not care less.  He then asked me if I wanted a head massage to which I agreed. I still do not know why I said yes.

A list of about eight different oils, was rattled off by him. He was a fast talker. The only word I could decipher was COCONUT, so coconut it was.

The oil was poured generously and he massaged, kneaded, manipulated,   rubbed, pounded, banged, pulled, and pressed my scalp in all manners possible. Just when I was about to say THANK YOU, he produced a small machine from a draw. Strapping it on to his hand, he then began rubbing it all over my head – my forehead, my neck, my scalp, my ears and the top of my eyebrows. It jarred, hummed and frightened me.

Not sure why, but he kept on and on as if he was intent on scooping out my brains and presenting them to me on a silver platter as a giveaway gift.

Then, without warning, and so much as a” MAY I”, he stopped the assault. I was alive.

He smiled. I attempted a weak smile in reply.

He handed me a comb and with trembling hands, I combed my hair half expecting my brains to fall out at any minute  

I paid and I tipped him, thankful that all was well.  Before leaving, I gave one last look at myself in the mirror. My face looked chalky white and my pupils were dilated.

I reached home and my wife said “Oh my God, he has cut your hair is so short.

Give me a break – Please.

I looked in the mirror again – Yes I looked good !