A HAIR AFFAIR

Hello My dear Readers...In fact its a long hiatus since my last post and I haD to check my followers list to see if it has dwindled , bUt thank God they are as patient with me as the Met department s with the Monsoons..

There I aM on a sunny and sultRy Sunday mornIng in the barbers shop or A 'Saloon' as my Mom woulD term it.Sitting on the rickety metal benches all eaten Up with rust and colored with the stains of countless Misdirected Paan spitteRs, I begin to Drift off. The weather and the old fan stirring Up the humid aor lulled me into a sort of semi dazed sleep..well aware of my surroundings but having lost all semblance of time...I began to wonder....

Wasn't it fun...wasn't the whole Go-to-the-barber-and-transforM-youRself-from-escaped-convIct-to-a-Decent individUal look by your Mom enough to make you shiver at the prospect of the barber shop..You whine and procrastinate.You make all sorts of excuses ranging from an important assignment to a feigned illness.You look at her with all the innocence your mischief writ face can muster and you plead and futilely try to wriggle out of the situation.But sadly its of no use. Your Mother wont care if you have an appointment with God himself.The judgement is pronounced and the money that is unceremoniously thrust into your hands feels like a death sentence in your pocket. Often you have to be chaperoned to ensure that you indeed honour your Mom's biding and that not walk away scot free. Boy!!! how you hated Mom for turning so cruel that day! With one last parting quip-Mom!! do you want to see me die at the Barbers shop?? heavens know for I may cut myself on the careless scissors and I may bleed to death with my entrails hanging out and turn your head melodramatically.Yet even these histrionics fail and she is unmoved...Damn! you think(Of course you never knew the word damn then...you kicked at a stone or you crushed an innocent bug in the process)

And with a heavy heart and your foot in your mouth you perch yourself upon the next chair and look in horror as the 'Demon barber' (as I used to imagine him when I was a kid) chooses to cut off your precious locks of hair..and that too with an air of utter disdain. A hearty laugh and a blood smeared mouth(read Paan stains) along with the grime covered barber would make this sight a nightmare for an. And then you would be that ill fated kid and you detect that twinkle in his eye.His malicious grin as he sharpens his blade...you swear you see remnants of a kids ear hanging off it..SNIP SNIP SNIP and as your tears slide down your cheeks wisps of black curly hair float around and at the end all your squirming and protesting apart you look like a civilised member of the society.

As I grew up I could learn to tolerate the visit to the barber's(A time when I could actually claim that I had a head full of hair) The wait seemed endless and after reading the paper placed for bored customers almost a dozen times and listening to the barber ramble on and on about the weather, the local news, who's daughter was seen with whom...(mostly discussed)..and heaven forbid if the guy is a cricket aficionado for he will not allow you to be seated till you have expressed your opinion of the recent cricket victory...and then he proclaims Everybody in this country is a bloody analyst...(I roll my eyes but do it discreetly lest I wont be able to be get my hair cut today).And finally you get to ascend the throne. The throne so religiously handled by the barber..A careful swipe or two and he invites you to be seated ...You are thankful that you are lucky to have gotten your chance so quickly and you choose to turn a blind eye to the state of the chair, or the nail protruding out threatening to sever your hind quarters. And then there is the state of the creams and

But that day as i dozed off I could still remember the rickety tin boards and the wooden planks that doubled up as bat (when needed)The screaming toddlers sitting precariously on that plank as they got tortured by the barber who would be playing the dual role of a pacifier and a butcher..The reeking smell of Old spice that is a smell I remember and love till today.And then the very location of the shop housed under in many cases an old banyan tree doubling up as the mirror stand is a delight that is often a missed sight nowadays with AC cabins that are the manifestations of the liberalized world. The long forgotten corrugated cabins that would be doddering on small wooden stilts are a bygone era. The whole enclosure would be just enough for a person to sit that too having the sensation of almost falling off and the barber to stand behind him plying his trade.

And then there was the lethal looking razor with the swishing blade ...almost a remnant of horror movies gone sour.and yet the nice sugary fragrance of old spice hanging around the blade and the way the barber deftly smothers that old shred of newspaper with the thick white foam and that too the paper clinging on for dear life is a sight that fascinates me till today.It is a timeless sight, an affirmation of the fact that there may be a paradigm shift in the society, in technology, in the world...but the simple beauty will never cease to fascinate a romantic..:). All the while the motor mouth barber would be recounting the numerous local tales, often amusing , often lulling you to sleep. And after he finished with you and proceeded to attend to the dusting up, you suppress a smile..after all you have to applaud the guy who transformed your haggardly wetherbeaten look to something decent so that next door aunties cant complain of lack of neglect on your mom's part.

Today the braber is no longer the pot bellied information disseminator-cum-local gossip all in one..He is more suave, more morose conforming to strict and efficient gestures that ensures a steady stream of customers...he is more of an automaton than the individual artist who treated each customer as a new canvas on which he was to practise his art albeit in new colors.Gone is the local rusty cabin and has been replaced with swanky air conditioned shops.It is spic and span...almost too sterile for my liking.

And as I continue my comparisons its already my turn to cut my scanty hair(as mentioned by someone.. :P) and I can hear the phone starting to ring..HOME calling..mom wantsto know whats taking me so long?? Well what can I say?? Mundane stuff like a visit to the barbers shop unlocks a bit of nostalgia..Coming MOM...have to rush....Bye ..Ill be back soon..:)