A trip to the barber shop

I am suffering from early onset balding. However I refuse to be a victim and I have decided to take control of my life and show my rebellious hair that I am still in control- by cutting it all off.

This has lead me to quite enjoy my trips to the barber shop. A hair cut and a shave cost right around $2 and have thus become a regular part of my schedule. Today I walked to the barber shop and because of the rain noticed some had left their shoes outside the door. I briefly examined the shoes and then pictured the feet that must have been wearing them. Such a mental picture was just enough to persuade me to [at least] tentatively keep mine on. I walked in and saw the owner, with his shoes on, reading todays Telugu paper. He didn’t seem to notice me so I kept wiping off my shoes on the mat louder and louder. It didn’t work so I cleared my throat. That also didn’t work. So I walked up to him and said “hello. Sir. Yes. I want a hair cut.” This invasion of his personal space got me little more than an exhale out of his nostrils. But I refused to be deterred and began to walk toward the chair. This did the job. He sat up and shouted, “VISHNU!!!!!”

Vishnu is the gentleman that usually cuts my hair. He poked his head out of a back room, and upon seeing me was overcome with what seemed like happiness (or maybe hope for a big tip, but I will tell myself the previous). He was barefoot, wearing slacks and a fluorescent orange polo shirt and assumed the jumping jack position (arms and legs out in 4 different directions). In spite of such an entry still the first thing I notice about him every time is his mustache. It is fair to say that such a mustache could make any man second guess his ability to grow facial hair. Some times I catch myself looking at it instead of his eyes wondering if it could be his own “magic hat” from which he pulls a white rabbit.

He knows my routine, so he immediately set to work. I find haircuts incredibly relaxing, so it is not uncommon for me to close my eyes and begin to doze off. This time I was jolted out of my stupor by a pair of his scissors up my nose. Apparently while trimming my own meager mustache he noticed a few nose hairs. He set to work on those as well with the fervor of a mad lumberjack.

After this he looks at me in the mirror and asks “oil massage?” Of course I couldn’t turn down such an offer (to be fair I thought he meant head massage), and replied in the affirmative. He removed a small bottle of red something from the shelf and lubed up my freshly shaved head until it resembled a greasy ball bearing. This time he got “in the zone” and exceeded all previously set “norms.” He cracked every bone in my neck, back, arms and hands. I have never felt so “loose” (don’t take that out of context) in all my life. I paid the $2.50 for my hair cut and shave, and $1 for the 15 minute massage. Honestly, where else in the world could you get all that for less than $4?

As I walked home I stopped by Satish’s shop. He knows me and lets me keep a tab with him. I paid my previous tab and bought a dozen eggs and some onions. Satish is a smoker and was attacked by his angry lungs as he held my groceries. I took my freshly garnished goods consoling myself with the fact that eggs have shells and onions skin.

This was normal, and I love it. Nowhere else could you experience so much with so little money. Welcome to my life.

Incredible India.


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