LIFE AND LIES #17 | Fancy a Haircut

Snip-snip, clip-clip

Despite its monotonicity, the sound has a certain ring to it. If I concentrate a bit harder, it almost sounds like a well-placed tune. Or maybe I have been listening to it for too long. Nevertheless, the sound has a sense of power because it remains upbeat in spite of the consistent murmur.

Then it pauses. A brief silence follows.

The boy at the start of the line scuttles to the most demanded chair in the room, to fill the momentous vacancy. A sense of relief is evident on his face. Following this, a wave ripples throughout the line. Everyone takes a few steps ahead and then comes to a stop.

Another down, three more to go, I count. The snapping of scissors resumes. The murmur follows suit.

My legs ache. I had jogged all the way to the barbershop, after taking a hasty lunch. There, to my dismay, a long queue was already in place. Patiently, I stood at the end. Awaiting my turn, I had spent the past hours shifting my weight from one leg to other, taking several small steps and savouring the moment when a boy got off the chair. All this urgency was on account of a single reason: the forthcoming visit of Honourable Defence Minister, Mr Pranab Mukherjee. Everyone was instructed by the Headmaster to have a top-notch haircut. Likewise, so did I.

Two.

The shop is more of a small cubicle. It can hardly accommodate more than a handful of boys. Therefore, most of the queue extends out of the shop, enduring the summer heat. The people inside have no relief, either. From the asbestos ceiling, hangs a single fan spinning purposefully but is of no help against the heat. Everyone has a sweat circle under his armpit.

Like every other barbershop, the wall is adorned with large mirrors. And facing the mirrors are placed two chairs. Despite the long line of students, only one chair serves its purpose; the other remains vacant, a practice so regular that no one even notices anymore. Not that the school administration hasn’t appointed two barbers for the student. There are two of them and if they work simultaneously, it will cut the waiting time to half. But since each one of them is paid a fixed salary no matter the number of boys they attend to, they take turns giving haircuts, thus discarding the other chair. None of the students object. After all, who needs a bad haircut!

One.

The boy in front of me takes his place on the chair. It’s my turn next. I feel what one does nearing the end of an ordeal. It only further escalates my hurriedness.

The snapping of the scissors pauses again.

Shit, I mutter under my breath.

It isn’t my turn. Both the barbers have come together for their tobacco break. One of them reaches into his pocket and produces a small plastic container. Removing its cap, he lowers it over his left palm. Thin strands of tobacco flow out. Replacing the cap, he flips it to dig out chuna from the other end of the container. Then, he mashes the mixture thoroughly and claps three times. The dish is ready.

Involuntarily, I sneeze. The barber divides the dish into two equal portions and gives one half to his mate. The other barber tugs at his lower lip, exposing his blackish-brown teeth and decayed gums then puts the material in the gap.

Yikes!!

The only person more restless than me is the boy in the chair, squirming in his seat. The two halves of his head paint a before-and-after picture. The unlucky one has to wait for the barbers to finish their snack which they eventually do.

The barber gives final touches to the boy’s hair. The long wait has turned my patience into turmoil. I almost pounce on the chair when it is vacated by the boy before me. My legs breathe a sigh of relief as I find comfort in the back of the chair. I welcome the sprinkle of water, a respite at last from the summer heat. Inadvertently, my eyes close. I can imagine fireworks going off celebrating the end of my ordeal.

Just then, the barber shoves my head down to do the back of my head.