Since my childhood I always felt jittery
before going to a salon. Having a haircut always seemed to me a bit of unavoidable
nuisance. Even if you loose most of your hair, you hardly get any relief from the
periodic cycles of haircuts. To make things worse, at those critical moments,
when you were grieving for the loss, at every visit to a salon, you would be reminded
by your friendly barber, with a voice full of concern and sympathy, “Sir! You
are loosing hair! Aha!” Even if heaven falls on your head, you would have no
other means to react, than accepting the hard reality with a wry smile on your
lips, and holding your head tight at the mercy of his scissors and comb. The
life that moment seemed to be so pitiable, so miserable!
I grew up in a semi-urban
environment. Practically it was a mix of a village and a town. We had the
freshness and ease of a rural life. We could also enjoy a few urban luxuries
such as going to a movie-theater or watching a football match of our local
league in the afternoon. When I was a kid, I had the luxury of getting the
service of a barber at my doorstep. My father used to arrange it. He never used
to disclose that fact before. Otherwise, I would try to play all my tricks to
postpone the event. But I never succeeded in doing so. My father used to take
the role of an assistant to the barber and supervise my haircut, so that it
lasted pretty long. The session too used to be quite lengthy. Very often then,
I would feel an itching sensation in different parts of my body, and try to reach
my hand at those places. The barber would get annoyed with my movement, and say
with a caution, “Don’t move, Babu! I am almost done!” Sometimes he would
forcefully orient my head to an angle of his convenience. My immediate reaction
was to resist, and try to regain my composure from the tyranny of elders as
quickly as possible. That would force my father to hold my head and shoulder
tighter. Those were tense moments for all of us. Each of us wanted to see the
end of it. So, when my haircut was completed, everybody seemed to be relaxed
and happy after accomplishing such a feat.
After I started going to school,
I was good enough to pay a visit to a barber shop on my own. Those were
pre-AIDS era. We never bothered to check whether the blades were fresh or recycled.
People in the middle-income group were more flexible and tolerant in defining
their social status. They carried less prejudice over choosing a place of their
haircuts, whether it looked ordinary, or gorgeous with a high fashioned decorated
interior. Only determining factor was the cost of hair cut or shaving, that you
would like to afford. Even there were a few enterprising barbers, who used to serve
their customers on makeshift platforms by the side of the road. You could have
your haircut at those open air Italian salons at the cheapest price. For the sake of those readers, who may not be
familiar with this popular Bengali coinage (‘Italian’), let me clarify that there is nothing Italian in their
origin. The platform used by a customer to sit on, was usually made of bricks
or tiles. The brick in Bengali is pronounced as ‘It’, and a combination of ‘It’
and ‘tiles’ created the context for this
pseudo-glorification (with a foreign touch!) of these traditional hair-cut
stops. Probably in my early outings, I was too shy to enter a formal shop, and
I felt comfortable using one of these road side facilities.
However, as you grow up, you become
conscious about your class and status. So I started going to a salon, which had
chairs and mirrors in front of you. There was a bench for persons to sit and
wait for their turn. It was staffed by two persons, the owner and his
assistance. The nicest part of it was that it was by the side of the river Ganges, and you could enjoy the holy breeze of the river,
while waiting for your turn. The deadliest part of it was that you would never
know how long it would take. Even though you thought you were the next person,
suddenly you would see that a senior would turn up and ask Anadi (that was the
name of the owner of the salon), “I had to rush! Do mine next!” Anadi obliged him
with a smile. I was too young to make any protest, and kept on waiting, and had
no other option than watching the repeated artwork of Anadi. He used to wrap a
piece of cloth, which would become dirtier with sweat and dust progressively, around
the neck of a customer covering his shirt. Then he would go for initial trimming
of borderline hairs around the head with the help of scissors and a comb. After
that he would finish cutting of long hairs residing at the top and mid-region
of the scalp, sometimes by running fingers through them and pulling upwards,
sometimes leveling and collecting them using a comb. The back of head was
further made even with a two-legged clipper, with its fine teeth running smoothly
over the hairy surface giving you a creepy sensation. Finally, with a khur (a kind of sharp handy knife used
by barbers for shaving head and beard), he would tonsure the hairlines near
ears and back of neck and give them a nice semi-circular shape. At last your
moment of freedom would arrive! He would show the back of your head using a
mirror expecting a tone of appreciation from you. At those moments, some of his
customers used to go through a critical review for a while, and asked him for further
sharpening of their cheek lines or neck lines, as they felt appropriate.
I watched it so many times that I
longed to have a real run on someone’s head someday. My fortune shined one day.
I was in a boarding school then, for my higher secondary (pre-college) study.
In fact it was a college, where high school program was also running. It was in
the month of January, a few weeks before our Republic day. On every Saturday
Morning, we used to have our NCC drill. That day we had a special guest
commandant. He was supervising our preparation for the Republic day parade.
After going through the rows of cadets, the commandant announced with a clear and
loud voice, “Listen Boys! I could see many Bombay-heroes today, standing before
me with long hair, fashioned across your ears and shoulder. I would like to see
them gone; gone at least for your participation in the Republic day parade.
Next week, I will check. If there is anyone, whose hair comes out of your cap,
I will make sure that he is thrown out of this show, and will make his life
miserable.”
There ran a deep anguish and
hush-hush sound among the audience. A few unfortunate targets among us must
have felt the pressure of refining their hairlines. My room-mate was among
them. His head was full of hairs, which nicely curled below his ears and almost
touched the shoulder line. He was so passionate about keeping them, that it was
a difficult choice for him to submit before the whims of a commandant! After
coming back from our drill, I found him repeatedly trying to observe the status
of his hairline in front of a mirror by using another projected from the back.
I helped him by holding the mirror behind. He heaved a deep sigh after knowing
that he had no chance of hiding them behind his NCC cap. So he sat thoughtfully
on his chair, and tried to figure out a rescue plan. He was one of the sharpest minds in our class.
We considered him the best in Maths, as he learnt Calculus in Class X. By the
time he took admission in class XI, he had finished two volumes of Piskunov.
The other aspect of his nature was his passion for tidiness. He was always clean
and tip-top with his dress and belongings. His books were well arranged in
shelves. He would never throw paper foliages on the floor. Even if he noticed
anything fallen on the floor, he would pick it up and throw it on a waste
basket. His study table was nicely organized, almost, containing just the ones,
which he required then. Every Morning he was the person who used to broom the
floor. Myself and the other room-mate (three of us were sharing the room) were
the direct beneficiaries of his passion for orderliness.
He consulted me, “Could there be
a large enough cap to cover my hair? What about yours? Let me try it.”
I gave it to him. But it made no
difference. As such the size of his head was larger than usual. That
accentuated the problem further. The cap was just enough to be fitted on top of
his head. After being placed there, all around it wavy dense hairs confirmed
their unquestionable existence to the outside world. He got more depressed with these findings.
I suggested him, “Why don’t you
bunk the next drill?”
He gave a shocking look at me
through his high powered glasses, “But, that would mean I will be left out from
the Republic day parade! I don’t want that.”
We remained silent for a while.
Then, I said, “I can do one thing. Let me put your NCC cap on your head, and
trim your hairs around, just enough not to be seen from outside.”
“Can you do it?” he was doubtful.
“I watched it so many times. It
should not be a big deal.” I assured him.
To my surprise he agreed.
---
The next Morning, which was a
Sunday, we settled to our business. Our room was in the first floor of our
hostel in its south block. Between the two blocks, North and South, there ran a
balcony cum a wide open corridor. Our room was just adjacent to this balcony.
We used to have our sun-bath in winter times there. We took a chair in the
balcony. The morning mist just moved
away and the sun was shining above us. My friend sat on the chair turning away
from the sun. He wrapped an Uttariya
(a piece of cloth to wear during the Morning and Evening prayers in our hostel)
over his body. He also had a small mirror in his hand for his supervision.
Finally I placed his NCC cap over his head and asked him whether that was the
right position for him. He nodded. So my task was then to trim the hairs, which
were visible outside the cap. I ran the scissors through hairs covering his
right ear. Those little pieces fell near his legs. He shuddered, but after
observing the effect through his mirror he nodded, “Fine! It should be
acceptable to that man!” His confidence in me boosted my courage and morale. So
I continued. I trimmed the front hairs looming over his forehead. They nicely receded
behind the cap. After removing the cap, my friend made a survey of my work
using the mirror, and appreciated, “Great! You are an expert.”
In the mean time, we had a little
gathering around us. Some of my friends and dadas
(seniors doing their graduate studies in our college) were surprised to find me
in this occupation. One of them commented, “I didn’t know that you mastered
this skill!” Another seemed to be sarcastic, “Good for you! Your future is rest
assured!” But I was unmoved. So was my friend. We continued, and after a while those
curious eyes left the place as they lost interest at the slow progress of my
work. I was doing it very carefully. At every step, I was asking my friend
whether he felt the trimming was appropriate. He was a generous critique. He
assured me, “It is just fine. Finish it.” I also felt so. I could push his hairs’ front
and side lines within the territory of the cap. Then I went for conquering the
last frontier of this struggle – the back yard of his head. There was a
significant outgrowth towards his shoulder, and it appeared to be a lot of work
to restrict them within the territory of his upper neck. I started trimming
those curly hanging pieces, but could never really decide to what extent his
hairline would remain confined. The problem was more aggravated by the fact that
I was not able to consult my friend, as he could not see the state of the
affairs in his back. There was only one single mirror at his hand, and no way
could I show him the latest updates on his hairline. I told, “It’s a problem.
You have enough at the back, and they could not be suppressed by this cap.” He
told me, “Just cut their tops. That should reduce their thickness and depth.”
I ran the scissors as per his
advice. Using the comb, I was cutting the top sections of those pieces of hairs.
I found it became increasingly difficult for me to give the right shape with
the scissors and comb only. It should have a smooth slope down the scalp
towards his shoulder. I remembered the use of a clipper at those places. But it
was a too late realization. By that time I produced a few hairy steps there,
which looked like a Jhum cultivation over a hilly terrain. Finally I resigned
and declared, “It’s done!” It was partly true, as with the NCC cap fitted on
his head, hardly you could see any hair outside it.
My friend was totally ignorant
about the state of his hairy affairs. He was quite happy then to think that our
mission was accomplished! Only the devilish giggle I could not suppress after
looking at my hard work. That made him suspicious. So he went to our room and
observed the back of his head using two mirrors, and sat silently on his chair.
I sincerely offered my apology. He did not utter a single word to me, and
ignored all my entreaties. He was too angry to talk to me. I was full of guilt
and shame, but did not know how to restore his confidence in me.
---
Next Morning we went to our
college. My friend was conspicuously absent on that day. Some of my other
friends enquired about him. I told them that he might not be feeling well. During a break we came out from our class
room, which was situated at the second floor of the building. The corridor in
front of this room was facing the road of the campus, and some of us were
enjoying the sun there. One of us pointed out, “Look, who is going?” We saw a
figure with white shirt and pant (our college uniform) and a sunglass on his
eyes. A handkerchief was wrapped around his head covering its back-side. It was
my friend. I understood he was going to have a proper haircut then. When we
called him, he waved his hand towards us.
After returning to my room in the
afternoon, I found him having a real military hair cut. He was sitting on his
chair and reading a book. He was also humming a tune, while going through it. I
was relieved to see him again in his jolly mood. I asked him, “How did it go?”
He replied, “The barber looking
at your artwork burst into laughter. Even he called a few fellows there to show
it. Then he charged twice to bring it into this shape.”
I offered my sincere apology once
again. He smiled, “Next time! It is my turn. During your sleep, one day I will
show my expertise on your head.”
I knew he didn’t mean it. He was
too nice to do any harm to anyone!
23/04/2012
