The Wise one says…

I read a poem in 10th standard about a guy who hates to go to the dentist..yes the one with the vicious circle in, loved the poem and since that day I have been trying to write a similar poem bout experiences at a saloon. But by the virtue my literary capabilities(or by the absence of those)…I just cant. Its not that I dont try hard.. I just cant. Some people can..but I cant. Lycra says you have it or you dont, same here.

So .. . The barber shop. From the very beginning I was afraid of people with scissors in their hands, click click and a cut. And you see as trand well grown and conditioned falling as if nobody cares. click click …and tada you are all bald.

I hated the ritual, those were the Sundays when my dad took me to the barber shop, Sitting idle and doing nothing but just posing for some non existent camera, looking yourslelf in really humiliating or possibly funny postures in the mirror. You cant even point and laugh upon the people sitting nearby coz you are on no good either.

My sister enjoyed haircuts.. all the attention she got. But I just hated it…hated hated it. I was a tough one, I never understood how I was supposed to sit where the neck goes next. When I saw people, they seemed to have no problem at all. It was like a universal language which I by the kind nature was deprived rather denied of the abilities to comprehend. I wondered if their is a manual ..if their was one must be written in English(Coz otherwise I would have understood the each word).

Now it was time when I was going to the barber shop all alone…with no one to supervise.. I would look at the mirrors and count the number of me’s… But the saloon…as they now used to call it were plane boring place with Ramayana being played on Sony Television every time I was their for a cut. Those smooth clicks of scissors caught my imagination…and alas…Edward Scissorhands was on a release.

I watched the movie got inspired…picked up the scissors and tried to shape the the plants in the backyard. I actually butchered them…..killed them all. And then there was my sister…and tried to chop off a few strands..(Otherwise.,.I just used to pull them). barber in me was growing day by day. But then all of a sudden..I stepped out of it…. coz I myself hated the whole experience.

There were days when I refused the new guy at the shop to cut my hair…repercussions were huge. The guy next time I visit made me look like as if I was from planet of the apes.

Barber …is so important in everybodies life…I mean be friends with yours and he wont give you a bad haircut. I have seen people who take advice from their barber….their confidante. … Its the barbers who started the corquette after all… Be it the latest amir style r the old little johnny…

Your barber makes you look the way you do…and the way you look more or less…in way influences people’s conceptions about you ( or the first impressions for that matter). Someone you dont even care to tip..or cant even remember the name of can actually screw your happiness for a month atleast…thats the power of the scissor.

Each day could be a bad hair day…just clicks away…..so I say..

Love thy Barber.