The cut throat situation
It wasn’t exactly the best of days for the laudatory of the days’ weather. It was a heavily hot and rather intemperately humid day. Sweat rolled off my brow as if I were standing under shower of hot, salty sweat water itself. And the worst was my rather messed up hair. The dream of getting a “rock star” plaited look was just about to come to an end as I finally decided to get rid of the thick unkempt curls. Sad? No. A relief!
And as already stated, it wasn’t the best of days. It was my regular “Bad Luck Week” of the month; or rather the fortnight now-a-days. I took out my steel horse out for a run and headed straight to a parlour one of my better friends had suggested just about near to our favourite hanging out place, “Sargam Shopping Centre”. “STYLE”: at least the name’s fancy I thought. And the fantasy didn’t end at the door either. The interiors were cosy; the air conditioned by two LG ACs, a faint rosy smell teased my nostrils. It was the lowly afternoon hour implied absence of a crowd eager to get the knife edged scissors wavering over their head! I was on right away, placing the most important part of my body in his hands, or rather scissors; the thought reminded me of the Johnny Depp movie, “Edward Scissorhands”.
I said, “Chotte karna [Keep them short]”, to which I received a gentle positive nod. “Wow! The chair is pretty comfortable”, popped out a thought in my head. He began the proceedings; combing the hair, wetting them to the right degree, and a small head massage. And that was it! He was just a humble friendly barber, I thought. But little did I know what was going on in his demonic brain.
The moment he started the procedure of relieving me of the sweat inducing hair, a chill ran down my spine; something wasn’t right. It was as if he had some kind of a grudge against my black beauties. He was literally hammering down my scalp. The thought of getting up, kicking him in the balls and running away as far as I can from the parlour came at least a thousand times in my rather vexed mind. But I was also aware of the weapons I was facing; the innumerable scissors of all sizes, the ruthless combs scratching the hell out of my head, and the most dangerous of the all; the razor, the “astra” as it is known in gujarati, loosely translated as the ultimate weapon!
As I continued stirring my brain up with impending war plans, the attack was getting fiercer every second. It was as if the more hair I lost, the more the pain inflicted. My options were limited now, he was slowly and steadily moving to the ultimate weapon. Let this end my lord! Let this end! Relieve me of this unkind world my lord! Let the satan commit his wish.
And then the “astra” was finally launched; the targets: neck, ears and wherever possible! It was nearing, the end was nearing. Although the “astra” attack wasn’t as fierce as the scissors’, but I knew its capabilities. “End it!”, I prayed, “End it now!”. Then, one moment of piercing pain; and then, peace. Peace: I knew it had ended. I was not feeling anything, no more pain, no more thumping on the head; just the ghostly air movement caused by the AC… Wait a minute… I can still feel! The rosy smell still tickled my nostrils! I was alive; it wasn’t the end! But, if it wasn’t the end, then?
And the answer came with a rather heavy shake by the humble barber, “Ho gaya sahib”, followed by friendly giggle and fumbled my hair giving me a rather hype hairstyle. “It’s done sir. You fell asleep and I didn’t want to disturb because it made my job easier.” [I am translating guys, he spoke in gujarati] But then why the pain? The question didn’t have to leave my mouth to get an answer from him, “It’s a new style of cutting Sirjee, its called rough cut, see, it also has a special type of scissor. Of course it might have hurt but it gives a good look.”
And so the war ended, leaving me rather confused than defeated: It had been a bad day and the AC and the comfort of the saloon chair just catalyzed my sleep. And a day in the war dreams of Parth Mistry’s life just concluded!
Parth Mistry
3rd yr mech, SVNIT
