Saloony tales

//Insert obligatory pretentious prologue explaining absence on the blogosphere as if anyone cares.
With a gap of more than 2 months and the mind being exposed to more work, I doubted if I had the ability to write and more importantly write funny. The faith in my humour and writing was reaffirmed after I wrote my self appraisal. Again, not that anyone cares.


Apart from the fundamental right to education and the right to not put education in practical use, I believe a child needs to have the basic right to a monster truck to carry the bookload to school and the right to choose their own hairstyle. Yes, the idea is from my own harrowing experiences of being denied the right to choose a hairstyle. Story slightly melodramatic for the faint hearted and actors from Karan johar movies.

I have vague memories of my trips to the saloon in Kannur when I was a kid. Childhood trips to the saloon were accompanied by my father whose mindset was on the lines of the typical Indian middle class i.e more hair cut for less money or 40% extra hair cut for the same amount. He had a philosophy that after a haircut, the hair should be so short that you should'nt be able to pull it by hand. Of course as a child, anyone would hate that. The trip to the saloon was on my dad's bajaj scooter, the quintessential middle class mode of transport, which can cleverly accommodate even a horse in the front. The entire journey to the saloon would be spent by me writing an obituary to my hair. "Dear hair, Thanks for being there with me for so long. We had a good run so far. I would love to be with you, but the society does not want us to be together. Hope you become a wig and land on the head of a hollywood superstar,maybe that old grandpa who built Jurassic park(That was the only English movie I had seen until then). Bye."



The relationship with a barber is as crucial as a relationship with your doctor or the peon who knows of your illicit affair with the secretary or a cricketer;s relationship with a bookie. You need to trust him completely. However my barber at Kannur(Kerala) was slightly eccentric and Sreesanthish( except for the fist pumping and dance). My father narrated instructions to him as if he was going to launch a GSLV into a geo-centric orbit. "Korachu cut seyyum" ('less cut do' in google translator language), said my dad and he went off to catch a smoke.


Apparently barbers take kids too lightly and he was all engrossed in Lal Etta's comedy clip while cutting my hair. The ugly elf in me was slowly getting unraveled and I started resembling Gollum more and more. As I imagined the pointing and staring that I would have to endure the subsequent day, the barber neared my scalp enjoying Lal etta's antics onscreen. The worst thing during a haircut, however, is that it itches under your nose and with hands under the sheet, you are as helpless as a bollywood policeman. I try to divert my mind to thinking about various things from Baba Sehgal to Uncle Scrooge trying to forget the nasal torture I was going through.

Finally after cutting the hair, shaving the sides with a razor , re-cutting the hair , re-shaving with the razor and finally giving it a thorough inspection , he takes the sponge which had all the hair from South Kerala and rubs the back of my head to make it more dirty. Then he removes the sheet and it is freedom finally. I instantly rub the area under the nose to gain some quick nasal pleasure. My dad was back in the saloon and he surveyed my head like some kind of forensic expert. After final approval my head passes the official approval for external display. I look at myself in the mirror and I see a recursive display of myself between the two mirrors.

By the way, there is a world of difference in mothers before and after a haircut. When I enter home after a haircut my mother treats me like I just returned after committing a triple murder. I am not supposed to touch anything in the house until I have a bath. I doubted if she torch me to flames if I disobeyed and hence I never took the risk.

The next day at school, there is a lot of pointing, staring and enquiries about the haircut and I get the feeling of returning from drug abuse rehab. Kids try to come up all sorts of animal names on the Wildlife endangered list(eg: Porcupine, platypus, Vinod Kambli) to compare your haircut to . However it just takes a few hours for people to get used to the ugly haircut(the absentees in class take a few hours the next day). Things finally get back to normal and I am considered slightly human again.

Aaj mere paas housing loan hai, credit card hai,rapidshare premium account hai, mere neighbour ke pass gaadi hai, bank balance hai, lekin hair thoda kum hai. Nostalgia as I get my hair cut at a Velacherry A/C saloon by a barber who owns 3 grounds at Velacherry and is richer than everyone of us.