“Piu….Piu, wake up, please come downstairs” heard the voice of my mother. I said, “Let me
sleep a little more mom” and turned away from her and covered my head with a pillow. She
told in calm voice, running her hands through my hair, “Please wake up, its late dear. And
your hair….” I interrupted, “yeah I know it is long, I will go with father this Sunday to get it
cut. Mom said, “You will skip haircut, get up dear, your cousin is here, what he will think of
you?” I replied, “joy is at least 10 years older than me, and a PhD guy, no time to chat with
me, he only came here because you requested him a lot, he has no interest here, see the
amount of work he has brought with him” mom lightly rebuked me, “don’t say such, and get
up and come downstairs” and then went away.
I got up from bed, brushed my teeth, changed to salwar kameez and went near mirror. I
opened my pony tail, a small one with hair just up to shoulder. I used to have hair in short,
cut in boyish style, closely cropped to scalp in sides and rear, getting this cut every fourth
Sunday of month. My dad would take me to a barbershop opposite to the road; the barber
would gladly cut my hair. But I was fed up now. I am 17 years now, but still having short
hair.
So every Sunday from the month of middle of March, I started to make excuses. I stated
to spend almost all the daytime of Sunday at friend’s house in name of project, study etc. My
father, a government worker, doesn’t have any free time except Sundays. My mother a
housewife would never take me to barbershop. Parlor charges are huge; all three of us know
it, so no chance of any haircut if I successfully evade the Sundays. I have successfully grown
my hair up to shoulders now. Mom sometimes threatens me that she will cut off my hair, but
she won’t do it. I know her.
“Come downstairs Piu”, I again heard my mom’s voice. I went downstairs. Dad has already
left for office, Mom was there in dining hall, and I searched for my cousin. Mom said, “Piu,
Joy has called a barber to get him a shave, since your father is not getting time to take you to
barber, I think you should get haircut after his shave” I was furious, thinking about losing my
hair again was terrible “what? You called the barber home? But we never called barber at
home, they make your home dirty spread chopped hair everywhere and they charge much
more for service at home” mom smiled at this, “don’t worry he is a travelling barber, he goes
home to home asking if anybody need haircut or shave, and they actually charge less than a
barbershop” she then touched my hair and continued, “I let him in because shaving doesn’t
make place dirty, but thought your haircut is more important now, your father will be going
out this weekend, so he won’t have time for your haircut” I said, “but mom…”she interrupted
me, her tone changed and she yelled, “go now Piu, it’s just a normal haircut” She has tried in
a good way, but I am not agreeing so she was back to her other form. Before going I just said,
“mom, please don’t cut my hair like other time, please let it be a little long” she pointed her
hand towards the garden without saying yes or no.
I went to garden. Joy was sitting on a low bench facing the barber, a man in 30s. His shave
was complete and the barber was now rubbing his bald head. He then got up. The barber
then opened the blade from safety razor and saw me. He asked, “You are next?” I nodded. He
signaled me to sit in the stool.
It was really low, I sat facing him. I was accustomed to sit on large barber chair, but here I
have to fold my leg sitting in front of him. He signaled me to turn around; I obeyed and
moved my face away from his. My mother came to the scene now; she told the barber,
“Hmm, cut her short like boys, it’s so hot now a days” I didn’t said a thing.
He then took out a white cloth cape, the cotton one in which hair remains attached, put it
around me, fastening it around neck. Then he took out a sprayer, to wet my hair. He sprayed
all around my head, even lifting some of my locks to spray in between. Then took a comb and
started combing it. With one hand he held my head forward, with other he combed from top
to down, brushing all hair from front to back.
He released of his hand, holding my hair in single hand. I sensed he is taking the scissors. I
felt the blades of scissor behind my head, he adjusting his hands and then I heard schkk
schkk… The pressure from my head was released; I turn my head to see chucks of hair on the
grass. I knew this was coming; I would just get the same standard haircut.
The barber then tilted my head forward as expected, combed again, and then a large thing
touched my head and I heard a sound sksksksk….sksks..sk and then felt large piece of hair
falling sliding down my back. I was expecting the feeling of scissor hacking my hair
intermittently with gaps covered my comb. But this was too big to be scissor; I turned around
to see a manual clipper in the hand of the barber. I was horrified, but the barber just turned
me again with his strong hand and again touched that clipper with my head, this time on the
left side. He continued running the clipper, with every time he was increasing the area
covered, reaching to top of my head. As he reached sides, clump of hair started falling on my
front, on my cape. I hated it, seeing my hair all clipped off. I started feeling an air breeze at
my back. He did same thing with the right side.
Only hair in front was left. He started the manual clipper from left side, running them
toward the right. With each time he was coming down from top of head. I kept my eyes close,
as the locks were going to ground through my eyes. He ceased after removing the last lock. I
opened my eyes.
I saw he was inserting blades into the safety razor. I thought of the worse. He tilted my head
forward, placed at my nape and started scratching, holding my head still with other hand. I
prayed to god at my mind, “I only have one inches of hair left in my head. Please stop him,
please…” and he stopped. He then took out a brush dusted my back. He then opened my cape
carefully, so as no hair get into my Salwar, a lame attempt because, he uses both side of cape,
and my dress was covered with hair of his previous customers.
He then wiped my face and
told me to get up. I got up, touched my head, felt a spiky one. Mom paid for my buzz.
I was angry with mom; I didn’t spoke with her till evening. At evening when she was
brushing her hair which almost reached to her waist I came to her to complain. She said
before I can say anything, “you can have your hair like me, or even better. But for now you
should have it short. You skipped haircut many times, so your hair chopped like this”. I didn’t
say a thing. I just thought, “I don’t know if my hair will be like yours, but I will surely make
yours like mine
sleep a little more mom” and turned away from her and covered my head with a pillow. She
told in calm voice, running her hands through my hair, “Please wake up, its late dear. And
your hair….” I interrupted, “yeah I know it is long, I will go with father this Sunday to get it
cut. Mom said, “You will skip haircut, get up dear, your cousin is here, what he will think of
you?” I replied, “joy is at least 10 years older than me, and a PhD guy, no time to chat with
me, he only came here because you requested him a lot, he has no interest here, see the
amount of work he has brought with him” mom lightly rebuked me, “don’t say such, and get
up and come downstairs” and then went away.
I got up from bed, brushed my teeth, changed to salwar kameez and went near mirror. I
opened my pony tail, a small one with hair just up to shoulder. I used to have hair in short,
cut in boyish style, closely cropped to scalp in sides and rear, getting this cut every fourth
Sunday of month. My dad would take me to a barbershop opposite to the road; the barber
would gladly cut my hair. But I was fed up now. I am 17 years now, but still having short
hair.
So every Sunday from the month of middle of March, I started to make excuses. I stated
to spend almost all the daytime of Sunday at friend’s house in name of project, study etc. My
father, a government worker, doesn’t have any free time except Sundays. My mother a
housewife would never take me to barbershop. Parlor charges are huge; all three of us know
it, so no chance of any haircut if I successfully evade the Sundays. I have successfully grown
my hair up to shoulders now. Mom sometimes threatens me that she will cut off my hair, but
she won’t do it. I know her.
“Come downstairs Piu”, I again heard my mom’s voice. I went downstairs. Dad has already
left for office, Mom was there in dining hall, and I searched for my cousin. Mom said, “Piu,
Joy has called a barber to get him a shave, since your father is not getting time to take you to
barber, I think you should get haircut after his shave” I was furious, thinking about losing my
hair again was terrible “what? You called the barber home? But we never called barber at
home, they make your home dirty spread chopped hair everywhere and they charge much
more for service at home” mom smiled at this, “don’t worry he is a travelling barber, he goes
home to home asking if anybody need haircut or shave, and they actually charge less than a
barbershop” she then touched my hair and continued, “I let him in because shaving doesn’t
make place dirty, but thought your haircut is more important now, your father will be going
out this weekend, so he won’t have time for your haircut” I said, “but mom…”she interrupted
me, her tone changed and she yelled, “go now Piu, it’s just a normal haircut” She has tried in
a good way, but I am not agreeing so she was back to her other form. Before going I just said,
“mom, please don’t cut my hair like other time, please let it be a little long” she pointed her
hand towards the garden without saying yes or no.
I went to garden. Joy was sitting on a low bench facing the barber, a man in 30s. His shave
was complete and the barber was now rubbing his bald head. He then got up. The barber
then opened the blade from safety razor and saw me. He asked, “You are next?” I nodded. He
signaled me to sit in the stool.
It was really low, I sat facing him. I was accustomed to sit on large barber chair, but here I
have to fold my leg sitting in front of him. He signaled me to turn around; I obeyed and
moved my face away from his. My mother came to the scene now; she told the barber,
“Hmm, cut her short like boys, it’s so hot now a days” I didn’t said a thing.
He then took out a white cloth cape, the cotton one in which hair remains attached, put it
around me, fastening it around neck. Then he took out a sprayer, to wet my hair. He sprayed
all around my head, even lifting some of my locks to spray in between. Then took a comb and
started combing it. With one hand he held my head forward, with other he combed from top
to down, brushing all hair from front to back.
He released of his hand, holding my hair in single hand. I sensed he is taking the scissors. I
felt the blades of scissor behind my head, he adjusting his hands and then I heard schkk
schkk… The pressure from my head was released; I turn my head to see chucks of hair on the
grass. I knew this was coming; I would just get the same standard haircut.
The barber then tilted my head forward as expected, combed again, and then a large thing
touched my head and I heard a sound sksksksk….sksks..sk and then felt large piece of hair
falling sliding down my back. I was expecting the feeling of scissor hacking my hair
intermittently with gaps covered my comb. But this was too big to be scissor; I turned around
to see a manual clipper in the hand of the barber. I was horrified, but the barber just turned
me again with his strong hand and again touched that clipper with my head, this time on the
left side. He continued running the clipper, with every time he was increasing the area
covered, reaching to top of my head. As he reached sides, clump of hair started falling on my
front, on my cape. I hated it, seeing my hair all clipped off. I started feeling an air breeze at
my back. He did same thing with the right side.
Only hair in front was left. He started the manual clipper from left side, running them
toward the right. With each time he was coming down from top of head. I kept my eyes close,
as the locks were going to ground through my eyes. He ceased after removing the last lock. I
opened my eyes.
I saw he was inserting blades into the safety razor. I thought of the worse. He tilted my head
forward, placed at my nape and started scratching, holding my head still with other hand. I
prayed to god at my mind, “I only have one inches of hair left in my head. Please stop him,
please…” and he stopped. He then took out a brush dusted my back. He then opened my cape
carefully, so as no hair get into my Salwar, a lame attempt because, he uses both side of cape,
and my dress was covered with hair of his previous customers.
He then wiped my face and
told me to get up. I got up, touched my head, felt a spiky one. Mom paid for my buzz.
I was angry with mom; I didn’t spoke with her till evening. At evening when she was
brushing her hair which almost reached to her waist I came to her to complain. She said
before I can say anything, “you can have your hair like me, or even better. But for now you
should have it short. You skipped haircut many times, so your hair chopped like this”. I didn’t
say a thing. I just thought, “I don’t know if my hair will be like yours, but I will surely make
yours like mine
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