Head line

I started hating my hair during my teenage years. As ugly as I was, my hair, I thought, made me look uglier Note: I use "was" and not am as I was uglier during my teenage years than I am or ever was. When people see my photograph from those day, they either faint or laugh hysterically till they faint. For this reason, I started enjoying my trip to barber shop from that time. One more note: For many years, I used the phrase "barber shop" but then I realized that people treat me like a barbarian when I used the phrase "barber shop" to refer to a barber shop. So, I shifted to the phrase saloon though I did not want to. I don't like to refer to a barber shop as a saloon. I mean, isn't saloon a place that one goes to, to drink? When did that become a place one goes to, to have a haircut? Yet another note: That's the first time I have used two to's right next to each other. I am not sure if the statement is grammatically correct but I thought "to hell with it, I will leave the two to's right next to each other as an excuse to write yet another note". 

By now, it should be clear to all those who are used to procrastinating that I don't have much to say but I am trying to keep away from work. So, I am trying to expand the two lines I have in my head to two hundred and twenty two lines. Of course, I might not reach two hundred and twenty two lines but I am sure I will get to two hundred and twenty two words. Incidentally, two hundred and twenty two is highest score made by Gundappa Vishwanath in test cricket. If I remember it right, that was the highest score made by an Indian batman for a long time. 

Nice! Twelve irrelevant lines but at least I brought out the fact that Gundappa Vishwanath made two hundred and twenty two runs in a test match and that this score was his highest score and possibly the highest score made by an Indian at that time.

When I was young, I used to dread going to the barber shop. Those days they used a manual trimmer to remove the hair from the back of the head and this trimmer trimmed in a painful manner. But by my teenage years, the use of this equipment had stopped. Of course, the expectation of seeing my face without the ugly tuft of curls above it made me look forward to my visit to the barber shop. There was a problem though. I only visited the shop once in two months. It never struck me that I could visit the shop once a month and thus avoid having the curly nonsense on my head. To this day, I only visit the saloon once every two months. Now, I am busy imprinting the imperceptible significance of visiting the saloon once every two months to the next generation.

All that changed when Covid struck. The barber shop experience being an intimate one is best kept off our Covidophobia-ed lives. I am sure the concept of social distancing maintains a good 20 feet social distance from the barber shop. So bought a trimmer and started shaving my head by myself. For the past 10 months I used the trimmer once every three weeks and maintained my hair at size one. It was very convenient; I did not have to dry my hair after bath. As an additional benefit, I had the pleasure of gently placing my combs in the dustbin. I felt liberated. As is usually the case, I got bored of this look and about a month back decided not to shave my head anymore. This led to a crisis last weekend. 

I had to trim my hair and I have no idea how to trim my or for that matter anybody else's hair. So, a visit to the saloon seemed the only option. I heard some people say that Covid was on the decline and decided to keep my faith on their words. On Saturday morning, I found myself walking towards the saloon tentatively. The "PUSH" sticker on the door had been reduced to "US" in the last ten months. I walked in and headed straight to the hand sanitizer bottle. I sprayed the liquid onto my palms liberally many times. I applied the liquid all over my hands and face. I rubbed my palms, nose, ears, lips, eye lids, forehead, cheeks and chin for twenty seconds each. One last note: For the past few months, I have been able to estimate the passing of twenty second without singing the happy birthday song. I completed the cleaning process by pouring the liquid into each of my ears. I let the liquid gush around my ears for a bit before pouring it all out. I was now ready for the haircut. One final last note: I hope people don't consider me irresponsible for mocking the safety procedures related to Covid. People who know me well will vouch for my irresponsibility. Don't believe them. 

One of the saloon personnel asked me sit on one of the empty chairs. I sat down and waited. I took out my smartphone and started playing the stupid game that has captured my attention these days. My concentration was broken by the fellow in the next chair placing a video call to his wife. The conversation started with him asking her "How is it?"

"How is what?" asked his wife.

"My Frenchie"

"Your what?"

"Frenchie. French beard!"

"Don't they call it a goatee?"

"That is the local name. In France, they call it Frenchie. How is it?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"HOW DOES IT LOOK!?"

"I have seen you with such a beard before. So what's new?"

"I think it looks good."

"Ok, ok. Get back home quickly."

The guy gave the phone back to his daughter and looked at the mirror for a few seconds. He informed the French beard stylist in Hindi "Acha hain! Chalo, finish kar do". By this time, my own hair stylist stood beside me. He looked at the top of my head in confusion. I resolved his confusion by mentioning that I only wanted to trim my hair and I added helpfully that I wanted to comb my hair with a line parting my hair on the left side of my head. In Malayalam I know it is referred to as "vaga" (as in "vaga eduthude kutti?") but I was not sure how to translate "vaga" into Hindi and so I referred to it as "line", which I realize is technically not Hindi but I used the Hindi version of line (as in "eyyyy! Laine mein aana"). 

The man went about his business with trimmer, scissors, comb and blade. I sat back and closed my eyes. After a few moments I was brought back to the world by the realization that he was scratching a line on the left part of my head with a blade (not bloodline, only line). I realized that vaga did not translate to line in Hindi. I wanted him to stop but it was too late. He had crossed the half way mark. So, I had no choice but to let him continue scratching my scalp. By this time, I felt curious to find the result of this experiment.  In a few minutes, he had completed his job and was waiting expectantly to hear my verdict. I looked at the top of my head and smiled at him approvingly. To my eyes the line looked nothing more than a pronounced vaga. I came back home and was happy to realize that no one said anything about the line on my head.

Next morning, I woke up at 7. I walked into the bathroom and looked at the mirror. The hair on top of my head was unkempt but I saw the line clearly.