Enter.
Look around and find your favorite barber.
“Make the sides neat and don’t touch the top… it’s thin anyway!” Laughter.
Shick Shick Shick… Shick Shick Shick – goes the scissor!
You close your eyes, for you have no clue how the hair will look like once they done. Try thinking of your problems – why why why? Why do my best memories desert me when I’m reminiscing?
Water, GULP!
Shick Shick Shick… Shick Shick Shick – goes the scissor again!
You are now engulfed in a trance full of treble! You let yourself loose, hands and legs draining energy, like through a hole and into the chair that somehow comes alive and starts responding to your shifts in the seat. The foam feels softer and homely.
An hour passes. A mouth homes into your ears and pleads politely asks – “Your hair look amazing. Head Massage Sir?!!”
Your head spins, shuddering back to reality, brain processes the words and thinks of the cash at hand. Satisfied, you just nod affirmatively.
Then come the beats and bass to the treble of the scissors. The persisting trance gathers momentum, running faster, stronger, drawing you into winds of gusto. The head blows, the crashing sound of cool oil on your scalp, the skin let loose, stretched to proportions unknown to you. Pain, pleasure, discomfort, comfort. The only voice you hear is your own when you moan.
A vibrating machine fills the last needed colors to an already colorful canvas. Ears, eyes, scalp, neck – it goes everywhere, leaves nothing to imagination and sucks the last remaining demon from your head.
It stops. What? Where? Why? Is this it?
“2 hours have passed sir!”.
Waking up from the slumber and that vicious chair, you see the world in colors unknown. They’re vibrant. So vibrant, they bring you to life. I came back to life.
Only my shoulder, so relieved from the massage, knows how difficult was it to ride back home.
Want a haircut? Come to an Indian salon.
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