Attempt at Kiss

I am a proud owner of long hair. It almost falls to my shoulder. Well, No, a little short of that. It doesn't take much to maintain. My sister has the view that it’s my hair which is eating up my entire food intake and the reason why I am slim. So after lots of soul searching I decided to cut my long, lavish and luxurious hair so that it’s easier to dry it (never thought someone needed soul searching to have hair cut). Otherwise it’s an exercise unto itself. Or think of it and yeah! May be that’s why I am slim. I can prescribe it for people who want to go for weight reduction programs. (Moe?) Come and dry my hair for ten minute every day morning. You don't have to pay me a penny. I can forgo the fee considering you are my friend. If there is more than one in need of the service, I am willing to take bath more than once a day. Where can you find such an offer? Even beats VLCC hands down. What say you? Staying slim is a privilege nowadays.

I decided to take my head and hair to a saloon. After walking like a drug-addicted chicken for some time I reached one. It resembled more of an Evil Dead movie location than a barber shop. Just as I was about to enter, a small kid came out screaming his lungs out. Not a very good omen, you would say. With a heavy and foreboding heart I entered. To my utter discomfort I found out that the barber and I were on the same level of education. Both of us didn't know one language. He didn't know a word in English and I didn't know a word in Marathi. Trouble is thus spelled. Moreover he smiled like he was willing to cut even my head off, as a bonus. Come to think of it, since 8, all my ex-barbers had that same evil smile. His scissors clicked. Click.. click.. I remembered some vultures in Discovery clicking their beaks before eating the pray alive. I prayed hard to all the gods that this fellow would not have seen that show. It didn’t give me any comfort that those vultures had a very bad sense of hair dressing.

Barber of Pune:“Kya?”

I of Pune: “mushroom cut”

BoP: “Masoom Cut.. Masoom main Jugal Hansraj jaisa..” (It was more of a statement than a question)

IoP: “most respected barberjee.. aap ki marzi.. jo chahe vo kar dee jiye”

He blabbered something in Marathi and I assumed that it meant “short?” I replied in affirmative. As he opened his draw, my memory went back to my second standard where a terrified child in I was looking at my teacher pulling a long cane from the drawer. (Karta was the master, Karma was me and Kriya is u-know-what) Out came a steel device which didn't resemble anything I have ever seen in my life, or for that matter, even wanted to. “Click-click” He almost applied it on my head when I understood his cruel intolerable abominable intention. He was going to put other barbers out of business for a while. What a BALD business DECISION. Shave my head off! I held my hands high up in the air and started bellowing in Malayalam. Evidently he got so shocked that he was standing there agape. It was difficult to determine who was shivering more; I- out of the fear of losing all my hair in one lucky stroke or him out of hearing a cry which almost resembled a blood thirsty hound.

My broken Hindi tried to convince him that I wanted some, a little bit, hair to remain on my head. He grudgingly let go off his device and went back to his scissors. “Click-click” again. And started. I hadn't slept properly for two days and dutifully fell asleep. Trust is such a bad thing. You don't trust your friend when he says he didn't forget but was about to call you. But you will go to sleep with your head in the hands of a human with no known background and who is an expert at dealing dangerous weapons, namely scissors. “Click.. Click”

After sleeping for good fifteen or so minutes I was rudely awaken by the man of the hour, Barber of Pune. And boy, did I wake up or not! All I could do was to sit and stare at the old bald man sitting opposite to me. He was looking like he has gone old by some thirty years in thirteen minutes and he looked remotely like me. No Way that I look like this! All the hair had mysteriously vanished. And what was left on my head now resembled some wild bush in Australia waiting to catch fire. If I peer closely I could see my scalp. And my hair line also has gone up a bit. Terrible. Horrible.

I paid him the extortion amount and left the place meekly. I returned to my flat. The reaction was just as I imagined. My roommates have never ever laughed so much in their life. I took a quick bath and ran outside. The run stopped outside a cine complex. I was waiting for my friend to join me. Suddenly I heard someone tapping my hands and saying something. “Uncle, Uncle.. What's the time?” With sinking heart I realized that a ten years old villain is calling ME his uncle. Badmash. When did I become his UNCLE? Didn't his mother ever lecture him on manners? Is this what they teach kids at school nowadays? What a Shame! No wonder the country is going to dogs. I cursed all and everything. So much for Keeping It Short and Sexy! But the blow was struck. I realized how the man in the Godrej hair dye ad would have felt. That word roamed around my head like a couple of happy yellow canaries. “Uncleee.. Uncleee”

Nahiiiiiinnnn.. :(

Frozen Sun

KISS is an acronym that we use while using presentations for “Keeping It Short and Sexy”. For all those who were looking for a juicy story where I would be kissing my girlfriend, go and take a walk. That’s private :)

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