What rapid developments there have been since the days of the summer cut, the only hairstyle that was known to most of us men! The simple, once-in-a-quarter, chore has today become complicated and expensive.
I sensed the change even in 1990 when I went to work in Lusaka, Zambia. First of all, I had to fix up an appointment — yes, to cut my hair! My friend took me to a shop and I re-checked with him if we were at the right place, before stepping in. Because, in sharp contrast to what I had seen in India, there was not a single hair on the floor, no posters, and no smell of soap and talcum powder. A gentle-looking lady received and guided me to a chair. The chairs were placed with sufficient space in between, and I did not have to wrestle my way up to it. My friend explained that they were unisex saloons, catering to men and women: no gender bias. The same lady tilted the chair and my head gently backwards and gave my hair a shampoo wash and dried it. She then got immersed in her work and my mind recalled my childhood hair-cutting experiences in India.
It was not as straightforward as one would imagine. Everyone in the family would take a critical look at my hair growth and voice an opinion. There was never a consensus as to whether it was ready for the harvest. But that did not matter, because my father had the final say.
Until I reached college, he always accompanied me: I never understood why. Brahma muhurtam is auspicious, as we know. Does it apply for this also, I wondered, since we got up at 4.30 a.m. and made our way on foot to the shop in Pondy Bazaar in Chennai, called Kerala Saloon. We would be the first customers for the day. As we waited, I would take a sheepish look at the pin-up girl posters — they would be considered goddesses today — on the wall.
A little while later, a man clad in a perfect white dhoti and shirt would arrive, tap a chair and rotate it a few times and then look at me, without uttering a word. I would walk up to him like a lamb to the slaughter machine.
Soon he would be on the job. He would press and rotate my head every now and then, as if it is fixed on a swivel. On completion, the satisfaction on his face could only match that of a drought-hit farmer seeing a bumper harvest!
“You are done and you look smart,” said the lady in Lusaka, which brought me back from my reverie. Whether in Lusaka or Chennai, the end result was the same — the perfect summer cut.
umamani@hotmail.com
