As I enter the portals of S.R. Hair Dressing Saloon, Raman greets me with a smile that warms the cockles of my heart.
“Kindly be seated and browse through the newspapers, Sir, I will attend on you soon,” says Raman, as he snips the last few strands of a hair-styling task and received a satisfactory nod from the customer.
I am beckoned to a revolving chair and Raman busies himself in making preparations for styling my hair.
Seated upright and looking at the brightly-lit mirror, I am annoyed to see my receding hairline and an
approaching bald pate.
Sensing my thoughts, he opens up, “The straight soft hair reflects you personality, Sir. You haven’t changed much; the same suave and gentle approach and the mild-mannered talk. After all, I have been seeing you close to 40 years.”
Seeing that this hyperbole has me wriggling uncomfortably, he switches to another topic.
From political developments and cinema releases on Friday, Raman has a remark to make about everything under the sun. One visit to his saloon and you are abreast of the happenings in the neighbourhood.
Usually, I am a passive listener. But today, I interrupt him.
“Raman; is that your full name?”
“Ramadas is my name; you call me Raman and some others call me Ramu. It’s ok with me anyway. After
all what is in a name? Life goes on,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, his trademark mannerism.
“But Raman, you started as an apprentice to Mani, didn’t you?” I prod him.
“That was a long time ago and I was in my late teens then. Some years passed by. A kindly soul like you suggested that I open a shop on my own. He proceeded to get a loan sanctioned and stood guarantee for the same. From then, there was no looking back. I added two assistants and carried out a makeover of the shop too. This television has since replaced that old Murphy radio. Lady Luck continued to smile on me. I got my daughter married and set up a photocopying shop for my son”, he says.
“I am happy you have come this far. Any regrets?” I ask him abruptly.
The multiple reflection of the mirror betrays his emotions. I see his smile vanishing. Collecting
himself, he says, “When I was settling down for a quiet life, God had other plans. He
snatched my wife a few years ago. It was a sudden setback. I am getting over it
slowly. Life goes on, Sir.” Then, he starts a second round of neighbourhood gossip.
“You are done, Sir. I have always worked for the customer’s delight, you see. That makes my day. Keep
coming, Sir. Only the patronage of people like you keeps me busy and going. Otherwise, I let my
assistants handle the funky hairdo of the youngsters,” he waves me goodbye.
The infectious enthusiasm over the years has baffled me. This time around the ‘Raman effect’ has been
very pronounced.
(T.S. Manohar is a resident of Mylapore)
