"Its your turn", said the Spanish lady to me as I sat waiting in the Karla’s Hair Salon. I was waiting for more than 30 minutes and was a relieved man when she finally called. The lady pointed me to the vacant seat where a tall heavy built man was waiting for his next customer. Well over 6 foot he had his hair cut so thinly and he had a neat thin beard that was trimmed well. Overall he looked a giant killer waiting for his next victim.
"How much you want – medium or short?" asked the lady.
"Short – 1 inch" I said.
"1 inch?? You want to be like him?" pointing to the giant.
"Oh No. Not like that. I want it a medium short."
"Okay Threis" She said to the giant.
The giant knew only Spanish and as he started cutting my hair with the 3-inch blade hair-cutting machine I started thinking of the ways, which my hair was cut. I was sitting in the American town of Chicago for my hair styling and was dropped there by my roommate.
Years ago I, when I was still in school, I used to cycle 4 kilometers for a haircut. Not because there was no barbershops nearby my house, but because only Appunniyettan’s barber shop, near my ancestral house, satisfied me.
Appunniyettan was not just another barber. He was the person who was approached by a whole village for their haircuts. He had no modern machinery. Just the needed manual equipments and two styles to offer- the fashionable “Bachan” Cut and the normal Crop Cut. With this he ruled the entire village. He was the busiest barber I ever met. His Sundays busy with all the working people and students. I used wait a couple of hours to get to the hot seat. But going down there was fun, I could cycle a lot, visit my grandparents.
Once on the hot seat you need not worry about your hair, because Appunniyettan would do the needful. So I never worried about the style of my hair, for Appunniyettan knew that I would only opt for the normal Crop or else I would bear the wrath of my father. His style itself was different; he used to scold if we do not keep the head in the desirable positions. Some times he used to put the scissors over my ears and mimic as if he was going to cut my ears. Only thing I didn’t like of his was the smell of the Beedi that was spread on his body and dress. As every other smoking Malayali of those times he also used to smoke Beedi only. The stamp of the working class. His haircut lasted about 15-20 minutes with fun filled stories happening in the village, as I was always an outsider.
Years down as I grew up, I was moving away from my hometown. In the college days, I tried new styles on my hair, with Mushrooms and Navy Cuts adoring my head. Some times I felt going back to Appunniyettan to have a cut, to know about the stories that were happening in my ancestral village, but the sheer thought of ‘who wants to go there when you have a salon near-by’ kept me away from him. At times, when I visit my grandmother I come across him. He had always one question:
"Hey, you are not seen these days."
"How much you want – medium or short?" asked the lady.
"Short – 1 inch" I said.
"1 inch?? You want to be like him?" pointing to the giant.
"Oh No. Not like that. I want it a medium short."
"Okay Threis" She said to the giant.
The giant knew only Spanish and as he started cutting my hair with the 3-inch blade hair-cutting machine I started thinking of the ways, which my hair was cut. I was sitting in the American town of Chicago for my hair styling and was dropped there by my roommate.
Years ago I, when I was still in school, I used to cycle 4 kilometers for a haircut. Not because there was no barbershops nearby my house, but because only Appunniyettan’s barber shop, near my ancestral house, satisfied me.
Appunniyettan was not just another barber. He was the person who was approached by a whole village for their haircuts. He had no modern machinery. Just the needed manual equipments and two styles to offer- the fashionable “Bachan” Cut and the normal Crop Cut. With this he ruled the entire village. He was the busiest barber I ever met. His Sundays busy with all the working people and students. I used wait a couple of hours to get to the hot seat. But going down there was fun, I could cycle a lot, visit my grandparents.
Once on the hot seat you need not worry about your hair, because Appunniyettan would do the needful. So I never worried about the style of my hair, for Appunniyettan knew that I would only opt for the normal Crop or else I would bear the wrath of my father. His style itself was different; he used to scold if we do not keep the head in the desirable positions. Some times he used to put the scissors over my ears and mimic as if he was going to cut my ears. Only thing I didn’t like of his was the smell of the Beedi that was spread on his body and dress. As every other smoking Malayali of those times he also used to smoke Beedi only. The stamp of the working class. His haircut lasted about 15-20 minutes with fun filled stories happening in the village, as I was always an outsider.
Years down as I grew up, I was moving away from my hometown. In the college days, I tried new styles on my hair, with Mushrooms and Navy Cuts adoring my head. Some times I felt going back to Appunniyettan to have a cut, to know about the stories that were happening in my ancestral village, but the sheer thought of ‘who wants to go there when you have a salon near-by’ kept me away from him. At times, when I visit my grandmother I come across him. He had always one question:
"Hey, you are not seen these days."
Once he stopped my bike and asked, "Hey what have you done to your hair, it looks so bad. All these new fellows don’t even know how to cut hair properly."
"That is the new style Appunniyetta", I murmured without looking his eyes.
"What new style. You guys do something to your hair with some machines and say New Style. Shame on you. But there is no use in complaining you alone. Even the people of this village are after that. You know that Gulf returned Balan; he has opened a new barbershop in that corner of the road. The whole youth is there. He has got some smuggled machines. Good for nothing fellow, calls himself a barber. Who can’t cut another persons hair if he has some machines? Can he cut an inch of hair with a scissors and comb?" fumed Appunniyettan.
I was thinking why this person is saying all these things to me, but when I saw his almost empty shop I knew he just wanted to share his frustration with some one. Can’t complain since the whole world is modernising.
"What is the use of I telling all this to you. You also don’t come here. Isn’t it?"
"Next time Appunniyetta, I will be coming here. Sure. My word" I promised to him.
That was 2 years ago and the last time I met him. Since then I would have cut my hair umpteen times but never from him. Not because I didn’t want to go to him, but circumstances were against me. Now sitting in the Air Conditioned Salon, as the giant is making inroads into my hair, I was thinking of a suitable time visiting home. I decided I would go to Appunniyettan even if I didn’t have to cut much of my hair.
That night I called home, explained about my haircutting experience. Then my mom said.
"Hey Pee did you know, Barber Appunni passed away yesterday. He was having lung cancer." I was shocked to hear that. All that day I was thinking about this person and he never existed in the world. And my promise remained unfulfilled. The last haircut remains.
Next Time Appunniyetta, when you and I meet up there.
