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The Barber Shop

It was the Sunday before Mahalaya and it was my annual effort to makemyself look good. So I was sitting on the high chair of Popular Hair Saloon with the intention of having a good crop done, though with each passing yearthe crop on my head becomes an increasing challenge even for the best of barbers. So I restrict myself to a maximum of two hair cuts every year so that the barber has enough to harvest.

The months that had gone by had left me with little time to take a look at myself. So as Munnabhai (the barber) prepared his tools to work on me, I took a close look at myself in the mirror. The only proof that I had a decent disposition in my earlier years are my photographs and that is whatI use to usually convince my wife that she did not get such a raw deal after all. Well, except for a new hue of white and grey in my hair and my eyes sunk in a little deeper than usual (a la Marlon Brando), I still could identify traces from my erstwhile photographs still intact.

Munnabhai was back, scissors,comb et al. He stood despondently inspectingmy scalp - no head. I told him not to cut it too short. He looked even more amused. He pondered for some time and then decided to begin from the backof my head where he had maximum scope. Snip, Snip, Snip....he went. I decided to put him at ease, in an effort to reduce the risk of me looking like a disaster victim of a confused barber. So I struck up a conversation with him. The radio was playing Jagjit Singh numbers and that was the starting point. "Do you like Jagjit Singh ghazals?" I asked. Luckily I struck the right chord.

Munnabhai loved music and was from UP. He had come to Mumbai from his village in UP in search of livelihood. Like a million other people, Mumbai adopted him and he became a barber. And he was at this for the last eight years. He had worked in five star hotels and saloons as a "hairdresser"and then decided to strike it out on his own. But ended up here in PopularHair Saloon. Things did not work as planned. I felt a ray of hope when he toldme that his clients had been people like Govinda and Shah Rukh Khan. Ipointed to my head and asked him if he ever worked on Anupam Kher. He laughed in jest and told me not to worry. "Saab, a good man will always look good anda bad man will never look good - the barber cannot really do much. You seemto be a good man"

Well, I did not know what to make of that. Perhaps, he was telling me that the hair cut will not make much of a difference and I should live with it. So I asked "Are there not good looking bad men or bad looking good men?"He shot back " Why were you looking at yourself closely in the mirror? Unless you look good to yourself you will never believe that others will look at you in the same way. And to look good to yourself, you have to first feel good about yourself." Well, I had a philosopher barber but the man had a point I thought. He had finished with my hair cut and then asked me if he could massage my face. Maybe it would make me feel good he joked. I consented and according to him he cleaned out all the dirt from my face.

I thanked him and tipped him before I left. As I walked home I keptthinking about the conversation. I neared the gate of my house and saw the watchman dozing in broad daylight. I nudged him and he stood up in a half salute. Funnily enough I wished him good morning and asked him if he had a rough day. This was not certainly what he expected. He was taken aback and saidhe new born son was sick last night and he did not get sleep but now he was fine. I patted him and shook his hand wishing his son well. As I walkedoff I felt quite amused and elated. I bounded up the stairs and rang the bell. My wife opened the door and looked at me and half covered a smile "Well,you are really beaming this time. The barber really did a good job". That made my day and am beaming till now. So any of you want to see me "look good" catch me at the Puja soon. Am not sure how long this will last. But aslong as it lasts I am making merry. I am going to invite Munnabhai too.

I wish all of you a very Happy Puja.

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