Snip-Snip
Ramlal is just too common a name. It was the first thing that came to my mind when I read his name-tag. I leant back and allowed his bright orange cloth to blanket me from the neck down. Now that I thought of it, I didn't know any other Ramlal. I wonder I thought it was common. The 14-inch tv rested precariously on the mantlepiece overhead. Maybe customers were not supposed to watch tv. It was only for the men at work I figured.
I looked around while Ramlal went into the back corner of the shop to fumble inside a drawer. I, however, was confined to that barber chair. My view from that humble perch was to be my world for the next few minutes. In vain, I tried to get a better view of the tv. The audible commentary was drawing my curiosity to that little box. It doesn't matter if you are the most extraordinary person on earth. When you are in India, cricket seeps into your viens. It is simply impossible to stay away from it. A few seconds of struggle later, I withdrew to my fate. My watching tv was not meant to be.
Ramlal walked back slowly, staring at the tv. His open mouth revealed a rather unhealthy paan-chewing habit. He put the final nail in the coffin by pushing my head downwards. So much for my attempts to watch tv. I drifted into the open-eyed slumber that I so often use, whether in class or when studying. It was only when Ramlal shouted "Arey yaar!" that I woke up. The rather excited commentator informed me of a run-out. Ramlal was cursing under his breath. "Inko khelna hi nahi aata hai", he muttered through clenched teeth. I silently prayed for his anger to be not reflected in my hair-cut. I decided to calm him, even if it was just a bit.
"Rajasthan ke fan ho kya?", I inquired politely, referring to the Rajasthan royals team that was batting. "Haan yaar" came the reply as I felt his scissors furiously snipping through my hair. "Yeh log yahaan se bhi haar jayenge". The instrument in his hand was gathering speed. My internal alarm went off. Something had to be done soon, or the end would not be pretty. "Arey tension kyon le rahe ho? Abhi toh bahut batting baaki hai. Yusuf bhi baaki hai na."
That seemed to have done the trick. The metal blades came together with relative ease now. "Haan, woh bhi hai", he said grinning at me through the mirror. "Dekhte hain". He followed his words, staring up at the tv while his tool lazily cut through my hair.
"Ok." I thought to myself. "Let's weigh the options. Furious barber vs Blind barber." In the end I decided to let the blind barber do his work. After all he was a professional. I glanced at him in the mirror. He stared open-mouthed at the tv, at Yusuf who had just come in to bat. He seemed to be least bothered about the goddam customer occupying the chair in front of him. I figured I am really bad at all this. I should be the last person to try and talk sense into people.
I looked around while Ramlal went into the back corner of the shop to fumble inside a drawer. I, however, was confined to that barber chair. My view from that humble perch was to be my world for the next few minutes. In vain, I tried to get a better view of the tv. The audible commentary was drawing my curiosity to that little box. It doesn't matter if you are the most extraordinary person on earth. When you are in India, cricket seeps into your viens. It is simply impossible to stay away from it. A few seconds of struggle later, I withdrew to my fate. My watching tv was not meant to be.
Ramlal walked back slowly, staring at the tv. His open mouth revealed a rather unhealthy paan-chewing habit. He put the final nail in the coffin by pushing my head downwards. So much for my attempts to watch tv. I drifted into the open-eyed slumber that I so often use, whether in class or when studying. It was only when Ramlal shouted "Arey yaar!" that I woke up. The rather excited commentator informed me of a run-out. Ramlal was cursing under his breath. "Inko khelna hi nahi aata hai", he muttered through clenched teeth. I silently prayed for his anger to be not reflected in my hair-cut. I decided to calm him, even if it was just a bit.
"Rajasthan ke fan ho kya?", I inquired politely, referring to the Rajasthan royals team that was batting. "Haan yaar" came the reply as I felt his scissors furiously snipping through my hair. "Yeh log yahaan se bhi haar jayenge". The instrument in his hand was gathering speed. My internal alarm went off. Something had to be done soon, or the end would not be pretty. "Arey tension kyon le rahe ho? Abhi toh bahut batting baaki hai. Yusuf bhi baaki hai na."
That seemed to have done the trick. The metal blades came together with relative ease now. "Haan, woh bhi hai", he said grinning at me through the mirror. "Dekhte hain". He followed his words, staring up at the tv while his tool lazily cut through my hair.
"Ok." I thought to myself. "Let's weigh the options. Furious barber vs Blind barber." In the end I decided to let the blind barber do his work. After all he was a professional. I glanced at him in the mirror. He stared open-mouthed at the tv, at Yusuf who had just come in to bat. He seemed to be least bothered about the goddam customer occupying the chair in front of him. I figured I am really bad at all this. I should be the last person to try and talk sense into people.
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