So it was a fine afternoon. I had just had lunch with a bunch of relatives - an aunt, a cousin with her two daughters and my grandmother along with a bunch of other, very far off relatives. I had woken up at eleven that morning, particularly early, considering I am on a vacation and that I am an engineering student.
Anyway, I agreed to wake up as early as that to accompany my relatives to meet some other relatives. But mostly for a free and comfortable ride to the mall. Not to forget free food.I get dressed and off we go. Both my nieces gave me great company all along the way, deciding who would fit what character from the Disney movie Frozen. A bit of a mental exercise but I am fine as long as I end up being Olaf.
The lunch was a grand affair and after all our hogging we all craved for ice cream. While everybody indulged in the sweet delights of ice cream on the ridge, I and a distant cousin took a stroll on the tourist infested roads of the mall. For some reason she seemed to be enjoying my company. College students always seem interesting to young teens. But trust me, we do not have much to offer. Apart from how to sneak out of the house tips, genius pieces of advice that might have you end up in trouble and loads of funny college stories. We struck a conversation about basically nothing and yet I enjoyed it. Hearing her speak in the very 'teenage' fashion she did, I was reminded of the young and gullible me. How all of us thought we were cool AF when we used excessive and annoying slang. (I plead guilty).How we loved mimicking teachers and poking fun at everything we saw. Judging people, laughing at gullible children or drooling grandmas. I loved doing all of this as a teen. Wait, I still do all that stuff, maybe because I still am a teenager. I am also a responsible adult. I do make mistakes sometimes, but that is only because I am relatively new to being adult.
After listening to all the rants and all the gossips my young companion had to offer and after giving away precious pearls of advice, I prepared to take my leave from the group. I had a mission to accomplish, a mission I couldn't fail. Under strict and direct orders from my mother, I was supposed to get a haircut ASAP. She thought I looked like Mowgli with my hair all over the place. Apparently my mother didn't mean it to be a compliment. I was taken aback. I loved my hair that way, they looked cool beyond measure and having just learnt they made me resemble Mowgli only toughened my resolve to keep them. My mother though, not a huge fan of Mowgli perhaps, crushed my resolve. Defeated, I knew I had to let go. I was about to exit when my cousin sister asked me to take my elder niece along. Sure, I could do that. She is one of my favourite among all the kids I know. Plus that would mean a free haircut. Perfect.
So minutes after I struck the most profitable deal of my life, I marched off holding my niece's hand.
Now I had two options. One- I could go to the fancy salon which I generally visit. Two- go for the not so fancy option. The salon I frequented as a child. A perfectly camouflaged,small and low ceilinged place called- Deluxe.
I can never forget the various permutations I would apply in my head as my father forcefully pushed me into the shop. It was his absolute favourite pass-time to see the barber give me the annoyingly simple and overly gross - Mushroom cut. It was like having worn an inverted bowl on my head and have my hair chopped off to the whims and fancies of that stupid bowl. My father did take immense sadistic pleasure in making his kid look like the mushroom Mario loved. He always claimed it would make -getting ready for school- easier. The hairdresser would make me sit on a plank balanced over the armrests of the 'adult' chair. Then he would smile, and go on to massacre my pretty hair nonchalantly. About a decade later, taking my niece to the very same place flooded my senses with nostalgia. Despite having had loads of bad haircuts, Deluxe had also given me those sassy blunt cuts.
We both entered a maze of rooms over which hung a sign saying- 'Ladies Section'. As we made our way inside a small room meant for tending to hair and faces, a rush of memories came back to me. I helped my niece on a plank, while I waited for my turn.
Not much had changed in this little place. A bunch of old men, a couple of young men doing their job while listening to the town gossip. A few excited girls running in the corridors ushering clients into various rooms based on the service they required. An old man worked on a middle aged woman's hair with almost surgical precision. As I reveled in my ancient thoughts, I was pulled back to the present by the gentle, but insistent sobbing of somebody. The poor hairdresser gave me a puzzled look as I went near my niece and asked her why was she crying. She looked up at me, and gestured me to lower my ear. Kids and their obsession with secret talks. She told me she didn't want a haircut and that the hairdresser had cut her hair too short. I tried reasoning with her but not to any avail. Well in her defence, it's something all of us go through while getting a haircut. Somehow our hair, the same hair we planned to get rid of five minutes ago, suddenly start looking gorgeous the moment the tip of the scissors touch them.With rising difficulty I pinned my niece to the bench and asked the hairdresser to go on, no matter what. I asked him to finish the job quickly and he was over with it within a minute. Her hair looked great, she wouldn't buy it but.
Finally she struggled out of the chair from atop the plank and hugged me tight. I had no clue about how to possibly console her. It was my turn now and I had to help her distract herself from her better looking but shorter hair. So with much reluctance, I gave her my phone to play with. An exception I rarely make but tough times call for tough actions.
I sat down on the chair opposite to the one my niece was seated on. At that instant I had an immense sense of accomplishment wash over me. About ten years later, I was finally able to ditch that little plank and able to make the choice of my haircut, myself. I was about to impart detailed instructions about the specifics of my hair when I realized the middle aged barber had already started his work. I didn't mind that though. I had a feeling he knew what would best suit me. And heavens he did. After having had a terrible haircut the last time around, it felt great to have great hair again.
So with extreme satisfaction and overflowing delight I finally prepared to take leave.
By the time I was done, I was way richer than I had anticipated. Financially, yes- for that place is extremely reasonable. Emotionally- for that is a gem of a salon, with a small-world charm about it nothing can replicate.
Anyway, I agreed to wake up as early as that to accompany my relatives to meet some other relatives. But mostly for a free and comfortable ride to the mall. Not to forget free food.I get dressed and off we go. Both my nieces gave me great company all along the way, deciding who would fit what character from the Disney movie Frozen. A bit of a mental exercise but I am fine as long as I end up being Olaf.
The lunch was a grand affair and after all our hogging we all craved for ice cream. While everybody indulged in the sweet delights of ice cream on the ridge, I and a distant cousin took a stroll on the tourist infested roads of the mall. For some reason she seemed to be enjoying my company. College students always seem interesting to young teens. But trust me, we do not have much to offer. Apart from how to sneak out of the house tips, genius pieces of advice that might have you end up in trouble and loads of funny college stories. We struck a conversation about basically nothing and yet I enjoyed it. Hearing her speak in the very 'teenage' fashion she did, I was reminded of the young and gullible me. How all of us thought we were cool AF when we used excessive and annoying slang. (I plead guilty).How we loved mimicking teachers and poking fun at everything we saw. Judging people, laughing at gullible children or drooling grandmas. I loved doing all of this as a teen. Wait, I still do all that stuff, maybe because I still am a teenager. I am also a responsible adult. I do make mistakes sometimes, but that is only because I am relatively new to being adult.
After listening to all the rants and all the gossips my young companion had to offer and after giving away precious pearls of advice, I prepared to take my leave from the group. I had a mission to accomplish, a mission I couldn't fail. Under strict and direct orders from my mother, I was supposed to get a haircut ASAP. She thought I looked like Mowgli with my hair all over the place. Apparently my mother didn't mean it to be a compliment. I was taken aback. I loved my hair that way, they looked cool beyond measure and having just learnt they made me resemble Mowgli only toughened my resolve to keep them. My mother though, not a huge fan of Mowgli perhaps, crushed my resolve. Defeated, I knew I had to let go. I was about to exit when my cousin sister asked me to take my elder niece along. Sure, I could do that. She is one of my favourite among all the kids I know. Plus that would mean a free haircut. Perfect.
So minutes after I struck the most profitable deal of my life, I marched off holding my niece's hand.
Now I had two options. One- I could go to the fancy salon which I generally visit. Two- go for the not so fancy option. The salon I frequented as a child. A perfectly camouflaged,small and low ceilinged place called- Deluxe.
I can never forget the various permutations I would apply in my head as my father forcefully pushed me into the shop. It was his absolute favourite pass-time to see the barber give me the annoyingly simple and overly gross - Mushroom cut. It was like having worn an inverted bowl on my head and have my hair chopped off to the whims and fancies of that stupid bowl. My father did take immense sadistic pleasure in making his kid look like the mushroom Mario loved. He always claimed it would make -getting ready for school- easier. The hairdresser would make me sit on a plank balanced over the armrests of the 'adult' chair. Then he would smile, and go on to massacre my pretty hair nonchalantly. About a decade later, taking my niece to the very same place flooded my senses with nostalgia. Despite having had loads of bad haircuts, Deluxe had also given me those sassy blunt cuts.
We both entered a maze of rooms over which hung a sign saying- 'Ladies Section'. As we made our way inside a small room meant for tending to hair and faces, a rush of memories came back to me. I helped my niece on a plank, while I waited for my turn.
Not much had changed in this little place. A bunch of old men, a couple of young men doing their job while listening to the town gossip. A few excited girls running in the corridors ushering clients into various rooms based on the service they required. An old man worked on a middle aged woman's hair with almost surgical precision. As I reveled in my ancient thoughts, I was pulled back to the present by the gentle, but insistent sobbing of somebody. The poor hairdresser gave me a puzzled look as I went near my niece and asked her why was she crying. She looked up at me, and gestured me to lower my ear. Kids and their obsession with secret talks. She told me she didn't want a haircut and that the hairdresser had cut her hair too short. I tried reasoning with her but not to any avail. Well in her defence, it's something all of us go through while getting a haircut. Somehow our hair, the same hair we planned to get rid of five minutes ago, suddenly start looking gorgeous the moment the tip of the scissors touch them.With rising difficulty I pinned my niece to the bench and asked the hairdresser to go on, no matter what. I asked him to finish the job quickly and he was over with it within a minute. Her hair looked great, she wouldn't buy it but.
Finally she struggled out of the chair from atop the plank and hugged me tight. I had no clue about how to possibly console her. It was my turn now and I had to help her distract herself from her better looking but shorter hair. So with much reluctance, I gave her my phone to play with. An exception I rarely make but tough times call for tough actions.
I sat down on the chair opposite to the one my niece was seated on. At that instant I had an immense sense of accomplishment wash over me. About ten years later, I was finally able to ditch that little plank and able to make the choice of my haircut, myself. I was about to impart detailed instructions about the specifics of my hair when I realized the middle aged barber had already started his work. I didn't mind that though. I had a feeling he knew what would best suit me. And heavens he did. After having had a terrible haircut the last time around, it felt great to have great hair again.
So with extreme satisfaction and overflowing delight I finally prepared to take leave.
By the time I was done, I was way richer than I had anticipated. Financially, yes- for that place is extremely reasonable. Emotionally- for that is a gem of a salon, with a small-world charm about it nothing can replicate.
