A barbarous Assassination

Waking up this morning, I immediately slept again.

And After waking up again, taking all the benefits of having parents gone out of station, I generously helped myself to an early morning Coke, had a bath , and slept again.

Sleeping being my favourite time-killer, this time it had disastrous consequences, not on me, but on my hair. Waking up, I found my hair almost unable to comb [not that I do that too often] and found my comb full of my now broken, precious, long [having an exact measurement, on average of 3.5 inches] hair. Sighting the remaining million or so still left on my head, I decided to save them from this catastrophic future, and decided to finally (after March 22, precisely) visit my barber.
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After having eluded my barber for long, I finally had to give in to this dastardly ritual of mine. Having resisted the opportunity, the urge and the desire to let my hair stay long, I , sighting Vikram’s example[ who is in my B.Com class and the other day turned up with his 3 feet long hair chopped into pieces of 3 centimeters, making him almost unrecognizable. However, mind you, the multitude and assortment of hair colour on his hair remained.]

Now, my barber being a perfectly aware of my tendency to disagree to his superfluous suggestions, this time too made it a point to suggest a new, wacky and crazy hairstyle. This ritual of him suggesting and me vehemently disagreeing has been going on since I was in 6th, and each of the new hairstyles he suggests , according to him would make me a favorite among “hen-makulu”[ which , for the not so kannada savvy, is girls] .
As I entered, eyeing my fairly long hair suspiciously, he immediately pounced on me, and this time, he suggested an all time favourite of his, the style with very little hair on the middle of my scalp and letting long hair on the sides. I have always viewed him as Frankenstein’s Creator, trying stupid, crazy experiments on none other than Yours’ Truly, and each time meeting with the same nonchalant NO! from me. Why do I get to be Frankenstein? Why ?

Anyway, he almost fell in shock when I told him that I wanted nothing but a simple, plain straight-forward hairstyle rather than an unusually unusual hairstyle. For some reason, the expression on his face seemed to suggest that I always go in for the most outlandish of hairstyles and this time, had mended my ways.

Having the uncanny ability to see through all my expressions, that noble fellow began berating me with all the importance of being in Jain College and having a good [ which to him meant outlandish] hairstyle, with lots of multicoloured hair dyes, each colour trying to take possession of my hair.

Now furious at my indignation of not going for a “funky” hairstyle, he finally began to chop away my hair barbarously [is that why he is called a barber?], vehemently, not taking the pains of doing so gently. As I saw my pretty locks fall, I wanted to run away, protect the hair I had cultivated for so long. But that cunning fellow had hindered my movement by tying me with an apron like cloth, supposed to prevent hair from falling on my clothes, but now I know of its true purpose. Hah!.

What was a plainly humiliating experience, I looked up after the grueling experience came to an end 12 minutes later. Looking up in the countless mirrors in his shop, I finally saw myself again, literally. My hair cut down to a minuscule part of what it could have been in another 3 months time, and I finally saw my face again.

Heck! I didn’t know that I had brown eyes, and a nasty pimple had come up in these three months on my forehead. Now that the hair covering it all is gone, I paid my barber who gave my hair another suspicious look and let me go.

Outside, I touch the ground having survived another barbarous session with the barber, I now look forward to the new look “Jang!” [ and yes, with brown eyes] , with a shorter school boy look, that makes me look like, well, a school boy.

And does anyone know a good barber in my vicinity?