Virtual wars

I passed the daabwaala (the guy selling green coconuts) this evening to get a haircut. He was oblivious to the world, busy playing PUBG. I stopped and stared at him for a good 10 seconds. He had no idea!

You know how hair salons in India are (or maybe you don't). You go for a simple haircut. They take a fistful of your hair and assess it with the seriousness of a physician examining a patient. People and places change, but the narrative remains the same. I have extremely dry hair, I need to apply serum and a variety of other things, I need to do certain treatments, need to color my graying hair, blah blah blah. The way he was diagnosing me, it felt like I would be the next popular choice for the movie Bala. He looked at me through the mirror with a thoughtful expression, giving me a multitude of haircut options, asking if I wanted curls and spikes and what not!

I have seen this too many times. People with straight hair wanting curls and people with curls and waves getting their hair ninety degrees straight.

I was running out of patience. I told the guy, “Look! I am a 50-year-old teacher. My job requires that students take me seriously. I have not come here to get a "chokri-look" and I have about 40 minutes to spare. Hair health comes from good food and sleep, not from serum. I need a simple haircut. Remember, I need to look my age and not like some 20-year-old!

The guy was too stunned to say anything after that. He said I am the first person who asked him not to give a chokri-look. Then he talked about his home in Darjeeling, how he landed up here, that Shontu Pal was the previous guy who cut my hair and has now moved to the Kolkata branch, how their landlord has banned cooking meat and fish at home, how he craves for his native food, that he gets one month off every year, etc. He asked me if as a Bengali, I miss eating Bengali "non-veg" food. After all the small talk about dry hair, there was something we both connected over, not having access to our native food. I didn't have the heart to tell him that due to my privileges, I was less alienated from my food. That I did not have a landlord and I could order Bengali food from a restaurant whenever I wanted.

He forgot to take my "before" shot but took some "after" shots after getting on a stool. He was barely five feet tall. The great thing is that he showed me his Instagram page and asked if he has permission to post my "after" pics. Given that a lot of people have no idea about consent, it was a very nice gesture. The guy refused a tip.

I stopped at the daabwaala's on my way back. His head was still bowed subserviently to PUBG. I asked if he ever fears that his neck will fall off his shoulders. He laughed. I asked what if someone steals a few green coconuts while he is distracted? He looked up at the sky and said rather philosophically, "God is watching everyone. He will punish."

"God is watching you too, that you are distracted and not giving full attention to your work," I said rather unceremoniously.

He shrugged, scraped off the flesh from the coconut for me and went back to fighting virtual wars.

sunshine