Barber of Bangalore
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This is a poem about a haircut! But lofty, nobel, tragic, timeless,
full of love, treachery, retribution, quiet heroism in the face of
certain doom! Six lines, cleverly rhymed, and every word beginning
with the letter "s"!


Seduced, shaggy Samson snored.
She scissored short. Sorely shorn,
Soon shackled slave, Samson sighed,
Silently scheming,
Sightlessly seeking
Some savage, spectacular suicide.

* * *
There was a time when Sowpadu did not even have a barber. Of course,
the need was not much, considering that men sported long tuft, and
the women, needless to say, never let scissors touch their hair.

By the time I started needing haircuts, we had a functional barber,
who would come to our house for hair cuts. Or, occasionally, he would
come around to the old tree, where he would spread his tools out,
inviting people for hair cuts. As I said, these hair cuts were merely
functional.

I still remember the horror of my earliest hair cut -- the so called
summer cut. It was more like a summary cut. At the end of the hair
cut, there was no hair left on either side of the head. Again, as I
said, it was a functional hair cut.

Over time, his son took over the hair cutting trade. Of course, he
practiced on us. While I was at the IITM, one summer, I had the hair
cut done by him. When I went for my next hair cut at IITM, the barber
gently enquired if I tried hair cutting by myself!

* * *
Flashback to USA. I have been to different saloons in the USA -- all
the way from "Visible changes University" to "Drukker hair cutting". I
visited el-cheapo philippino hair dressing places to expensive
parlours where French women speak in accent, and initimidate you. In
a momentory lapse of sanity, I even bought one of those do-it-yourself
hair cutting kits. I tried to cut Kamala's hair, but in the middle of
the cut, she said "I don't want to play this game", and quit, as it is
normal for her precocious five year old mind.

* * *

This time, I was coming to India, I had to run around so much before
my visit here, that I did not have time to get a cut. I came to India
looking like an imported ruffian. They had to verify my signature
wherever I was using my Credit Card. That was the level of confidence
I was inspiring!

Thanks to the heavy, self-imposed workload, I leave the apartment
around 8:30 AM, after eating a heavy breakfast from Dosa Camp. I come
back exhausted around 9PM. So, I could not get my hair cut all these
days. There never seems to be right time.

Finally, my intrepid local guide, Gopi, could not see my plight. He
explained the options: I could go to a local place, or I could go to a
five star hotel, or get somebody home to get my hair cut. I was going
to go to Hyderabad, and thought that I could get my hair cut there.

I had an eventful trip to Hyderabad. It was the first time in my life
that I stayed in a hotel in Hyderabad. I was staying at Ramada
Manohar. As soon as I went there, I was looking for places to get my
hair cut. I wanted to get my hair cut in the wee hours of the morning
when I don't have meetings that I had to attend.

On Sunday Morning, I asked the Duty Manager, if there is hair cutting
place on the premises. He denied that they provide such services. I
pressed further and enquired about the "beauty saloon" listed there. I
explained that while I can do without the "beauty" part of the saloon,
if it is a whole process, I am not one to object. He was adamant that
this saloon was only for women; in fact, even more strictly only for
"ladies".

Discourage, but undeterred, I asked them to recommend a saloon, and
crossed the dangerous roads of Hyderbad to get to the other side. Yes,
there was one saloon, but it did not inspire my confidence. How
would like to leave your neck to a stranger with a knife in his hand?

The next day, I again enquired, if there was better one. This time, I
explained my predicament about knives and trust. They were sympathetic
to my plight and recommended that I go to Grand Kakatiya hotel, where
I could find such trustworthy people. However, I had to meet
Dr. Jampala and had to postpone the program.

As soon as I came back to Bangalore, I decided to go with the first
person wielding a knife. I was defeated; there was no fire in me any
longer. I could feel my unruly hair clouding my judgement. Still I had
to wait for one more day, as Tuesday is the holiday for all the
barbers.

I woke up on Wednesday and went to the barber shop opposite to Adarsha
Gardens. The place was quiet, except for rustling newpapers, snipping
scissors. Eventually, my turn came. I still was afraid. What kind of
knife would he use? What if I get cut? Hepatitis, B? Or even worse? I
could see he was sterilizing the scissors. He spent a careful half an
hour, trimming my hair, and mustache. He was extra careful; perhaps,
Gopi hinted to him about a large tip. Finally, the bill came to even
25 Rs.

* * *

Epilogue: I am still in Bangalore. And, if any of you blokes are
visiting here, please call me on my cell Phone: 98451-98616.

--
Ramarao Kanneganti
Nov 30, 2000
Bangalore, India.