Blog posts with resolutions are jinxed. Many a well meaning blog has reached its untimely demise with a post that says: "...and blog more often". There are various versions of that line: and blog at least X times in a week/Y times in a month/Z times in a year...etc..etc... All of which create this pressure to blog, and boy does it get to you. The resistance varies directly with time...and before you know it....your blog is dead.
Apart from writing a blog post, one of the things that I resist the most is going for a haircut. If only one could set the hair fall rate to be equal to the hair growth rate (obviously after an initial condition to trigger this control system, for all u smart alecs out there), we would never need haircuts. Without haircuts we would never have bad hair days that last for over a week (after a bad hair cut). I guess it's the fear of this probable bad hair phase that adds to my inertia.
It wasn't always like this. As a kid, you can very easily be dragged by your parents to the barber shop, and before you know it, it's over (actually it used to be a boring 20-25 minutes preceded by an even worse 1 hour of trying to read torn and outdated film magazines and trying to watch the 14 inch black and white TV perched high on top of a shelf above the mirrors). But at least you didn't do it of ur own volition, and could always blame your parents for the bad hairdo: "You told him to cut it this way!!!"
Later every alternate Sunday, my Mom would kick me out of the house with a written list of instructions to tell the barber. By the time I would reach the chair I'd be so bored (and having lost my instructions list) I would randomly come up with my own version. Once home, my Mom would be like: "Did you even go?".
Around this time, the barber having graduated to the more fashionable hair stylist started using a mirror to show me if the back was alright. I had seen the barber ask my dad that several times, but never me. So I felt all grown up and would try and imitate what my dad did in that situation. Squint a little, turn your head a little bit and then say: "Theek hai". Obviously I did not care to what exactly it was that I was supposed to see in that double mirror combination (till this date), but it felt like the grown up thing to do. Certain times the barber would ask me: "Round ya Step?", and having no idea again I would randomly choose one....By this time, however I had learnt the magic words: Crew Cut Karo. (Finally, A hairstyle that would never fail and just 3 words at that)
That strategy just went out of the window, once I came to the US. The hair stylists here always ask: "What number?". Now it took a couple of tries at a couple of places to figure out if the number varies directly with what's left behind or what's on the floor, but I finally got the hang of it, or so I thought, until the bad hairdos started returning and with it returned my resistance.
About four days earlier, Priyanka told me that it was high time that I have a haircut. (Incidentally she has dragged me a couple of times to a hair salon and instructed the stylist). I have promised to go today. She has given me a set of instructions too: Short on the back and sides, a light trim on the top and no side burns...whoosh...hope I got that right...cos that's how its going to be for the next 3-4 weeks!!!
Post script:
This post skips over about 2 years of my life when I had long hair (or was growing them long) and painstakingly maintained them. Otherwise it is pretty much spot on!
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Interesting ! My recollection of the first hair cut is when I used to bring a barber home from the nearby Flower Market in Mangalore, where they used to congregate waiting for clients). The barber used to carry a small rectangular brass box with a pair of scissors, a manual cutting machine ( which I used to dread as I thought it would cut the skin of my scalp along with the hair) and a comb. The barber had no entry inside the house butwould sit in the co urtyard (after he had done with, the place would be abluted with cowdung) The haircut used to take about half an hour the click-click of the scissors ringing in my ears for hours thereafter. I would be dragged to the bathroom and given a thorough bath with scalding water and brought into the house through the backdoor ( we used to all it "maidara" in konkani) The hair cutting charges a princely 2 annas ( today's 12 paise)
When I went to Madras (now Chennai) I was exposed to the sophisticated gadgets there at M ount Road ( now Anna Salai) with the electric lawn mower, the sprinkler/sprayer and after shave creams and perfumed hair oil. The usual approval of the rearview witha mirror held at the back was customary, but I used to think " suppose for the heck of it I said no?'
As my hair thinned in my forties, visits to the saloon dwindled from monthly to sesqui-monthly and then bi-monthly. Now that I am almost as bald as a coot, I go only for machining the sideburns and the little growth at the back to look like a latterday avatar of Yul Brynner.
And yes, when I went to Amsterdam and found a haircut costs 20 euros (Rs 1000) as agaisnt Rs 10 in Hussain's saloon on Baner Road Pune, I used to just use my safety razor to denude the growth at the sides and back to deprive the poor dutch hairdresser his just desserts.
Sainath I do remember your long hair phase, during Priya's marriage and when you were at Patni's It used to suit you well though perhaps detrimental to the hairdressing trade.
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