Discovery of masterpiece of a book in Kalidasa’s Ujjain.

A decade into retirement, Major General (Dr) SC Jain VSM & Bar, has changed quite a bit. But then, some old habits die hard—imperfections of any kind bother him off and on even now.

Last week, at the root of the general officer’s discomfort were a few unruly hairs standing at ease on his almost bald scalp. He was on a morning walk when the desire to discipline the wayward little things peaked. He looked for a barber shop but was less hopeful of finding one open, because it was Tuesday, a weekly off for all hair-cutting saloons of Ujjain. Let alone a decree by the Labour Department to keep the shops closed, many Ujjainis consider it inauspicious to take a haircut on Mangalvaar, the day of the red planet.

General Jain (GJ) was a tad surprised when he found the doors of Aapka Hair Dressers open with signs of activity. He was greeted with a warm namaste by the lone man cleaning things and arranging them neatly on a dashboard opposite a large mirror. It was bohni time—a time at the beginning of each day when a shopkeeper sows the seeds to harvest returns through the day. The hair dresser hurriedly, completed the cleaning and dusting, and got down to addressing the needs of his first guest of the day.

He seated the officer comfortably in a chair and made the preliminary enquiries: “Haircut? …shave? …both? …shampoo? …head massage? …face massage…?” With the way GJ spelt out his requirement of haircut, he knew he was dealing with a no-nonsense fauji. Yet, to confirm his finding, he asked, “Sir, are you from the armed forces?” This was also to break the ice and prune the list of subjects for further conversation with his client through the next half hour. Genuine happiness surged through him when GJ nodded a yes. He was pleased to be serving someone who had served the nation.

Out of sheer curiosity, GJ enquired, “How is it that your shop is open on a Tuesday?”

“Sir, it is so difficult to spend time at home doing nothing. I get bored, so I keep my shop open all seven days,” he said as he draped GJ in a clean white cloth.

[Author’s Note: The man’s name, as I discovered a day later, was Ratan Parihar, RP for short]

GJ: “But, I am sure one gets tired of monotonous routine and needs a break, sometimes.”

RP: “That’s right, sir. But being on my feet, and moving, keeps me physically fit and energetic. In fact, my grandfather was a tailor—sitting stooped by a sewing machine for long hours had begun telling on his health. So, he decided to switch to hair cutting instead.”

 GJ: “I see… this hasn’t been your family business for generations?”

RP: “My forefathers were farmers. My grandfather left behind large swathes of land in Pakistan at the time of partition and started tailoring in Rajasthan. Then we moved to Agra where my father wanted me and my brother to get the best education.”

RP sensed the “Hmm,” loaded with appreciation, coming from GJ and continued with greater enthusiasm. “I am an MA in Sanskrit. I was compelled to join this profession because my brother left home to join a religious cult in Rajasthan… and my father needed support.”

GJ: “Like your grandfather, did you ever think of switching to some other profession? With your rare qualification, you could have pursued academics.”

RP: “Not really, sir. I began enjoying this. Work is no longer W-O-R-K (that word was said with emphasis) when one enjoys doing what one is doing.”

Which hair to crop, and which one to spare, must have posed a big challenge for RP. But somehow the poor density of hair on GJ’s head did not bother RP. With the air of a practitioner of fine arts, he went on accomplishing his mission—snipping errant hairs here and there.

As an individual, RP was different. But as a small-town barber picturised in so many stories, he was the same—a talkative, inquisitive man. Finding a patient listener in GJ, he continued, “We are proud of our soldiers… they have shown Pakistan its place… the Maldivians are so ungrateful… it is a matter of time, China will get kicked out from everywhere….”

As he went along, RP looked at GJ in the mirror, in his eyes, which were going groggy because of the monotonous snapping of the pair of scissors so close to his ears, and sought approval of whatever he was theorising. For that man with a pair of scissors in one hand, and a comb in the other, every “Hmm…,” coming from the guest in the chair was an invaluable concurrence of his thought process.

RP concluded the haircut with a brief but refreshing complementary head massage; a salute, as smart as it could be and a guileless smile. GJ reciprocated with equal geniality and left.

***

Back home, Dada (as I call General Jain) vividly described his visit to Aapka Hair Dressers and kindled my interest in the scholar barber. “Ashok Bhai, in that man you’ll find a book, nay a library of rare thoughts. He is an interesting person to know and maybe, write about. That nudge from my brother and mentor sent me rescheduling my next morning with a bit of excitement.

***

I was the second customer at Aapka. I sat on the sofa and started looking around as I waited for my turn. The man I wanted to study was well dressed in a plain white, sleeved shirt neatly tucked into his May Fair trousers held in place by a leather belt. His shoes were nicely polished. He was in his mid-fifties. Freshly shaven; his long sideburns reminded me of the lead Bollywood actors of the 1970s. GJ’s briefing about him had created the picture of a scholarly man in my mind. His half-rimmed glasses and a pen in his pocket supported that image.

The shop was modestly furnished. Placed reverently on a shelf was the garlanded picture of a bearded man. Below it was the picture of Goddess Laxmi without any garland or flowers. There was no sign of an oil lamp or incense sticks around the goddess of wealth. The placement of the frames clearly indicated relative importance of the sadhu and the goddess in the heart of the shop owner.

“Is that the picture of some saint?” I asked RP with the intention of inviting him to speak, although I didn’t have much interest in the baba looking down from the picture. Faces of Asaram Bapu, Gurmeet Ram Rahim, Baba Bagheswar Dham and Baba Ramdev were streaming in my mind as I waited for his response.

“Sir, he is my father,” he said curtly. Perhaps he had read my mind and had disapproved of my putting his father in line with those Pied Pipers of India. RP’s tone changed to that of extreme respect when I introduced myself as GJ’s younger brother, and an Air Force veteran. “Sir, general saab is a fine gentleman,” he certified.

The long rate list hanging on a wall enumerated the various types of haircuts, shaves, facials and massages on offer. When I said that I was interested in a shave, RP described the three types he could give me. “The ordinary shave is with cheap shaving cream and after shave. For people who wish to go in for the Special Shave, I use Godrej shaving cream and Old Spice after shave lotion. For a Foam Shave I use Gillette shaving foam. Most of my clients are learned men and well to do people, they demand the best creams and lotions.”

I was eagerly waiting for him to begin his monologue when his mobile phone rang. The not-so-smart phone was plugged in for charging and placed precariously on a switchbox. He excused himself and took the call.

RP: “Hello! Who is it… (he listened to the voice on the other end and continued) thank you very much. I don’t need it,” He disconnected the line—a bit amused, a bit rankled. Then he spoke addressing me, “There is someone saying that I have won ten crores in lottery. He doesn’t know that I am a satisfied man. I don’t need all that money.”

He was still chuckling when he picked up the razor again. As if he heard the question swirling in my mind, and said, “Sir, I am done with all my major commitments in life. One of my son’s is an engineer; another one is a musician, and my daughter is a psychologist. She is doing well as a counsellor. My children are settled in life. I am happy running this shop. What more do I need?”

Seeing me wide-eyed, he added cheerfully, “I am also a singer.”

I was eagerly waiting for him to resume his monologue when the phone rang again. “Beta, I’ll be there soon,” he said, as he hurriedly disconnected. Then cutting a sorry figure, he said to me, “Sir, it was my daughter. She is getting discharged from the hospital after a minor surgery. I need to pick her up.” He rushed through the shave, and at the end of it, thanked me for honouring him by availing of his services. Needless to say, I took back some valuable life-lessons from Aapka Hair Dressers.

For me, RP, the book remains half read. I am eagerly looking forward being in Ujjain to turn the remaining pages and… stumble upon new discoveries.

Comments

Wing Commander TK Mitra, ‘Teekay’ (IAF Veteran) — Dear Ashok, as always your short story of “Aapka Hair Dresser” was absolutely wonderful & could picture the whole narration in front of my eyes. Thanx for sharing with our Group Members.
Would surely wait for more Short Stories to njoi your experiences.
Stay blessed & cheerful.

Wing Commander JK Kaushik (IAF Veteran) — Wonderful story You have the gift of transforming ordinary events into gripping narratives 🙏🙏🙏💐💐💐💐👍👍👍

Wing Commander Sanjay Sharma (IAF Veteran) — Inimitable style. Simple. Readable. Engaging. Hairest of the hair account 🤩🤩🤜🤛👍👍

Viney Sharma — Ashok beautifully written. Waiting and really excited to read the 2nd installment of this story.

Colonel Jamshed Husain (Veteran) — Interesting conversation between two professionals of such varied fields. Barbers were an institution in most societies, and stood out for their conversational skills. Ashok, you have beautifully captured the essence. My compliments for such an original piece. Stay blessed Ashok.🙏

Air Vice Marshal DB Ajgaonkar (IAF Veteran) — A ‘Book Half Read’ is, I feel a tribute to the scores of Indians living in small towns and villages who are honest, hard working, fiercely independent and above all with loads of self respect. In addition to their dedication, they have strived hard to fulfil their duty towards their children of providing quality education thus ensuring good careers for them. He then maintains his self respect and dignity by refusing to accept any financial support from his children. He thus continues to pursue his selected profession with full contentment and dignity.

PK Jain — Your impressive story…No profession is small or big, if it is hobby, it brings perfection with entertainment. Learning is not bound to academic. लकीर पर चलने वालों से लकीर खींचने वाले हमेशा प्रेरणा बनते हैं।👍😊👌