Twelve years later entering through the doorway of the little barber shop, I once used to enter through them along with my father. The cool air conditioned blast of air escapes the crack of the door as it creaks open. I walk through the corridor of barber chairs and find myself a comfortable seat in the peaceful hair salon. I kept the earphones tugged in my ears as the music echoed softly within. The music once came from the big speakers attached to a small black box with semi-spherical controls. The voices of men and women talked through the huge vibrating box which used to be placed along the walls. Now, all there is, is a silence along those walls. Looking around I see a familiar face, an uncle from my housing society. I used to smile at unfamiliar faces while I sat on the sofa waiting for my turn, now, I just pretend not to take notice. I dislike my evolution, the usual is now unusual , the familiar - forgotten.
I look around me. The once whitewashed walls are wrapped in shades of colors... Blue and Green. I am waiting through a long queue of people, all sitting there for the same purpose of getting their hair tended. I feel grown up, it makes much more sense. We all wait for our turn to come, sitting there to fulfill similar destinies. I am able to see much more than I did, when all I did was to look at how the scissors cut through the threads of hair.
Beauty is so superficial. 'There are thousands of brands of hair colors and conditioners to shine your hair, but what about making your soul shine? Do they make one for it too? They never advertise about it!' - I wonder. Falling back to my old ways I stare at the scissors cutting through a man's head. 'You need to get rid of certain things for new ones to come'. I notice the curtains pulled along the glass door. 'Does change happen discreetly? Why are we ashamed to show the world what we shed to make ourselves better?' - I wonder.
The only thing that has never changed is the little cabinet on the wall where deities reside. Framed. With a multi-colored LED light flickering above their head. The aroma of the incense brewing within the 24 degree of conditioned air. We are maybe we must not change what we are afraid of... or have faith in.
The barber gestures me towards the chair. I face myself. I've grown up quite apparently. Unlike the fresh face of a 5 year old, I have a light mustache and beard. Its strange how hair can make you realize how grown up you are. The barber strangled me with a ragged black cloth. I had forgotten how long the shop had existed. The barber manipulates the movement of my head cutting through quietly. I remember the hustle and bustle of old barber shop, the loud and lousy jokes of the hair dressers who moved their lips as fast as their scissors. He sprays my hair with water, as if mocking it like a pig to slaughter who is fed before it is butchered. My hair slides down the black cloth, almost camouflaging with each other.
The hair is cut short now to release some of the heat that builds up within my brain in the stressful world. My heat becomes one with the world's and it would someday bring rainfall. The wind strokes through my scalp and caresses my senses. I look different. I know I will a new man once I walk out of the glass doors of my barber shop. I will be a new man when I return.
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