A Special Haircut


Sometimes in life, you feel 'this isn't enough'. Such was one fine evening, when I woke up after a night-shift's carried over sleep. While your mind transfuses back into reality, you get some serious insights. Those which are unadulterated by the compulsive forgetfulness of the rational mind.
I sat drowsily on the sofa with eyes half open, I felt the warmth of my stomach under the t-shirt, I scratched my head. I contemplated. This has become a humdrum. I could just predict what is going to happen with me this evening, tomorrow, the next two weeks and may be even more. Too monotonous. Something needs to change. What will I tell my grandchildren? Wouldn't they be too unhappy to learn that I don't have any interesting stories to tell. Am I not existing in this world living someone else's life? But how to glorify it was still a harder question.

Last night-shift was quiet. So, I had researched on process control, Indian history and hairstyles. Hairstyle... thunderbolt! Yes, a hairstyle!

I decided to wear a fauxhawk hairstyle!

'A... what?' 'A fauxhawk hairstyle. ' 'And what on earth is that?' 'Its an altered Mohican hairstyle. You have long hair at the centre of your head. You then gel it and comb it inwards from the sides spiking in the centre like a palm leaf.' 'So?' 'So, nothing; I just want to have a fauxhawk haircut.' 'That's it? Is that all what you could come up with? Just a haircut? Some stupid punk hairstyle? Is this the serious insight you had, dangling on to your sub-conscious? Is this how you are going to brighten up your mundane life? A haircut, for heaven's sake? Why don't you murder some corrupt politician? Or go scuba diving or paragliding? Why don't you write a novel? A haircut to improve life! Gawk!'

I went to the saloon in the township I live in. Well, I was unsure whether to have the fauxhawk haircut in a just-another-saloon. But I was quite sure that the hairdresser in township would have never heard of a fauxhawk, let alone the Mohican. So, I showed him a photo of David Beckham in a fauxhawk and asked him whether he could do that on me. He took my mobile, stared at the photo, then at my hair, then again stared at the photo... he continued his professional examination for a few minutes till he said, "Okay, I will do it." I was too happy that he didn't say, 'I will try' and thus, I sat on the revolving chair. He kept my mobile on the dressing table for quick reference and worked on my hair with an artistic devotion. Cuts and slices, cuts and slices. And there I am with a fauxhawk haircut.
My right side hair took a few days to get accustomed to the new combing direction. It protested by staying outward from the mainstream. After a few days it too got fine. While the hair on the right side was learning to stand in a new direction, I got my hair coloured. First, I tried highlighting it with golden but when it wasn't highlighting enough, I got the entire hair done with a boldface light brown.

My hairstyle received mixed reactions from friends and relatives. After listening to my lecture on Mohican and a fauxhawk, my uncle said, "Whatever it is, it looks... pretty awful." My aunt too didn't differ in opinion but it seemed that she was too polite to express it. My cousin, Malu, was the only one among my relatives who said that it looks good. But again, fact remains that she usually doesn't say anything bad about me about anything except for my futile attempts at singing. Manish, my colleague, called it lomdi mistaking the faux to be a fox (Lomdi is fox in Hindi). Mankeshwar, my colleague, notorious for expanding KRA (as in Key Result Areas) as Kyon Rakhe Aapko (why have you been kept), called it, and still calls it, a hoch poch. Narendran, my roommate, was uncomfortable with the colour. He believed that light hair colour will never match dark skinned people like me. Another colleague, Sourabh, said that initially I looked like a ch**u, (before my right side hair got accustomed); but now its fine. Subir was amazed that they do such fancy styles in the township saloon. Nitin laughed, laughed, again laughed and said, "Have you seen those guys in roadside who wear a pink t-shirt with cartoon pictures, a tight jeans with feminine embroidery and extravagant metal and plastic accessories all over the body? You look like one of them."

Meanwhile, I started growing a beard. I was so frustrated with my present job and was being constantly denied a job rotation, that I registered my protest symbolically by growing a beard and vowed not to shave it before a change in job. I was surprised to see the fresh areas where my beard has started growing unknown to me due to the rigorous self-imposed schedule of daily shaving. A popular belief is that one grows thicker and better beard if he shaves daily. I found that it is a myth. Daily shaving just leaves you ignorant of the new areas your beard-dom has explored.

Shortly after, when I went home for Onam, my mother was extremely annoyed to see my new look. "Last time I saw you in Delhi, you were so handsome. Now you look like a beast.", she said. When we went shopping, the next day, I could feel the comments and discussions around me in the store about my rather unconventional hairstyle and colour. Witnessing this, my mother persuaded me to change it to a normal style which I relentlessly refused but she literally pulled me to get the colour at least, changed back to black before visiting our relatives for Onam. Meanwhile, to tackle my mother's 'savage' remark, I incorporated a relaxation in my vow not to shave - I reduced it to a goatee.

While, I was getting dressed to visit my cousin Malu's potential fiancé and his family, my father caught hold of my chin with his left hand, took out a comb with his right and parted my hair from the left and said, "This is better. Don't dare to change it back." He declared it against the code of good conduct and reminded that I am approaching marriageable age. Mother said, "I heard Malu's potential in-laws do farming and needs people to work in their paddy fields. You suit good with your paala thoppi." (Fauxhawk roughly resembled a Kerala farmer's cap called a paala thoppi.) Out of my frustration I said, "I am ready. Ask them to pay me only half the money. At least its home. Moreover, work profile barely differs with my current one."

Such is the story of a special haircut. But as I look back, did I glorify anything? Did I change the course of the world? Or become a legend? Did I make any significant contribution to the history of the humankind? No. After all, all I did was to change my hairstyle. But it did create some waves, some happenings, some events, some memories, some stories for my grandchildren.

I am contended.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

you know very well hows NN township hair salon.......its better to go in Town......what you say!

Unknown said...

That was very well written.
You mean to say that i always praise you whatever change you do in youself? How mean.....
Though i liked the write up....
Carry on with something like this.

Pramod said...

Hey, great post.
I loved the fact that there are no images in it. The words out to create the imagery. Wonderful write.

n@vneet said...

I too felt it. Thats why I removed an image I had initially.
Heard melodies are sweet, unheard are sweeter.

Mayur said...

Public wants to be in Pic with Blog so add it na BOSS

r@j! said...

you have not changed - not a bit!