It was a lazy weekend yesterday and I decided to go for a haircut.
“How you doing?” asked the hair-stylist changing his blade. Before I could reply he focused his eyes on the TV. His hands went off magically chopping my Salman Khan-style hair with a sharp razor. At one point, the knife was millimeters away from my eyes and I cried out, “Bahhh...”
“What?” he asked and when I told him he would slash my eyes as well, he replied, "Sorry."
As he continued,there was a news item on TV about rape cases.
His eyes were again glued to the Idiot Box. He questioned his colleague about the number of cases, while I went numb wondering whether the closely-placed knife would slit my throat. Again I murmured, “Bahhh.”
“Now what? Oh, sorry,” he said. And tried to concentrate.
Once done, he lied, “You look like a film star,” and added “But you need a shave.”
“Go for it.”
Off he went, but it was like a bloodbath. He covered up his errors with half a powder box and a huge quantity of after-shave lotion.
“Excellent. What about Koleston hair colouring?” he asked.
“Why. I do not have grey hair,” I bluffed this time.
He laughed. “Look at the mirror.”
I had to agree.
The damage on the face and purse was heavy. But it was worth the experience. Somehow, I felt I looked more handsome with all those cuts on the face.