The Dirty Deed

Soon enough, my time spent on surfing the endless torrent of Facebook updates got over, and I was forced to give up, get up and get it over with.

I stared at him, forcing all the anger into my tiny little eyes so that he could see it in my steely gaze. He pretended not to notice, and gave a passive stare, then beckoned me to come forward.

To him, this was business as usual. To me, this was two or so months of hard work, all falling to the floor (literally), and he would not care how people saw me afterward. Why? Because this was how he earned a living.

He did not understand English, I think. This was because he always overdid whatever I said. The past encounters with that buffoon did not go well, and I was ridiculed by family and friends for weeks afterward, because of his “handiwork”.

Just twenty minutes earlier, I had an argument with my mother. And no amount of my coaxing, cajoling or countering could calm her down. She wanted it. I was to have it. She cited reasons which did not make sense to me. She even said, “You look horrible!” And I said, “That’s what looks good these days!” And even though she could not counter that point, I was mercilessly declared the loser of this round, and had to take my due “penalty”.

It’s normal, they say. You have to do it sometime sooner or later. I always picked later. Well, my mom figured that I was misusing that option. And so, she decided to replace the options with just one word – “Now”.

Well, as I went and sat on the chair, I realised that now I was metaphorically about to be burnt at the stake. And then, I mumbled my last wish to that half-witted destroyer of my dignity – “Trim it, please.”

That was supposed to be my bail, my trump card, my proof that I did not deserve this. This punishment could have been mitigated this way, like a dam which could redirect the destructive flood-waters. Well, it wasn’t a last WISH for no reason, because I could only WISH he actually obeys me…

Then, as he began to cut my hair (hopefully you could read between the lines and figure out I was talking about a haircut. If you didn’t, just read again from the start and laugh at my over-exaggerations), I literally saw my “empire” crumble before my very eyes (and some of it fall on my very eyes), and then visions of lions with their bushy manes taunted me. Two or so months of waiting for that hair to grow well went to waste with one barber’s pair of scissors.

As the tresses fell, I rued the barber’s “barberhood” (even though Spell Check underlined it, for want of a better word, I will keep it), and wished that at least the barbers of the future would have a form of higher education (most possibly a college named Indian Institute of Barberology(and Spell Check underlines “Barberology” as well! What is it with Microsoft Word and barbers…)) and decided that even if the Institute never lets him hold a pair of scissors to hone his skills, it should at least teach him that “trimming hair” does not mean “chopping hair off in an ungodly fashion”.

“And that was the most unkindest cut of all.” – Mark Antony

I knew EXACTLY what Markie meant.

And when the dirty deed was done, as I sadly trampled on the hair I had fondly tried to grow, I looked at myself in the mirror. Now, mirrors have a way of letting you look at yourself, and mostly promise that what you see isn’t pretty. And I stared at myself.

When I looked in the mirror before, I had seen a face with a bunch of hair that looked like the end of a mop. Now, I saw a dweeb in the mirror, and then envisioned my mom saying with a poker face “You look nice, dear”, and then turning away and laughing at my transformation from a deadly dude to a dorky dummy. But to my utter surprise, my mom didn’t do that!

She laughed as soon as I entered the house.

And a while later, my younger brother can home from school, and gave this expression:

CJ currently is in a period of mourning. He is now meditating upon the eagle, which sheds its majestic feathers and retreats to a solitary place. But soon, its feathers grow back, and the eagle is twice renewed, stronger than before and finally shows its face back in public, mocking those who had mocked it when it was “bald”. CJ can’t really retreat to solitude, but is very subdued, and assumes that whenever random strangers are laughing together, his hair is the subject.