THE HAVEN CALLED SALON...

          Homecoming. For a hosteler, this can be a delight for two reasons other than seeing mom and dad:

1)   How much ever clothes you bring, parents would never grumble to wash and rinse them carefully, caressing the collars and the interior of pockets.

2)   Food! Never ever forget this. Varieties at your table.

          These are our cravings. As every action has an equal reaction (Dynamics Professor has instructed not to write ‘equal and opposite reaction, because it is either a reaction or an opposite action), parent(s) expect(s) certain aspects from us, of which the chief one is, “GO AND CUT YOUR HAIR THE FIRST THING TOMORROW. WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS? AND, PEOPLE CALL IT STYLE.” And, the ramble goes on. Mute it!

          Though it irritates being asked to tonsure our hair, I love salons for too many reasons:

1)   First and foremost, an elderly man is there to obey your orders and take in your suggestions only here (“Keep the beard short; trim my mush slightly” et al)

2)   We can model our hair to any extent but shift the blame on the barber back at home, saying “I told him to cut some more. He said this would be fine.”

3)   Last but not the least, the Frequency Modulation. Okay! No Physics. FM!!

          I always am surprised in finding the etymology of the word, barber. Dad has once said that, during his childhood days, there was a claw – like thing, which was used to clasp the cluster of hair and take it off, resulting in him writhing in pain. Strangely odd enough, the Wordweb gives out several meanings for the term, barb, of which the first one happens to be “An aggressive remark directed at a person like a missile and intended to have a telling effect”. Another one states, “The pointed part of a wire” Both have their own share of relativity to barber. While the former scores in that it has a telling effect (Pain.. Believe me! Even today, it hurts a lot due to the effect of blades used to give final touches), the latter gets a nod because hairs are indeed pointed. So, barber is a perfect derivative of barb.

          Over to the salon, I like going there especially for the third point. (Sorry for the very long deviation. Scroll up to see what it is) I always have a grudging admiration for the Radio Jockies. How can someone blabber non – stop without a definite topic for almost half – an – hour (In some worst cases, this goes on for an hour, too) Of course, this scarcely seems a wonder because I have seen many of my mates (and some Profs) do this then and there. But, ILAYARAAJA!! This effect is of no words to express.

          Although I prefer ARR to this man, rare happenings often get etched deeply in heart. After hearing four or five songs repeatedly in almost all the variety shows and dance performances in various cultural festivals (Oh, you want the list? Here it is.. Velayilla Pattadhari Theme, where Anirudh shouts like he wants to squat and answer nature’s call; Kaththi – The Sword of Destiny, another Anirudh composition; Mangatha Theme, which energizes the crowd very easily; and Yennai Arindhaal, where Harris Jayaraj has used the electronic instruments in a good way), a breezy lullaby of Ilayaraaja is a soul – soothing one. In spite of the tabla repeating the same rhythm in most of his numbers without much energy, the tunes bring out the master.

          Imagine the public places. Marriage halls reverberate with Aambalaikum Pombalaikum Avasaram (Kazhugu) and Evan Di Unna Pethaan (Vaanam; lyrics penned by our ‘legendary’ Simbu); town buses and share autos blare Danga Maari, which effortlessly overtakes the noise of their horns. Ilayaraaja seems a necessity, eh? The sad thing is, from his countless tracks, only 100 are played in all FMs. They are enough, though! “Rasathi Unna Kanadha Nenju” and “Idhayam Oru Kovil” are the most frequented ones, followed by “Thooliyile Aada Vandha” (There can be Gangai Amaran involved in some or all tracks. I regret any discrepancy). Yet, they make up a blissful experience.

          A major part of salons have come up with an additional installation. The Television! They are played continuously throughout the day and the barbers, in the interest of watching their favorite program, perform awkward activities. There was one such man, who compellingly pushed my head down and made my eyes look in the direction of ground, and almost made the white flesh beyond my hair pop out, still revving the cutting machine, lost in some serial. Meanwhile, his apprentice was simply cutting the air rather than hair of another person, who watched in shock as the scissors approached his nose and even his mouth.

          And, these modern spas and parlors, announcing them to be the Numero Uno beauty salon, play some jarring English tracks, whose meaning neither they nor the customers can conceive. FASHION! If playing heavy metallic songs can make a salon modern and hippy, replace the barber with a stereo music system. Let the tools be there to symbolize, “Oh, this is a salon!”

          Coming to me, I always make it clear on how my hair has to be cut, where to use machine and how to shape my side hairs etc. “Seringa thambi. Kannadiya kazhati veinga.” (“Fine, brother. Remove your specs, please) And, that’s the end of my story. He would plow my head in a nasty way and I would either be sleeping, courtesy the Ilayaraaja effect, or would be blinking clueless, as my vision would be blurred sans glasses. Finally, he would be done and when I put on my glasses, someone else would be smiling from the mirror. When I try to quarrel (despite knowing it would be futile), he would either say, “This is how you mentioned” or “This is the latest trend.”

          Confused, I would return home. There is a better way to assess the worth of 60 bucks. If mom says, “What is this nonsense?”, voila! That is the hairstyle I want because mom would never feel happy unless I come home bald. On the contrary, if she says, “Good. This is the nice look”, it would imply that I should have to think of some bullet points to convince my mocking friends, who would go on a rampage with me at the center of attraction.

          Whatever it is, every time I come home from college, this ritual goes on, with rare positive results. But, I have reasons to prefer these annas over those hippy tonsures. Maybe their friendly gestures, maybe the cheap rates, or maybe ILAYARAAJA.