A Little off the top

[Guest guest]

A LITTLE OFF THE TOP

I shall ask you a simple question. In front of who does even the King have

to bow his head?

Okay! Okay! You are right when you say, his wife. But that is not the answer

I wanted. Let me reframe the question. Except for his wife, in front of who

does even the king have to bow his head.

Oh for God's sake! I know that 'G P Koirala' is also a correct answer.

Forget the question. I shall tell you the answer directly. The most powerful

person in front of who even the King has to bow his head is his barber.

Barbers have always fascinated me since the days before written history. By

that I mean the days before I learned to read and write and remember when

invaded India and how many times Mohd of Ghazni performed a 9/11

on India.

I may not remember a major chunk of my early childhood, which my parents

insist was most unpleasant, filled with gory details of my toilet training

and dietary habits. However, the first thing that I remember of my known

life is being dragged to the barber's shop. Telling me that it was a trip to

some sweet shops, but ended at that abbatoir masquerading as a barbershop

fooled me. At that time I knew nothing of the French revolution. But had I

known, I would have clasped the nearest French nobleman as a soul buddy and

assured him that I knew what it meant to be taken on a city tour of Paris,

ending in the grand finale of the Bastilles.

After being tied down to the guillotine, the smirking master of ceremonies

clicked his dangerous looking tools of trade and giving a critical once over

to my silky and beautiful strands commented, " Wait till I make you a

gentleman. " My mirror is a dumb witness to his ineptitude and my masochistic

perseverance.

As time went by, I was no longer fooled by the old sweet shop trick. Then

they switched over to the school rules trick. If you do not cut your hair or

nails, your teacher will send you home. At that age, I used to think that

the main aim of school was to send you home, and instead of encouraging such

decent and understanding behavior, why would anyone want to dissuade them?

A special peculiarity of my barber was that before starting the grueling

session, he would always offer me a choice. " How do you want to look? Rajesh

Khanna, Dev Anand or Amitabh Bachchan? " No matter what choice I took, I

always ended up looking like a cross between y Lever and Mukri,

especially when they were very cross.

As time snipped by, my barber began to be called hair stylist, and his dingy

slaughterhouse began to be called a salon. His discussions also turned

loftier. He would hold me by the scruff of my neck with one hand, and with

the other poised with a dangerous, pointed and sharp weapon of torture he

would ask me, " Aren't these politicians idiots? They are talking with

Pakistan instead of bombing it. "

Images of the villain of those days, Ajeet, holding a large butcher's knife

at the neck of some hapless soul and demanding, " Sona kidhar hai? " rushed

into my mind. If that hapless soul had answered, " Naturally, bed pe sona

hai. " , he wouldn't have had to worry about his next bed. I would quietly

gauge the mood of my interlocutor before venturing my trembling opinion.

Once, in a fit of recklessness, when I had opined that the country would be

better off under Communists, I had to hide my crowning glory under a large

hat for over a month. When my hair grew back to cover my rash mistake, I

decided then and there that I wanted to become a barber. Who else wielded so

much power?

Unfortunately, to become a barber, you do not have any entrance exam. My

parents were of the opinion that any career, which does not have an entrance

exam or reservations, is not worth pursuing. Thus, through default, I became

a Gynaecological surgeon.

My barbers, meanwhile, had undergone a sea change. I think someone had

finally reserved their seats too. The posts of all barbers around my

locality are reserved for persons from UP or Bihar. Thus all problems are

called 'Sasur', as in " Eeh Sasur rejharvasun kaa cheej hai? " I was tempted

to direct him to the railway minister, who hails from his state and deals

with reservations all the time.

Once, while shaving me, my hair stylist told me that Donkey's milk is the

final treatment for Asthma. I merely nodded my head carefully. After all,

only a jackass argues with a person who holds a razor at his throat.

In my medical college, when I learned that surgeons were originally barbers,

my heart gave a lurch of joy. At least covertly, I had achieved my ambition.

But the final glory came, when an old patient of mine came to me. She had

undergone a perineal operation at my hospital. She said, " Doctor, you

remember you operated me a few months ago? "

I deliberately pretended not to remember. Who knows what Consumer case lurks

in the shadows? " Er... May be. I don't clearly remember. Why? Is there a

problem? "

" No! No! It was perfect! In fact, I have had no trouble after that. "

" Ah! Now I recollect well. Yes! I did operate on you. "

" Yes! Doctor! I want to get myself admitted to your hospital again. "

I was perplexed. " Why? If there is no, problem .... "

" No! No! No problem at all. Only, just before the operation, you had shaved

me there. In all my life, that was the cleanest and best shave I had. Could

you just shave me? "

I had finally achieved the pinnacle of my career!

Kishore Shah 1974