Having a hair cut on a Sunday, every month, has become more of a ritual in my life .I end up lazing on the barber’s chair, while he goes about exercising his skill at trimming the overgrown locks. The typical Indian barber shop is a fascination of colour, mirror and light’s where customers step in with the hope of changing their style to “look and live” the life of a film star.

As the client eases into the chair , he finds the reflection of a stylish Amitabh Bachchan, Ranjikanth and  Shahrukh Khan  striking a heroic pose .With every stroke of hair trimmed , the client begins to feel like a “Hero in the making “ . A few pleasing words by the barber, and he obliges to a head massage. As he walks out, he is in seventh heaven, only to realise that he has overshot his budget.

The shop was unusually empty, when I walked in last Sunday, to be greeted with a broad smile from my “stylist” (I Like to give him the credit for a job well done!). He seemed to be glued to the “Supernatural powers” that manifested itself on the small screen. The jarring sound of the television serial kept me from having a word. As I settled down on the chair, I saw the reflection of a villain ( I wonder who made him a TV host ) yelling atop his voice . It was a local version of “Believe It Or Not “, where supernatural powers were curing the ailments of people. Patients with incurable diseases were being miraculous healed by an invisible power who conducted “surgeries in their dreams! “.A background music, which was conveniently copied from of a horror movie, made it intolerable.

I wanted to change the channel, but my stylist’s fascination at this new discovery kept me silent.

“Great, Isn’t it Sir?” he asked with vigour, I smiled in obligation.

“I ought to keep him happy” I told myself.

As he went about “designing” my hair, there was a characteristic knock on the glass door. A lady with her 6 year old daughter had come to drop off her husband. It is uncharacteristic to find a woman in a gent’s saloon in India. I quickly glanced to notice that her husband was blind. She instructed the barber in a jiffy, and left behind her little daughter to tend to her father’s needs. Little did she care about her surroundings, while she stepped into this “Strictly Male domain” . She had been here and done this before. It was the life of a “gritty woman shouldering her family’s responsibility”. The husband was guided to the seat beside mine, by another barber.

“Make it short “, he declared.

”You’ll look funny, if you cut it short”, his daughter quipped.

” No, trim it short”, he confirmed.

For a man without eyesight, style was “visionary “. The very thought of visiting a saloon troubled him. He was unusually composed and directed his daughter to be seated, as she browsed through the latest edition of ‘Femina’, unmindful of its glamorous content.

“How is the business doing?” he asked, to keep the barber engaged. He had certainly mastered the art of surviving with his disability. The annoying sound of the television continued to play like the background music at a pub. I had begun to dose off when my stylist gentle moved my head sideward’s in order to wake me from my mid-afternoon siesta.

Ten minutes later , I sat up examining my stylist’s ‘ artistic excellence ‘ , as he gave the finishing touches to my formidable head , when I was startled by the poser

“Which is that place?”

It was the blind man. The barber dazed at the question, kept staring at me.

“Which is that place on television, where they cure diseases”, he reiterated, in an anxious tone.

“Oh Sir, you should surely go there “replied my barber in excitement, not providing him an answer.

Suddenly all men (and the little girl) at the shop were glued to the television, seeking an answer to the elusive question-“Which is that Place?” There was a sense of indefinable excitement in the air.

I sat staring at the man, in astonishment. His last 10 minutes at the barber’s chair were spent in carefully assimilating every detail of the “Supernatural powers that healed incurable diseases”.

A television program which was immaterial and nonsensical to me fascinated my barber and ignited the spark of hope in a blind man’s life. Such were the strange ways of life!

The very thought of seeing his loving daughter and wife, was a source of inspiration to keep him glued to the jarring noise of television.

“Yes, I got it. It’s RAMNAGAR TALUK, CLOSE TO MANDYA”, he declared with pride as I walked out of the barber shop, the little girl smiling at me.

It was certainly a life of hope.

Hope of a better tomorrow, hope of a little miracle, hope of seeing the “Real” world!

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