For some reason, we Indians
refer to barber shops as “saloons”, while for most people across the world, a
saloon is a “watering hole” or a large hall for lounging around. Possibly an
aberration of the word “salon”, but I leave that to the academics to figure
out. I am sure all my Indian readers are familiar with the hair-cutting saloons
found all over the country, from prime estates in the large cities to the
remote villages in the far corners. Foreigners coming to this country need to
know that if they want a haircut, they need to go to a “saloon”. A “barber’s
shop” may be difficult to locate.
These saloons can be put
into three broad categories : shops on the sidewalk, shops beside the sidewalk
and shops above the sidewalk – in malls and bazaars.
The shops on the sidewalk –
the most common – sport a mirror on a wall or a tree trunk, with four bricks
wrapped in plastic for a seat. The Bengali nickname for it is “eentalian”
saloon, “eent” being the Bengali word for “brick”. The upgrade from the
“eentalian” variety is a rickety wooden chair or a rusted steel one. About
those mirrors, the less said the better. Your reflection could take any shape
or form. The Laws of Physics are severely tested.
The upmarket variety of
these “eentalian” saloons have a plastic sheet tied to different parts of the
immediate surroundings at different convenient levels to serve as an awning and
protection against the sun and bird poop. One is expected to pay a premium for
that.
The barbers at these shops
can be considered experts at their trade, given the volume of customers they
handle daily, though tonsuring seems to be the most visible and consummate art
form.
If one enters the saloon
beside a sidewalk – more often than not, a ramshackle hut made of corrugated
iron sheets or bamboo screens called chatai, and covered with blue plastic
sheets to keep out the rain and sun, one will immediately encounter a
bewildering array of gods staring down at the potential customer. The intent, I
presume, is to warn of things that will follow.
Apart from the regular
offerings, these mid-range shops also offer the massage service. The massage
comes in two varieties – head massage and body massage. The head massage typically
begins with a gentle pinching and drawing out of the eyebrows, then moves to
the ears, and finally the head. The hair is first pulled to the point where it
is in danger of being ripped off, and then the head is pummelled with fists
till the eyesight begins to blur. Then the fellow goes back to the neck and
pinches it at different places, cutting off the blood flow to the brain at
various times. The end game involves pulling the ears and eyebrows again, and
wiping off the face with a towel that smells of so many things.
The body massage starts off
with pinching the tender area between the neck and shoulders till the victim
grimaces. Then the arms, one by one, are stretched, twisted and turned, fingers
snapped and twisted, and the attention goes moves back to the neck. The poor
fellow is asked to rest the head on the table in front, and the pummelling of
the back begins. For a while, fists rain down till the area starts to become
numb. Muscles are pinched and twisted, across the length and breadth of one’s
back, interspersed with raining fists, till the barber himself is exhausted.
Spondylitis, or any such ailment that the victim may have, goes for a walk, I suppose.
The more well-built the
barber, the powerful and rigorous is the massage. If you opt for both the head
and body massage, you will be wobbly on your feet for a while. And you need to
pay at least Rupees forty or more, just to get beaten up in this fashion. Haircut
and a shave, extra.
A word about those towels
that are used. It is safest to visit the shops early in the morning because
they typically wash the towels at night before going to bed. And you can draw the
other conclusions.
Barbers have a special role
in traditional Hindu society; all males, they are required to perform a variety
of functions at births, deaths, thread ceremonies and weddings – roles defined
by the ancient texts. Naturally therefore, the art is passed down from father
to son and the profession runs through families for generations. Most of them
take their profession as a “holy” one and try to deliver to the best of their
abilities.
Of course, in the Indian
context, a haircut is absolutely independent of one’s looks. It is a work of
art by the barber.
What you get for free,
however, at these saloons, is knowledge. Profound, deep insights into how to
run the country or local government, control food prices or why India lost the
last cricket match and cannot do well in football, even why sending satellites
up constitute a waste of money for India. The more loquacious the barber, the
wider the range of topics.
To get a haircut that
matches with your facial structure or profile, you will need to go to the
glitzy malls, where they will charge a hefty premium for showing you an album
of past and present film stars and ask for your preference. The final output
may or may not match with your desires, but that is not their fault – right ?
If you ask for a massage
there, you will most likely get the same pummelling at three times the charge,
because the place is air-conditioned. And there are fewer gods on the walls.
Your choice.
