Went for a Haircut. Found Delight

When it comes to getting a haircut, I think I’m typical of most men and regard it from a merely utilitarian perspective. There’s not a whole lot of pleasure in it and the necessity of devoting the time and waiting your turn is little offset by the reading material on hand. That said, once I’ve found a barber I trust I am as loyal as Kent to Lear, or Jonathon to David. Assure me, barber, that you can produce the same effect without shadow of change or variation each and every time and I am your evermore your devoted customer.

Extended travel, however, requires a temporary, regretted but necessary faithlessness. Sooner or later the gap between the passport photo and the actual state of your unruly locks becomes too great to ignore. I’m staying at the moment in the beach town of Varkala, in the southern part of Kerala, truly one of the most beautiful regions of India or anywhere. The beach area has no barbers, however, so I hailed an autorickshaw and asked the driver to take me to a barber in Varkala town. He drove me in the several kilometres to town and escorted me to the barber shop. It’s good that he did so. There was nothing from the outside that I could see that distinguished this little hole in the wall as a barber’s. No pole, no pictures of recently groomed models in the window (not that there was a window), no sign that I could read.

The young barber was good at his trade. The scissors snipped satisfactorily. The clippers caused the outline of my jaw to reappear beneath my beard. The straight razor was mercilessly sharp: no need for a shave for a day or two after that. When he was done, he asked whether I wanted a head massage. I had no idea what that involved but thought, why not? When in Rome ….

Master of His Trade

I’d anticipated a couple of minutes of him wiggling his fingers into my skull. Instead he spent the next 15 or 20 minutes (I completely lost track of time) alternately massaging, kneading, stroking, pummeling, punching, and slapping my skull, anointing it from time to time with fragrant oil. Perhaps I should have guessed what was coming. Kerala, after all, is famous for its ayurvedic treatments and massages. Not only did he do my head, but dealt as well with my ears, brows, and shoulders. Towards the end of this extraordinary process, he ran his hands down my back to give my kidneys a little jolt. Then he manipulated my head back and forth, up and down, until – to my great surprise – he did one of those little jerk and twist manoeuvres that chiropractors perform, complete with popping noises from the cervical spine. Just as suddenly, the rickshaw driver was back, telling me for the barber that I was to leave the oil on for at least an hour before washing it out.

An hour had past. I left the shop, shorn, radiant, head fairly glowing. All this for about $5.00 Canadian. The cut was just fine. I’d go back in a moment for the head massage. 

Demure and newly shorn