Barberosa - 1

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Unlike my son I avoid visiting Hair-Cutting Saloons as long as I can.

He is different.

Whenever he is tensed up on his Project Manager Job, he walks into the nukkad A/C Saloon, has a Hairdo, and a Massage (maalish) of his head, shoulders and torso given violently by the resident ruffian Barber-Masseur at a heavy surcharge...

I guess it is the age-old Amritanjan Principle: A bigger nuisance drives away the smaller

I am told that this Body-Massage Thing can be cruelly addictive: Ministers have to carry their Masseurs (and Cooks) in the First Class Cargo wherever they tour.

Anyway, I don't like to be touched by strangers: my hairdo is over in 5 minutes: the chap will ask: Long or Short and like the Buddhist I am, I reply: Medium. And finally when he shows the Big Mirror this way and that I get scared because of the Heavily Distorted Lateral Inversion and close my eyes.

And my wife would chase me back to the Saloon saying that the left half (I mean the right) has not been clipped aright.

I think this aversion for touching strangers is inbuilt in our middle class society: we would rather fold up our palms and say Namaste than shake hands with every Tom, Dick and Harry (of the same sex).

Indeed my MD Physician Cousin stunned me saying she never shakes hands. I asked her why. She said she would lose her Power to the other Chap...much like a high voltage getting grounded. And she cited the instance when Raam shook hands with Parashuram via the latter's mini-axe and bled-in all his Vast Powers.

I am inclined to side with her...goofy though she sounds.

I think I blogged a Piece on this Power Transfer Theorem long long ago:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/04/shocking.html

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"....Then I read about Electric Eels. These chaps wantonly generate a pretty high voltage difference (around 600 Volts) between parts of their bodies like the two ends of their tails, without inflicting any shocks on themselves. They then catch a poor fish which at once dies of shock and gets happily eaten.

Oh Well! Can we not do what a lousy witless eel does? A curious thought. Maybe some Yogis can do it. With intense reverence to Him and equally to rationality, could this be what Ramakrishna Deb did to Vivekananda when he touched him and dispatched him into a well-described trance state?..."

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Anyway, I postpone Visits to the Saloon till the last moment when the few strands of hair left in place fall across my eyes and blind completely a half-blind chap.

In my childhood there were no Saloons: the State-Barber used to visit us with his surgical kit, and my father and I used to extend each other the needed Moral Support at the Package Deal.

Here is today's half-century-old Chandamama story:

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The State-Barber of this King fell ill and sent his Son of a Barber (SoB, sorry) on Deputation for the Day.

When the SoB first saw the King sans his Pagdi (Crown), he was astonished beyond himself: the King had Donkey's Ears; and he was threatened with Death if ever he leaked this State Secret.

On returning home, the SoB took ill. No drugs worked and he was in bed for a fortnight. Finally his Physician rightly diagnosed that the SoB was suffering from a little-known Mental Condition (Odium Secretesa), and he would die if he didn't tell the secret that he was vainly trying to conceal: his belly was bloating...

Since the SoB declined to tell, come what may, it was suggested that he go to the nearby Forest and whisper his deadly secret into one of those flourishing ant-holes.

Which he did.

And recovered miraculously the next moment.

Months passed by and an itinerant musician looking for a good bamboo shoot for his flute found one coming up on the said ant-hole, cut it, fashioned it into a lovely flute, played a dozen tunes on it mellifluously, and decided that the flute played so well that he would play one of his rich melodies in the King's Court and get rich rewards in liquid cash.

He got a Right Royal Welcome by the King's Bodyguards who were mesmerized by his divine tunes.

As soon as the King arrived and the Court assembled and the musician ordered to perform, the flute could play only one tune monotonously:

"Our King has Donkey's Ears....Our King has Donkey's Ears... Our King has Donkey's Ears.."

The Musician was hanged till death by his neck and his flute burnt to cinders and ashes....

To be continued...


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