The chill was unbearable but the place was warm inside. With one old fashioned electric heater below the chair, emanating enough heat providing comfortable refuge from the frigid weather. The heater was made of a red mud, and a dingy looking solenoid coil probably made of tungsten or some other high heat resistant filament seemed to have been ineptly inserted into it. Besides, it’s all cracked up edges suggested that it had been tossed around for a quite a while and the fact was further accentuated by its hexagonal shape. A trash bin stood next to it and manifested as if it too was trying to wade off the brutal cold. The lid was lying aslant with the mould of hair creeping out of it. The squalid bin certainly provided fine dwelling for the bacteria that as I speak were probably in their merriment and multiplying like rabbits. Scattered leafs from the newspapers which dated few days back were strewn all over the floor and some on the table as if it had been subjected to great twister. But despite all that, familiar aroma of alum had palpable and familiar effect on olfactory senses.
Aslam bhai’s barber shop is a place to be. If you ever happen to have an opportunity to walk from Milan chowk to Sangam chowk you will notice a ragged metallic plate with a symbol of scissor beckoning you to have a haircut. Meanwhile in the door you’ll invariably find two old men squatting or sitting in the stool and intently regarding every passerby with their hawk sharp pair of eyes always focusing towards each head with uncanny capacity to recognize the potential customer at stone’s throw without any shred of insinuation. Aslam bhai and one of his cousins had built this establishment nearly two decades ago, the time when Baneshwor area was still lush green in vegetation and according to the popular legend a playing ground for foxes, which during the most opportune time would fled with rooster from nearby dwellings. It is really philosophical to ponder what mind set the two middle aged men had when they embarked on their endeavors twenty years back or what hopes and aspiration did they harbored when they set out to this alien place where both their language and religion were foreign.
One can imagine that when Aslam bhai set out from his home, an un-trodden and unnamed village in some rural part of Bihar, to seek fortune and wealth he might have encountered many questionable glances from his peers and families. Some might have showered him with the encouragement while other may have festered him with ridicules. His father might have objected it disapprovingly while his mother must have cried during the farewell. I wonder what unforeseen power persuaded him to come to this part of Kathmandu and try out his luck. And to start a barber shop with a shoe string budget in part of town with thin population must have dumbfounded many. But there is no telling about human spirit. It is capable of reaching the moon as well as scouring the depth of sea despite any odds. As Hemingway put it poignantly “A man can be defeated but not destroyed”. Now gray and old, it’s hard to discern in his face pervaded with wrinkled lines whether the dreams he once fostered came true or not. But one thing is for sure the vitality and spirit still pervades in his dexterous hands.
Being a usual Saturday afternoon the place was bit crowded and Aslam bhai and his son Tarbez were having hard time persuading all the customers to remain seated. Everyone seemed to be in hurry. Funny thing is once the customer seats on the barber’s chair and starts getting pampered no matter how much time elapses he won’t complain at all. Perhaps seated chair turns into non-inertial frame of reference and time dilation as explained in General Theory of Relativity kicks in. But whatever was the reason waiting is always the pain and patience is indeed a virtue. Watching two barbers one at his sear and other in his early spring and both projecting agility despite their demanding schedule made me lamp blast the “Sleeping Barber “ Algorithm in standard operating system text book. Who says barber sleeps in busy hour?
It is said that barber knows secret of everyone in the community and Aslam bhai was no exception. He too knew every nitty-gritty detail of everyone in the room. He especially took pride in cutting hair of his old customers and liked to tell stories of many distinguished customer he had throughout his career spanning from minister to police chief. He seldom allowed his old customers to get hair cut from his son, only during times when he is already handful and the customer was in hurry. It reminded me of that old Seinfeld Episode of Barber where to jerry’s upmost exasperation his old barber insisted on cutting his hair that transpires some of the funniest moments that network TV has ever presented.
All of sudden a car stopped in front of the door and a tall, stout fellow entered the shop. Aslam Bhai’s face lit up and menially he cleaned the bench and implored the customer to take a seat assuring him that he won’t take long with his present client. He really seemed to be in hurry and the fact was further accentuated by fast paced scissor chops totally indifferent to state of the customer’s hair. In offhand fashion he dismissed the current customer and began weaving magic in his new clients head. Perhaps some VIP I guessed.
With Mr. Cynosure ensconced in the barber’s chair all we mere mortals had to wait. But no one seemed to be bothered. I enquired another customer regarding the proceedings and he explained to me that the seated customer was no other than Mr. Nikhil Upreti , a leading actor in Nepali movie. Not being a fan of Kollywood movies I forgave myself for not recognizing him. But it indeed was flattering to know that the place where you cut the hair is actually frequented by leading men form Nepali tinsel town. To much of our relief Mr. Upreti didn’t take long and left as early as possible. My turn was next but we all (five of us) rushed to the chair and Alsam bhai was nearly squashed like a pancake. After having his faculty restored he yelled at all of us reminding that conscientious people do not jump in front of buffet line. But being in queue characterized by Poison distribution with prolonged waiting time, none of us were in mood to yield. Finally we settled and I received the coveted chair as I was their first. I called for it. I was feeling high when my eyes all of sudden fell on poster above of holy Mecca that had words “God is conscience that whisper in your ear” inscribed in it. I felt guilty.
