Line of Fate

Yesterday will definitely go down as one of the worst days of my life. Little did I know about the outcome of going for a haircut, long due. The nearest barber shop was full - so I and my friend went to take a stroll. And, of all streets, walked to one that hosted a shop with an unbelievably attractive sign - "$4.99 hair cut". It was too tempting not to have a closer look.

Getting in, we found around 20 people cutting and about a 20 more waiting for their customers. Someone said - 'Sign in there'. We signed - even though the declaration above started with 'I hereby understand that the students working here are not professionals and are aspiring barbers... I understand that I might get injured in the process...' I have no explanation whatsoever as to why we did not come out of that den then and there. :)

I was directed by the student instructor towards a chair and asked what number I'd go for from the chart displayed above. Confused, I just said I want my present style to be preserved. So he instructed to his waiting student - 'Do a 4 on the sides, 6 on the upper area and scissors on top' -and went away. I could see the clumsiness in the first few clips and in the way he was going about the whole task at hand. Unknowingly, I joined my palms for a silent prayer.

The 4 was over and so was the 6. But his hands shook when it held the scissors. His ordeal showed in his face and found expressions in his frequent 'I'm sorry'-s. At one point of time, I told him he needs to hold the comb in the other hand to do what he was trying to do. Two deep cuts made me utter the only words I found that could save, literally, my face - 'Please go ahead with the blades if you are not comfortable with the scissors'.

His reply was that of a confident man - 'Definitely better - I'm a blade man, you see.'

Five minutes later, I realised there was no way I could save myself. I just decided to close my eyes and let him make merry. When I opened my eyes and looked at the progress, the hurt showed in my own reflection - and I was doubly sure to see my friend standing far away and laughing his heart out looking at me. Whatever little doubt I had went away after one glimpse of the look in his eyes. I could feel he had already got over the dissatisfaction over his own makeover - after seeing the still amateur craftsman giving the final touches to his, maybe first, creation.

The thing that took the cake was the razor clean hairline he made on my forehead. A straight line running ridiculously parallel to the brows, and demarcating hair from skin - is what anyone would see on my person if I stand in front. A deeper, sharper line runs where this blow cut across my bleeding heart.