A SHORT STORY (the dialogues were in Bengali but for easy reading I have used English)

I was at the hair cutting salon last Sunday. It wasn’t raining but dense black clouds indicated a heavy downpour soon. The cool breeze outside and ‘waada karo nahi choroge tum mera sath’ being played at the FM radio of the shop were soothing my senses. Minutes ago I was in a frustrated mood. My repeated attempts of having long hairs and beard resulted in vain. My mom prevented it telling it would look like lunatic and moreover Brahmins (yes that’s more of my identity with my title) keep a simple look. This was an old salon, there were a few customers but it was the cheapest one as always. Just ten rupees for a decent cut is NOT a bad deal; in fact it’s the cheapest rate. The occupant of the wooden chair opposite to me was a man in his early seventies. He wore a decent shirt and a black colour pant. He seemed to resemble my chemistry professor!! His specs were quite old as one side of the frame was tied with a string. Occasionally he gave a glance at his old Timex watch. ‘He must have been sitting here for long’ I thought. We both were waiting for our turn while the barber was busy in giving a finishing touch to the French beard of a stout man who occupied the cushioned chair. The master skills of beard shaving were being performed with utmost care. The barber never forgot to greet me with a smile every time I entered his shop. ‘panditji aasun, kemon achhen’, was his regular dialogue and it simple got me pissed off. Never mind!

The stout man was over with his hair cut and shaving, he still lingered on the cushioned seat looking in the mirror at his hair in every possible direction to point out minute mistakes. He soon left. The man opposite to me went towards the seat as it was his turn. Surprisingly the barber indicated me to come and sit. I looked puzzled—yes only I looked so perhaps. The old man again sat on the wooden chair back smiling at me while the barber was quite normal.

“I think it is his turn”, I said

“You better sit down, I have to go for lunch”, the barber replied

I quietly took a seat while sprayed water on my hair. The old man was still smiling. STRANGE!!

I was quite. The barber turned towards the man and said

“You please come later”

(Aah!!! That’s not fair. Not AT all!!)

He simply smiled and indicated some hand movements. He was DUMB. He kept on indicating his hands in a particular pattern which made me confuse. I asked the barber,

“pachu da what is he saying?”

“O nothing, leave it. He comes everyday”, he replied and took the scissors.

“So why don’t you serve him?”

“He doesn’t pay…..actually he doesn’t have anything to give me. Sometimes I cut his hair for free but not always. I do not run a charity”

“But see his clothes; he is no way a beggar”

“Who said he is a beggar. He is a local resident. Some family problems are there and many other reasons keep him disturbed. Moreover, no one from his family pays me on his behalf. Instead they threaten when I ask for money”, pachu da indicated him to leave.

I stopped him and left my seat. Silently I indicated pachu da to serve him and took out a ten rupee note and paid on his behalf. It didn’t matter to him as long as I paid nor was I affected as it was just a question of ten rupees. He smiled at me and left after the haircut.

Three days later…

I was getting late for college. I took my cycle at full speed and rode towards the station. HE (the man at the salon) SUDDENLY JUMPED in front of my cycle.

“ae are you mad”, I shouted

He seemed to be unaffected. He came towards me and gave me a book in my hand. I hesitated but his smile seemed to hypnotise me for a second and I accepted it. He didn’t take money from me for the book. He waved me and left.

On returning home I took out the book; ‘FOLK TALES FROM INDIA’ was the title. I turned over the first page.

‘FROM DADU (grandpa) ---TO BUBAI’ was written on the page with a smiley made at one corner. I smiled and gave the book to my sister.