In a Baber’s Shop
By
JIRARA
© JIRARA, June 2020
Published by JIRARA
On matrubharti.com
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Disclaimer: This is the work of fiction as far as all the characters, their names and the names of all the events are concerned and all these are imaginary and hence any resemblance to the persons (and their lives) dead or alive, and any places are coincidental. Even if a few events might look realistic/’real’, these are fictionalised and the associated names are changed in order to maintain their privacy, honour, and security. No intention whatsoever is meant to hurt any feelings of whosoever, irrespective of their personal/cultural beliefs, social or political inclinations, religion-orientations/practicing/philosophy, life styles, and work/business. The ‘I’, ‘my’, ‘me’, and ‘mine’ (if any used) do not necessarily mean the author of this book, and these and other such pronouns: her, hers, his, he, she, him, you, your, yours, ours, theirs…; are used for effective personification and dramatization, and the readers should not take these on their ‘own persons’.
Please Note: The readers should take these stories/verses/thoughts with/in good spirit. The presented ideas and material are based, where feasible, on readings and (thought-) analyses of scientific/other open literature (which seemed most profound and trustworthy), with as much care as possibly taken. The readers are requested to verify these notions on their own, and use their own discretion. However, these stories/verses/thoughts/ideas (mostly original) are expressed here with an intention of increasing awareness of the readers with a hope that in an overall sense, their (and ours) consciousness would be heightened (in all and multiple directions), so that we all can live our lives on this planet with true happiness, ever-lasting peace and real joy (irrespective of our orientations). The author and the publisher will not be responsible for any negative effects/situations arising as a result of reading these stories/verses and/or following the suggestions if any. No discussions/dispute of any kind will be entertained at any time and in any way, manner, and/or forum. JIRARA.
***
In a Barber’s Shop.
The child waiting for its turn to come,
it cries, screams in advance,
of the torture yet to come on it,
seeing the scissors, the razors,
in the hands of the barber,
the child imagines that the barber,
will not only cut its hairs,
but perhaps its ears,
even trim the tiny and tender nose.
When the process starts,
the father offers the candies,
to the crying child,
woes the child so that,
it would look much cuter child,
with trimmed hairs,
also would look smarter,
amongst its own school mates.
It is a slavery kind of thing,
to sit on the barber’s chair to get haircut,
since every moment,
the fellow pushes your head,
that is full of intelligence,
from one point to other,
in whatever direction,
angle that suits him,
spotting his deadly gadgets,
– sharp scissors, razors, cutting machines.
Whoever you might be, a scientist,
or a businessman, a professor,
a proprietor or a big landlord,
with whatever retune at your command,
today you are,
at the mercy and the command,
of the ordinary man, the layman,
that is barber who is going to add,
some grace and beauty,
to your head and personality.
That head and ears have to bear,
with the glaring heavy-metal music,
whatever language,
the shopkeeper chooses,
whether you understand it or not,
whether you like it or not, enjoy or not.
And your barber keeps chatting,
with other ‘slaves’ on other chairs,
with his colleagues,
about many events of the yesterday,
of the last weekend,
and a thought runs in your mind,
that he will miss your hairs,
and cut your ears and nose,
this throwing chills down your spine.
It is at the barber shop,
you become worldly wise of,
having learnt to keep patience,
while waiting for your turn to come,
controlling your anger,
even if you are almost sure that,
he is nearly cutting your lip and,
learning the stories of the streets and,
the city, nay even, the world from,
this nerve centre,
that is the barber’s shop that you need,
to visit once in at least two months.
You have to sit motionless,
can rarely make choice of your motion,
you sit like a saint in contemplation,
meditation in a poise of the yogic posture,
that you might have missed this morning,
your head being continuously tossed,
being fully managed by the barber,
that he must be feeling proud,
that such a prized possession,
that is so-called your head,
full of thoughts, ideas, and ideals,
principles he has today got in his full control.
Your hairs finally are not wasted,
although in themselves a waste product,
of the nature from your scalp,
the hairs are collected,
then they find their eternal journey,
back as wigs for some baldy people.
The hairs remain as hairs,
the barber becomes a great recycler,
maintaining an environmental balance,
the knowledge provider,
the beautician, the stylist who does,
his job with an eternal smile on his face,
and ‘welcome again’ gestures,
that to at a very cheap price.
***An end…***with a new beginning…***
