A cut above thriftiness

After enduring strict haircuts as a child, I gave my son the freedom to choose his own style

When we were at school, my father insisted that we get a haircut at least every other month, if not every month, “for God’s sake.” The frequency of these haircuts depended on how quickly we managed to grow hair on our heads, with our thrifty father making the final decision. As a schoolteacher in a far-off village, he was mindful of every rupee. At the time, we lived in the Yadagiri station area, where the ritual of haircutting always took place.

Just by the road that led to Yadagiri town, a cluster of Bellary jali trees provided a makeshift shelter for our barber and his shaggy clients when it wasn’t raining. Father rarely took us to regular barber shops, fearing extortion or robbery, especially when dealing with four heads (my two brothers and I had unruly hair) plus his own grizzled facade.

The ordeal began with a lot of haggling. The going rate at standard barber shops was forty paise per head, but our barber charged ten paise less, doing it for thirty paise per head in the open. Father insisted on paying no more than one rupee for four haircuts and his shave. The barber would strongly argue that this was unfair, requesting at least one rupee and twenty-five paise. Eventually, they would settle on one rupee and ten paise.

That Sunday morning, when we were taken to the barber, our moods were very low. The spectre of a close crop cut that almost looked like a tonsure made us sad, and we suddenly lost all interest in our lives. Our youngest brother was almost in tears. And everything took place in full public view as the barber sheared curls from our worried heads.

That day when we returned with our hair cut, like our crowns removed, the sides of our heads shining green, we contemplated our loss for hours. The prospect of ridicule from friends and schoolmates at school made us anxious.

We mourned the loss of our hair at least for a week, becoming anxious as we waited for the next haircut cycle. 

Decades later, when I had a son with beautiful long hair, my turn came to make decisions about haircuts. I decided to let him choose his hairstyle, never intervening in the process or conspiring with the barber. I took him to a decent barber shop and never bargained over the price. Sometimes he preferred long hair, sometimes short, depending on the trend at the time. I ensured that his haircuts remained entirely democratic, in the truest sense of the word.