A trimming

I had always been proud of the rich abundance of salt and pepper atop my shapely head--now just salt with a sprinkling of the pepper. During the months of lockdown, it had flourished, as no ‘salooon’ (as we call the place in vernacular) was open. It reached a stage when the growing soft embellishment started to influence the weighing scale with an increased reading with every passing day.

I have to shed the load — I told myself. I consulted a few of my friends to the ‘download’ method they were adopting. Some were being helped by their wives and it showed. Others, who were Gandhians, wielded the scissors themselves and that was worse. At last, it happened. The chopping and trimming industry had been liberated from the clutches of lockdown. I was still hesitant. I went on a recce.

I casually walked past the shop where I used to make my monthly visits, casually met the “stylist” friend who was waiting for customers and casually enquired about the precautions they have taken in his establishment against the virus. Emboldened by his narrative, I visited them the next morning, making sure that I was the first customer of the day.

The place was what one would typically expect from a ‘salooons’— as usual, it was called Popular Hairdressers (this name is quite popular in this industry). I was truly impressed. There was a pedal-operated sanitiser dispenser at the entrance. The seat was sprayed and wiped before I was allowed to honour it.

I was tucked into a disposable sheet. All tools were sterilized in a UV cabinet and further sanitised with the spray. When the specialist had to employ the disposable blade around my ears, he politely pushed the elastic strap of my mask to one side and then another without dislocating it (by the way, I was wearing the shield right through the exercise).

I was pleased with the outcome. I did not mind splurging the additional 30% for the disposable stuff (Rs.30). Also gave a generous tip of another 10% to the hairdresser.