May 12th, 2020. The Honorable Prime Minister came on national television and delivered an address that would determine the trajectory of the Indian economy and society for years to come: a glorious vision for an “Atma-Nirbhar Bharat” – an India that is self-reliant and strong enough to compete with the best in the world.
So moving was this
vision and the address that even my father caught onto the spirit. Once the
primetime address of the Honorable PM was over, Father
proclaimed “We shall be Atma-Nirbhar too. From today onwards, we shall
no longer visit the saloon – even once the pandemic is over. We shall cut our
own hair”. Unlike the government, Father did not delay in putting his vision
into action. The very next day, to spite the Chinese for letting the virus
loose on the world, not to mention their grave folly of creating trouble on the LAC, he bought a trimmer of Taiwanese make. It was a moment for celebrating
the nationalist spirit.
Two days later, Father
sat down to execute his grand vision. I almost clapped when, for the first
time, Father switched the trimmer on and cut a few strands of hair. For the
next half-an-hour, the only sound in the house was that of the trimmer. My
brother and I watched curiously. Even Mother stopped everything else to join
us. It was an emotional moment when the first haircut ended. To be honest,
it was executed poorly – no where close to the professional finish of a saloon.
However, this was sufficiently compensated by a feeling of pride. Even Mother did not complain about hair flying and lying all around
the house. Father worked out calculations to show how much we would save
by having made this one-time investment on the trimmer. We were no longer
dependent on the saloon and the barber’s whims.
Couple of weeks
later, when my brother ministered himself a haircut, he did a thorough job. An almost
professional touch. Word of my brother’s skills with the trimmer spread through
the family and he was called on to do the honors for our nephew! This laid my
apprehensions to rest and gave me some confidence to give it a shot myself.
Moreover, it had been nearly three months since my visit to the saloon. The hair
was reaching irritating proportions.
When I decided to be my own “stylist”, I told myself – this would not be merely an exercise in “Atma-Nirbharta” but also a spiritual exercise. My mind, eyes and hands would work together in unison to give me the best haircut. For those thirty-odd minutes, the rest of the world would simply melt away. The drone of the trimmer would shut out all the noise and I would experience pure bliss at the end of it all.
None of it
happened. Without my spectacles, the task was tough. It was an earthly
struggle, rather than a spiritual journey. However, at the end of it all, I was
left with a sense of achievement. No matter how poor the haircut, it was my
handiwork and I would display it as a badge of honor. (Not that I had any other option, though!)
Couple of months
later, it was time for the second iteration of haircuts. This time, I had no
spiritual expectations. All I wanted was to complete the process, leaving behind
something that had a semblance of symmetry on either side of the head. In
order to get the same pattern on both sides, we were spending so much time that
one charge of the trimmer was no longer enough. We had to keep batteries handy
to be put into use, and they drained fairly quickly. When one took into account
the effort that went into the haircut, not to mention the imperfect outcomes, were
we making significant savings after all? Clearing up became a chore. Mother,
while not being very vocal, was clearly not impressed with our cleaning skills.
The costs seemed to outweigh the benefits. Shadows of doubt crept in over the
grand vision of being Atma-Nirbhar.
By the time of the third round, the experience was no longer enjoyable. I just wanted to be done with it. I decided that that would be the last time. No matter what the state of the pandemic was, I would get a professional haircut the next time. Clearly, I wasn’t skilled enough to wield the trimmer and there was no sign of improvement over the two iterations.
Then came a
wedding in the family. All the feeling of pride in displaying our own handiwork
is fine when it is within the family. When we have to project ourselves to the
world, one has to look presentable, doesn’t he? That was when I heard of saloon
services on one of the aggregator apps. We could get a professional haircut at
the comfort and safety of our home.
Father & I
decided to give it a try first. I had only heard stories of how, in our
ancestral village, the barber would provide his services to our widowed great-grandmother
in the backyard of the house. Life had come a full circle. Only, there was no
backyard here.
The barber arrived
ahead of schedule. There was beauty in the way he arranged his tools – scissors,
comb, brush, razor – and sanitized them. There was grace in how he laid out a
disposable paper cover under the chair to ensure no hair littered the house.
There was elegance in the way his hands moved. When it was my turn, I sat with
my eyes closed, savoring the sound of the scissors. It felt like music, almost
divine! Even Mother was impressed with how clean the entire process was.
As I looked in the
mirror, I almost wept tears of joy. Perhaps “barber” was too crude a word for
him. Google says “tonsorial artist”. Maybe it suits him. There certainly was a
sense of artistry on display. And then, realization dawned. “Atma-Nirbharta”
is good rhetoric. However, for us, it had come at the cost of quality. Attempts at being entirely independent or self-reliant
don’t make sense economically or practically. I wanted to thank the barber…the
artist, for helping me appreciate this. By then, he had noiselessly cleaned up
and left to attend to the next customer.
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