Off The Cuff: Scissors and razors make for a hair-raising tale

Sitting in a garishly lit room, leafing through a well-thumbed magazine that is barely a week old, looking at images of well-groomed, well-dressed, and beautiful people, I await my turn to get a much needed haircut.

A shiny radio whose volume control must have got stuck is belting out catchy happy tunes. Everyone passing by in this residential neighbourhood takes a peek into the shop to see who is in and the person gets reflected multiple times on the various mirrors.

The four occupants in the dark chairs are being attended to by constantly chattering men in white jackets. I have always wondered why they wear white when hair keeps falling on them. Maybe it helps tell them when they have to call the laundry man.

In the far corner is a middle-aged gentleman lost in thought. He seems to be a regular because he never mentioned a word to the barber as to how he wanted his hair styled.

Or maybe he doesn't care anymore. I wondered what he was thinking about. Something as important as his daughter's wedding or something as inane as a missed item in his shopping list.

Next to him is a strange chap who has asked for the top of his pate to be shaved. Great care was taken to give shape to this semicircle, without disturbing any hair outside the demarcated area. I had not come across this hair style and I thought maybe he was making a very radical fashion statement.

Understanding flashed across like the neon lighting outside discount shops when a toupee was whipped out from nowhere and suddenly the shiny surface was transformed into a full head of hair.

A few flicks of the comb and voila – all set to face the wind and the world.

The 17-something to his right was all eyes on the mirror. He couldn't get enough of himself. Every snip was watched with intensity of a football referee, every move monitored. Not one strand should go out of place, not one poky part of his crowing glory misaligned.

The barber was literally kept on his toes and fingertips with instructions and commands. Poor man must have been wondering what did he do to deserve such a customer.

After the process, tissues were used liberally to wipe any hair that stuck to his face. He even patted his eyebrows down. After vigorous usage of a brush, he finally decided to turn his back on the mirror, albeit unwillingly.

In the near corner a shave was underway. The very fact that someone would allow a perfect stranger to hold a very sharp razor next to his jugular sends a shudder down my spine.

A few deft strokes and a face emerges from the foam. Looks like this man is in no hurry, a facial massage is requested and what follows is pure torture. An implement is plugged in a nearby electrical socket and some mucky gel liberally applied.

His face vibrates in all directions; you can see him holding on tightly to the handles of his chair. Squishy sounds follow. The man actually paid good money for the ordeal.

A vacant chair beckons me. I step forward to get it over and done with. As that cheery red cloak is tucked into my collar I wonder if someone is watching my reactions and will write about me.