The Barber

Johri swept locks of hair crisply into position with a comb perched nimbly between slender fingers. The voracious scissors in his other hand never hesitated as they felled tufts of hair to the floor, snipping sharply like crunching apple.

We had already exchanged pleasantries, having greeted him in Tamil as I entered his little shop, and he asked about me and my family in English as he fluffed the pillow on the barber chair with a sharp slap and turned it to receive me.

“Same?”, he would always check. “ Of course.” Why would I amend what was already an fabulous experience. Glasses off, I would settle into the leather chair and square my shoulders just as he trained.

Every so often, he would exchange the comb and scissors with the pair in a small rice pot of simmering water. Johri was always dressed neatly with a crisp white button down shirt and pants, clean shaven and groomed. He always smelled nice and his fingernails were trimmed.

He would greet and receive anybody who stepped into his shop warmly, and ask about them and their family too. And apologize if they left because the line had grown too long.

In the morning, he would leave the sliding door open to circulate the cool air, but he switched on the air conditioner when it got warmer in the afternoon or if he saw that you were perspiring. Whenever I saw him eating when I approached the shop, I would insist I come back in a bit so that he can complete his meal at peace. At first, he insisted that he serve me, but later, he would thank me profusely and allow me to offer him that courtesy.

Hair cut complete, he would dip his fingers into lather and swab it deftly around my ears and neck. Then he would unwrap a fresh blade for his straight-edge razor, and carve a precise hairline. Next, he would run his trimmer through my goatee and trim it impeccably with scissors, checking often in the mirror for the stray hair. Finally, he would use the neck towel to dry off my neck and shave the back of my neck before giving me a 30 second back rub.

“Okay! Thank you! Come again!” I would pay him and offer him a tip which he often refuses. But he accepted on future visits when I say it is something small for the kids.

Johri was on long vacation visiting his wife and kids in India when I dropped back in to tell him I was leaving. I never got to say good-bye.