The Unexpected Relationships that Last
I’d gone to my native town in Kerala for a few days and while sitting at home one day, I realised that it had been a couple of years since I last saw an old pal and decided to pay him a visit.
I’ve known Prajith, that’s his name, for almost 18 years now.
He isn’t an old school friend if you thought so, and obviously not a former work colleague (Ok, I’m not nearly old enough to have work associates from that long ago)
Prajith and I didn’t study in the same school or college. He’s not a friend or sibling of a friend, or even a neighbour.
So how exactly do I know him? Hmm, read on.
After borrowing my dad’s scooter and zipping on it to the town centre about three and half kilometres from home, I turned into a narrow alley between a row of two buildings, advanced about 20 metres and parked the scooter and looked around for the name ‘Jolly’s’ among the few shop doors that made up one side of that alley.
After spotting what I was looking for, I walked towards the entrance and pushed the old creaking green door open.
It was dark inside and I didn’t see anyone near the seats in front of the mirrors. Strange!
I instantly turned to the other side of the room where the chairs for those who were waiting were placed and he was sitting on one of them.
“DA!” He stood up and exclaimed with a look of surprise intertwined with a smile on seeing me. “How are you? It’s been a while!” he continued in my native tongue (Malayalam).
I shook his outstretched arm, smiled and replied “Was here for a couple of days and remembered you so thought of paying you a visit and getting a haircut. Why are you sitting in the dark by the way?”
“The power went out; it will be back any moment.”
The power came back on almost instantaneously as though in response to his words.
Time often seems to stop still for some while for others it gallops. The tall, dark, handsome chap in front of me looked the same at thirty-three as he did at twenty.
Time seemed to have stopped still for good ol’ Prajith too- Prajith, my barber.
I first visited ‘Jolly’s’ almost 22 years ago as a 13 year old schoolboy. It was recommended to me by a classmate who was a regular there.
The affable middle-aged skilled barber who owned the salon was assisted by his equally affable good-looking 20-something eldest son named Pramod, and a paid apprentice/employee – a role that kept changing from time to time.
Before long, I became a regular monthly customer at Jolly’s. Pramod, who moved into his own salon in a nearby town, was soon replaced by his younger brother, Prasad. For the next few years I used to get my hair cut only by Prasad and used to often wait till he was free and give up my turn rather than get my hair cut by one of the employees who didn’t know my preferences.
Four years or so after my first visit to the salon, the father encountered a major accident – a result of which he lost his right leg. He returned to visit his salon many months later after obtaining a prosthetic leg but could no longer continuously stand and work. He sat quietly in a chair while Prasad got busier and took over the responsibility of the salon.
Around that time, the youngest member of their family too, a lanky 16-year old boy, took a pair of scissors in his hand and started working in the salon to fill the gap left by his father.
The first time I came across the teenaged Prajith in the salon, I wasn’t prepared to get my hair done by him – I thought he was just a young carefree apprentice who’d disappear in another few months. It was only when his elder brother coaxed me after telling me that the new kid was his younger brother that I finally agreed.
That first haircut was pretty fine from what I remember and thus began my acquaintance with the youngster who was not much younger than me.
The years moved on and by the time Prajith had moved into his twenties, his second brother, Prasad, too started his own salon in another town and moved out. The father’s old salon had now passed on to his shoulders. And he continued in his father’s and his brothers’ tradition – building relationships with his clients – a character trait that led to him having clients who stayed his loyalists for years.
I had already moved to a different state for my undergraduate degree by then and came across him only when I came home for end-of-term vacations. The visits became less frequent when I moved to a new job in a faraway city.
The infrequent visits meant that every time I went for a haircut, it was time for a catch-up session.
We grew up living in parallel worlds. His world was restricted to that little barbershop in that alley, while I lived the life of a nomad – my early career years as an implementation engineer took me to various lands and every time I returned to that old salon, I’d narrate my tales for the time that had elapsed in between.
“Da I got a job in a software company in Bangalore” I told him when I saw him in 2005.
“Bangalore adipoliya alle (Bangalore is great”) isn’t it?”
“Kidilam (awesome)” I used to tell him.
We would then discuss about the latest movies, about city life, his take on the local news and about his family.
“Da I was in Nigeria for few months” I told him when I met him in 2008
“Kollamallo (that’s cool). How’s it like?”
“Too hot. You can barely move out and you have to be really careful with the amount of crime there”.
“Our land is the best” he used to retort then.
This time when I met him, It was after almost a gap of two and half years.
As I sat on the salon chair in front of the mirror, he adjusted the head-rest and started.
“You’re going bald you know” he said after carefully looking at the balding patch on my crown.
“Ah, I know, I’m growing old Da. Anything you think we can do for my hair”
“Let it be. Can’t do much if it’s hereditary” he replied after he started snipping at the sides of my head.
“So what’s happening with you? Do you have any kids yet? Last time you told me you were getting married”
“Ah, I’ve got a daughter – she’s 9 months old” he grinned and showed me a picture a cute baby girl on his mobile phone which I peered into.
In between the snipping, he enquired, “What about you? How come you never got married?”
“Long story, spent a couple of years abroad for studies then was busy with my book… Did I tell you last time that I wrote a book?””
“Oh! You wrote a book? That’s a big thing. What was it about?”
“Short stories – Just sold a couple of hundred copies though. Didn’t make any money out of it or get famous” I laughed and said.
“Doesn’t matter. Writing itself is something to be proud of you know”
“Well it’s something I can talk about at least about for the rest of my life” I quipped. “So how’s business nowadays and how’s your father?”
“Business isn’t bad” he smiled and said “We get enough to get by and most of our customers are people who’ve been around a long time. Father’s not healthy enough to come here anymore though and stays at home”
“Trust me, running your own little business happily with enough to get by– is any day better than working for somebody else” I said profoundly while he laid his finishing touches on my hair. A neat and perfect job (for whatever hair remained) as always.
We continued chatting for a few minutes as he prepared his next customer – a teenage boy.
“By the way, I’ve got a blog –it’s like an internet magazine. Maybe I’ll write about you in it sometime” I said with a smile.
He wasn’t sure if I was bluffing. But what the heck, he was cool with it.
I paid him for his services and bid him goodbye. I’m not sure when I’ll see him next – it could be 4 months from now or 4 years. But I guess as long as he continues in his family’s old salon, we’d be meet whenever I return to my native land and decide it was time for a trim. Probably it will become a routine I’d continue till old age.
And for a moment I stopped to think about it: me as an old man, getting my hair cut by an equally old barber – the same one who’d been cutting my hair from the time we were both teens, and exchanging stories of our individual little worlds and maybe our grandkids.
In the fast pace of today’s world, it is so hard to maintain friendships and relationships.
And the irony is that sometimes the relationships that last are the ones those we least expect will…