Also, the other entries shortlisted are fantastic!
 

http://quick-tales.livejournal.com/

Cheers!

I looked at myself and thought I looked like an ageing Krish. Okay, the only resemblance to Krish was the long unruly hair. Mine were natural his were designer. Small solace that!

The decision was made that the hair gotta go. That was the easy part.

I have always had this fantasy of going to a fancy unisex salon (or is it saloon? Bloody hell). A colleague had told me that a new one has just opened in a five star hotel few blocks behind my house. I got out of the house and decided to make the decision while in the lift descending to the ground floor. I stay on eighth floor. Couple that to the 'Maharashtra Express' speed of the lift and it would give me enough time to deliberate and arrive at a decision.

Or so I thought. I was still deliberating when I opened the door at the ground floor and banged into a man who was three times my size. He gave me a nasty look. I sloped off before that looked turned into words.

My regular barber is just around the corner and I can walk up to his shop. But going to the saloon (salon?) would need the car. Before I know I was in front of the steering wheel and steering the wheel to the saloon (that’s the right spelling, I think).

I stood outside the saloon and looked at the huge billboard. The name had nothing to do with the profession of barbering. I mean, if I am offering, say, plumbing services, I would call my establishment as 'Rohit Plumbers'. Perhaps have a punch line. Something silly like 'We take care of your leaks'. Okay, that was a bit gross.

Let's for the benefit of reading, call the name of the saloon as 'Celcius'. (The point is I don't want to get sued). The name is in the vicinity of the actual name of the place. I scratched my skull to press some secret buttons to my brain that would establish a connection between a unit of temperature measurement and barbering. Perhaps the people cutting hair inside thought it un'cool' to call themselves barbers. I shrugged and walked inside.

Two things stuck me immediately. There was a lady sitting on the counter with a dazzling smile on her face. And I thought I was inside a spaceship with strange gadgets lying all around the place.

Perhaps the presence of the lady on the counter took care of the 'unisex' part because there were absolutely no other ladies. The chairs looked straight out of 'Star Trek'. They were occupied by strange looking creatures that were again attended by strange looking creatures. They all looked at me as though they finally saw an earthling. On closer look, I decided that none of the occupants of the chairs looked above twenty. Although I am just (?) thirty one, some parts of me are older. An unasked, perhaps hostile too, question reverberated in the spaceship. What's he doing here? I looked behind at the door that I had just entered and was on the verge of crashing out of it when the lady decided that she was the only one who wanted me there.

"Yes sir? What can we do for you today?"

I shrugged, thinking what she could do for me.

"Dexter, can you please attend to sir?" the lady said.

A creature with hair soaked in unknown colors walked up to me. He looked me up as though wondering what fate had befallen on him that he had to attend me.

"Hello sir. I am Dexter", he said.

Dexter!! I mean what were the chances of my hair being cut by a guy called Dexter. The barber shop that I usually frequent has people called Ashok and Ramesh. Perhaps even a Prashant. I wondered if they even knew that there was a possibility of having a guy called Dexter in their brethren.

I mumbled something that loosely translated to 'I need a haircut'. I looked up at him just to ascertain if that was a reasonable thing to ask. He nodded resignedly.

My colleague had told me that these guys (barbers?) were magicians and they could completely transform you. I looked at myself in the spotless mirror and waved goodbye to my old self. See you after transformation, amigo.

Dexter wore a spotless (everything was spotless. Have you ever seen a dirty spaceship?) apron that had a million pockets. Strange shaped instruments poked out of those pockets. I never knew that cutting hair needed so many instruments. Give me a comb and a scissor and I will show you a haircut.

"Medium", I said and bit my tongue. A man is a slave of the ritual. That was the first, and many times the only, word I said when I sat on the barber's chair. Medium. Not rare or well done. Just medium. After that I get busy with the daydreaming and Ramesh/Ashok/Prashant get busy with snipping my hair. Neither disturbs each other. But I was not in the barber's chair. I looked up at Dexter. He had a half smile on his face. As in only half of his face was wearing a smile. The other half was totally unaffected. If you ask any face reader, he would say it is a condescending smile. I shrugged. Shrug is the only defense I know.

I decided not to look at Dexter again. I said a quiet sorry to Ramesh/Ashok/Prashant for breaking our unwritten vow. I closed my eyes and listened to Mozart interspersed by the snipping noise of the scissors. I waited for an alien sound made by those bizarre instruments in Dexter's pockets, but could hear none. I wondered if they were part of the apron too. They must be making these special aprons with inbuilt props of those instruments.

I must have dozed off because I heard a loud coughing sound from Dexter. The kind of sound that you make after five or six coughing sounds, all higher in decibels than the previous. I was too scared to open my eyes. I silently cursed myself for dozing off like that. What if Dexter had transformed me into someone I did not want to be? I squinted into the mirror and decided that a large part of me was unchanged. I opened my eyes and saw a man who looked very similar to the one after Ramesh/Ashok/Prashant is through with him. I looked behind to ascertain if I was looking at myself. But it was me, alright.

Dexter stood back as though admiring a sculpture he had just finished after years of slogging. I almost asked him for the other mirror in which I could see the back of my head. I turned my head first left and then right and knew I had to be satisfied with it. I mean, how many times you get to see the back of your head?

I nodded once as though agreeing with whatever he had accomplished. I have to say, it was a perfect replication of what Ramesh/Ashok/Prashant do every month.

I walked up to the lady at the counter without looking at Dexter.

"Are you happy sir?" she said with her dazzling smile.

I shrugged.

"Thank you", she said interpreting it as my ecstatic expression.

There is always a board with rates written on it in my barber's shop. Hair cut - 25, Massage - 10, Shampu (yes, Shampu) - 20 and so on. There was no rate board in 'Celcius'. I stole a few glances to ascertain if there was some kind of virtual screen. I think the lady understood. Why? 'cause she had the same half-smile of Dexter. I rationalized that it must be some kind of disease floating around.

"That would be three hundred fifty, sir", she said.

I looked at her. I know my lower jaw must have dropped on my paunch, because the intensity of her half smile increased manifold. I stood like that for a few very long moments. I heard another loud cough from Dexter. A regular alarm clock was he.

I pulled out my wallet with my hands shaking. I saw the three hundred rupee and one fifty rupee notes. If these notes were people, I am sure they would be kicking and screaming right now. I actually felt as though I was dragging them out of the wallet. I handed them to the lady and they disappeared under the counter.

I took a deep breath and walked out of 'Celcius'. I sympathized with the people on Discovery Channel who claim they had been abducted and violated by aliens. I looked at my hair in the rearview mirror as I drove home. I promised them a meeting with Ramesh/Ashok/Prashant the next time.

So folks, how much have you splurged on an escapede like this?