Rough Cut

A Barber's saloon is a favourite with me: apart from reading the glossy film mags, the study of other people's whims and tastes, is complimentary! 

I have had several lessons taught to me, of late, by changing barbers! Firstly, like doctors, one should not change one's barber except under a very strong compulsion. You would rue the fact that you did.

Secondly, just because your barber charges more than he did the last time, do not give up on him, like I did!
The same, perhaps, applies to doctors and other professionals-but then I can only speak for my profession (medicine, mind you).On that note, it is interesting to remember that The Royal College of Surgeons of England, was named as the The Royal College of Barber Surgeons of England,  to start with, in the fourteenth century! So we are ancestrally connected, the barbers and us surgeons! And, lastly, I learnt that there is certainly something called a barber in the making  -surgeons in the making are called residents- at the very least we surgeons accept that there is work in progress when we are in training.

The more senior a surgeon, the more finesse he (yes, I agree it is often a she) discharges in his (her) work. Barbers are no different. Now lets move on to what actually happened with me.

As I was awaiting my turn at the hot seat, I overheard the other client talk with the senior barber about how his son had fared in the exams held a few days back. The son, attending to another client on the next seat, replied that he did not expect to clear his 12th commerce board exams because he had fared poorly in "Eco and Staatsh". This client with senior was not yet done, and much against my wishes,  I heeded to the "come" command from the son. I reassured myself that the kid will do a good job, and so leaving aside the glossy film magazine, I settled into the chair.

The guy went ahead with all the energy of his 18 years and started brandishing his rather undersized scissors. I was taken aback. The scissors were short in length, and my years of working with many of these told me that this pair of short scissors, would not be effective in even trimming my more than overdue growth. He had to apply traction with scissors to get the scissor's arms to slice the hairs, and that was painful; every cut of the scissors was a pain in the scalp- the guy was indeed after my mine. 

The hair cut somehow got over and I felt relieved even without the customary head massage that the barbers give in expectation of a tip. The kid had the decency to give me a head massage later, however. Only I did not feel like tipping him for his aggressive scissoring. I felt like complaining to his father, and then thought the better of it. The kid was still an apprentice, and thinking so, I remembered my own residency days , when I bumbled from one mistake to another. God and my boss alone know how many patients I might have dis-serviced then. If my boss, the patients, and God (yes in that order) forgave me then, I could certainly overlook this kid's work- for he had given me a good haircut after all.

Somehow this event must have been playing in my subconscious when I discharged a young man recently. I had operated his shoulder the previous day. His father pleaded with me to give him some concession in the bill. I asked what his son did for a living. "He is a barber", the father replied. I smiled and promptly gave him a generous concession- they once belonged to the same fraternity, I thought.