Straight from the Soul of my Heart!

Straight from the Soul of my Heart

- Pangamba777

Some days back, I went to an upscale gents parlor -- somewhere in Mumbai -- to dress my hair. I am an on-and-off kind of customer there. I go there not frequently; there’s always two to three months gap in between. So the hairdressers there know me, if not by my name or where I come from, but by my looks at least.


As I became uncomfortable with my long hair, I knew it was time for a cut. So I went there.


I saw the same guys, mostly young guys, I guess maybe in their mid 20s, whatever -- but they were all jovial, professionally attired. Smiling faces, welcoming hands, good ambience. I liked it.


‘I am at the right place for a haircut,’ I told myself. But I sensed deep down inside my heart, it was going to be different. And I did not know why.
It was Saturday. Usually I go there on Sunday, but as Sunday is a busy day for the parlor, I usually have to wait for a long time until I get my turn. I hate long queues. I wonder sometimes if other people have this feeling of irritation about standing or waiting in long queues -- like I do. In a metro city like Mumbai, where an estimated 15 million people live, it’s the norm of the day. And in this fast-paced life it’s hugely irritating to wait in a long queue. So I decided to go on Saturday this time thinking that there might be less ‘customers'.


As expected, there were less ‘customers’, so I didn’t have to wait for long. And very soon, came my turn. And the session was about to start. My hairdresser was friendly, wearing a professionally coded smile. He looked senior in age and experience. He signalled to me and indicated to the high-heeled chair. Without a word. And I knew what he meant. So I moved towards the high-heeled chair and sat there facing my face towards the large mirror that’s well spread across the wall.
My hairdresser started.


‘Which style would you prefer to have your hair cut, sir?’ and continued a moment later, ‘Shah Rukh, Salman, or Hrithik type cut?’ The usual first question any hairdresser would ask anyone before any session begins. But the latter part I didn’t like and I got irritated, but I tried my best not to show it on my face.


By nature, I don’t like imitating and that’s what I am. I want to be myself in my own way and style. And I thought to myself, why should I imitate others when I can be myself. So neither did I like theirs’ – the Bollywood biggies.


‘I just want a short-cut style’. I told my hairdresser concealing my irritation, and without specifying what a short-cut style was. I wanted to keep my conversation to the minimum. And I couldn’t think of any name I could give to this style. Just a short-cut style. And it could be anything to him. So I saw he was confused a bit. He thought for a while. Maybe he was thinking what kind of style he wanted to cut my hair. You know the world is looking for styles and it thinks in terms of styles too.


Whatever. Anyway I let him think what kind of style would suit me the best. I don’t care how I look like but I care about a good haircut. I don’t know what that is. After a few moments, he began with his machines, scissors and comb thing.


It was the longest hair cut I’ve had in many years. Maybe because there were less customers that day or maybe he was trying to impress me with his skills in the trade. I let him go on without a stop as I had nothing to attend to. I didn’t go out for movies, [that I usually do on weekends] as no ‘good releases’ were released that weekend. But I had to send an email to a friend of mine but I thought it’d be a good idea to write it later in the night. That’s when my thinking engine works the best.


During most part of the whole session, my thoughts were somewhere else, only my body was present there. And soon I came to know I was daydreaming about something else. Suddenly, I was jolted back from my reverie, when my hairdresser said with a satisfied smile on his face.


‘How are you feeling, sir? Is this all right?’ And he placed a mirror on my back to let me see my back portion.I saw what was in the large mirror in front of me. And I was satisfied, as he was. And I felt good.


‘All right. It’s real fine,’ and after a moment – I added at last, ‘Thank you very much for the fine cut. I like it.’ And it was genuine.
Suddenly, he was taken aback – surprised. It seemed to me from his looks that, maybe, nobody said those two magic words to him a long time, I guess. But I think I need to thank anyone who has done something good for me. That’s what I always do.
Then he looked straight into my eyes intently, maybe searching something inside my eyes, or maybe trying to find something inside there. And a moment later he spoke.


‘Are you from Assam?’


I got irritated this time again, by this familiar question I have had for many years. I am sure you might have had the same experience at some point or the other if you’re a NRM (Non-Resident Manipuri – staying within India).


And this question got me into thinking. I wonder many times why they don’t ask, ‘Are you from Manipur’ instead of this often ‘Are you from Assam’ tag. Why not Manipur? This got me into thinking further. And it’s worth giving a second thought to it.


‘I am from Manipur.’ I snapped back with a forced smile, a short reply without uttering a word further. I wondered if he ever heard that name.
But another guy in the parlor, maybe a customer like me, who had been listening to our conversations chipped in.


‘Manipur is a border state in the north-east. Right?’


Border? I don’t know why I came to this parlor in the first place. I felt quietly frustrated inside and I was going down and down -- inside. Border? Well okay, fine; I had to accept the fact because he was right. Yes, it is a border state in the NE. But sometimes it does hurt to swallow a simple truth.


I thought maybe that guy still remembered his high school geography well. And anyway after all, I felt happy that someone recognized my home state -- at least by its name and its geographical location. Down here it’s a rare thing you would always anticipate.


‘Yeah, you are right’, I said, and continued, ‘It’s one of the eight north-east states now.’ showing off my up-to-date GK.


‘I hear a lot of news of violence and killings going on now in Manipur. Is that true?’ That guy continued.


I was taken aback again in surprise by his up-to-date infos on my state. How on earth would he know all these about a remote state like Manipur for which there is a famine of news going on in the ‘mainland newsland’. As if Manipuri news item is a taboo in the ‘mainland newsland’ just as sex is a taboo in the society. I mean I look into Times of India, the largest circulating English national daily in India, every morning to see if anything about Manipur is there but only to find a blank space where they could have filled a Manipuri news item. Only when CM’s bungalow was attacked could I see it on the paper. What about the frequent on-and-off bunds, economic blockades that are going on there every now and then? Are these less important, less reportable items than those that are being reported? I certainly don’t think so. What about the everyday killings, murders, you name it, it’s all there happening in a small state somewhere in the north-eastern Indian border called Manipur.


It all happens in Manipur. A Happening State! whether you like it or not. And it’s going down and down as sun rises each morning everyday. And worse...


I came to know, suddenly, I was taking a deep-dive thinking into these issues, for which there are no concrete solutions yet. And I came back from my reverie sooner.
Anyway I felt happy that somewhere down here, someone, who has nothing to do with Manipur, is following closely of what’s going on in Manipur.


But the next moment I was disappointed.


‘I think Naxalites are behind all the problems there, I guess.’ That guy said.


Naxalites in Manipur? An alien new thing to my ear. But it’s a fact, people down here think this way. Wrong understanding, wrong facts. And it’s going to take a long time to educate these people down here – where there is a famine of news going on right now about this remote Indian state -- to feel the reality of the problems – vexed problems that are going on now in Manipur.


At last, I sighed, and without answering his vexed question, a few moments later I said. ‘Naxalites are different than what’s going on there. Manipur’s is a law-and-order problem.’ An easy and politically correct answer.


Before he could probably ask another question, I knew I had to leave the parlor – very soon, otherwise it was going to lead to somewhere. And it will be like beating a dead horse.


As soon as I possibly could, I paid the bill. And I was about to leave the exit door, when that guy said.


‘I hear that Manipur is one of the beautiful states in India. I wanted to visit someday. But you know what, I have changed my mind. Now I would rather go to Sikkim for my holidays’.


Suddenly I felt a sudden pang inside me. I saw undeniable truths buried in those few words he said. I had to swallow another bitter truth that day. It hurts. But I couldn’t do anything. I had to accept it but I didn’t know what to say next. No words came out of my lips. But I had to go.


And at last, I gave a brief forced smile -- without another word, and he grinned back in return.


I returned back to my apartment carrying inside my head the babel of reverberating voices of the non-Manipuri guy I met in the parlor -- ‘I hear that Manipur is one of the beautiful states in India. I wanted to visit someday. But you know what -- I have changed my mind. Now I would rather go to Sikkim for my holidays.’


That night I couldn’t sleep, and I was not in a mood to write an email for my friend that I planned before. Instead, I watched the Manipuri movie ‘Mami Sami’ from Youtube, to divert my troubled mind to something else. And it turned out to be awesome and lovely. [I watched it till half, I have yet to watch the other half, as I couldn’t find the other half on Youtube].


But the movie was also all about the same issues that were running through my mind that night. And I felt no better.


And I still hear the babel of echoes of those words of the guy I met in the parlor.