August 9, 2021

"Ugh, I hate barbers!" I tell my brother.

My brother dispatches the enemy on the game, and bends his head sideways to look at me. "And Dad doesn't like those messy hairs of yours. Let's just go, man."

It really was inevitable. Couldn't hairs just stop growing after one point? I like long hairs... But even a little longer than what I wish for… And it became a whole mess. Especially with my curly hairs.

My brother switches off the PC, and we leave with Dad. He was taking us to 'A new Barber', the previous one was apparently 'too costly', and this new guy was… just… ten metres from our house? I think now I'll be seeing a barber for more times than once every three-four months – like I usually do.

The previous one was talkative, kind… but also a little painful. No regard for my messy curly hairs, just seeming like trying to scratch the hairs off my head. Just trying to get his job done… how could I even blame him?

After my brother's turn, I'm left alone with the barber. My Dad makes me sit at the chair, and grumbles, "Cut short the hairs at the back of his head!" before leaving us.

Here goes… a random comb will now start waging a massacre on my poor hairs – for a whole minute, before or after I'm sprayed with a bucket of water.

The Barber picks the comb up, and I internally sigh. Yep, my demise here – while I'm wrapped up in this cloth, upon this torture chair. I will also be dying while stinking a bit… I hope they don't mention it with too much importance or detail.

But he puts the comb back on the table, and takes something which looks like a finger-grip dabber… that's a comb? There are such combs? And as he runs it above my head, I feel the hairs sitting together, and losing their curl… but I don't feel any pain. Nothing.

Then he picks up the normal-comb again, and gently runs it to place my hairs together… straight and vulnerable to be cut. But no pain, I couldn't feel my scalp like with my usual Barber. And he gently sprays some water on my head… I don't hate it.

"Have you had your breakfast, sir?" he asks me.

Sir? Me? He was older… not really by that much. But he called me 'sir'?

"A-ah…" I ponder on my answer. "No. After this I need to bath, then I will."

Wow. That was unnecessary… did I really have to mention my poor hygiene? But with all due respect; I have to bath again after I get a haircut – house rules, which I think is pretty common. And I might get a cold if I bath twice anyways…

But our conversation doesn't continue. I suppose he was socially awkward like me too. But gentle. Way too gentle. I see my hairs hit the cloth on my lap, and roll down the floor… and I just zone out.

I don't even realise when my Dad arrives.

"Ah, I think this part of his hairs require the blade," Dad tells the Barber.

"Ah, yes sir. Of course. You're right. I will."

The blade… one of my worst enemies… well, I may have avoided my scalp being torn… but now the back of my neck will bleed. Brilliant. Thanks Dad. I hope they do elaborate on how you made this happen.

I see this sweet Barber turn into a psychopath, with a creepy smile – as he holds the blade. And I gulp ever so slightly.

End it gently, oh gentle Barber.

He walks behind me, and I close my eyes… and at the touch of the blade at my neck, I open them again. But they don't pop open… no, they instead open at the realisation that this man was like Bob Ross holding a brush. Grazing and cutting the bits of my hair. A gentle gardener, taking care of even the wild weed.

"Perfect," Dad says, as the Barber continues on and unties the cloth wrapped around me – barely binding me there. "This is what I hoped for, excellent."

"Ah yes sir. Of course. Definitely."

"Don't you like it?" Dad asks, looking at me.

I turn to Dad, and then to the mirror… even squinting my eyes couldn't help me see. I needed my goddamn spectacles! Yet I nod, as I hadn't at least died.

"How much?" Dad asks.

"₹70," Barber says, and I find a smirk light my Dad's face – and he nods it off.

Maybe getting my hairs cut wasn't so bad now.

December 20, 2021

I hate it. I hate Barbers. Can't I just live in peace, with my long hairs? Maybe I'm adopted. Dad sure hates me. Why does he want my hairs-WHAT HARM DID MY HAIRS EVER DO TO HIM?

Four months… I know it is a long time, but… can't I just… man… I hate this.

And yet, it was inevitable… I lift my wobbly feet, and walk these ten metres… I stare at the walls of this room… tiles with an interesting pattern. Random squares of different sizes, filled with either cream colour or nothing. And random trees here and there. There was no meaning to the pattern, I suppose. Just like there wasn't a meaning in getting haircuts. Can't I just go-

-this guy is too good. Why is he so gentle? Is he perhaps an angel? I feel bad for judging him quickly. But I still love my long hairs… touché, gentle Barber. Touché. My mom likes the short hairs you give me, I don't, and my Dad loves the 'right price' which you charge. Touché.

August 7, 2023

It sure was tiring. I did relate to girls who were defensive about their hairs – even when I was a guy. Not that that mattered anyways.

But this guy was fine. I was okay with losing my hairs once in a while, if it was at least this gentle. Though, I barely ever talked to him. Even now, he only asks me if I had eaten, and I had no new answer either. And each time, his answers came out with a lot of versions of agreement all at once. And he yet referred to me as 'sir'. Nice guy.

I see him take the blade… and I still feel a few goose bumps down my spine. But I knew for sure that he'd be fine – yet… fear is fear. Blades near neck, scissors chopping hairs close to my ear… eugh, I could feel it in my soul.

I take a deep breath, and he marks his path on the back of my neck. Slowly, steadily, cutting-eugh-

I jerk and move forward, as a stinging pain takes over my skin.

"Blood," the Barber says. "I'm so sorry."

He grabs a napkin and places it against my skin. It stings a little, but because of my trust… it hurt a little more than it pained me.

"It's okay, it isn't that… bad," I tell him.

It was fine… he was nice… it was… okay…

November 29, 2023

Eugh. Barbers. Why… ugghhhhh. I can't even… let's just get this over with.

I take my feet, walking to the Barber again. I blame my brother. He was leaving India in a month, and had to go get his visa… so he needed a haircut. Yep, this one is on him, clearly.

As we both enter the barber shop, the Barber looks at me and makes a smile. It didn't really seem so wry… but his eyes… it feels like they were trying to find their way to the back of my head. But I just smile, without answering his pressing question.

My brother gets his hair done, and leaves. And I just sit at this chair… again.

"Have you had your breakfast, sir?" Barber asks again.

"No… after bathing I will," I answer the same again.

He combs my hair – gently as usual; and I realise an urge to ask him back, if he had eaten. But I feel that it is too late now.

His hand gently holds the back of my neck, as if he is examining the wound from last time… well, I didn't know if I had a scar, I didn't care. It didn't hurt after that day. And nor does the Barber say anything. After a pause he just continues normally.

He goes to the table and fiddles with the blade, before choosing the scissors. Was he trying to tell me that he won't hurt me again?

Snip. Snip. Snip. My beautiful hairs fall to the floor.

As I zone out a little, looking at the beautiful tiles on the wall… I snap back to reality, as the scissors catch hold of the top of my ears. I form a muffled squeak of pain.

"It's okay, sir," the Barber tells me, as I look at myself in the mirror – as a tear drop forms in my eye. "See, I won't harm you. I promise."

My ear wasn't snipped… there was no blood, it was just a gentle press of the scissors on the top of my sensitive ears. The cold feeling of its blade around my ear… forms air in my throat – for me to gulp.

I don't say a word. Nor does he. It just moves along as our usual interactions here… silent but… this time the air feels stuffy.

June 5, 2024

Even my busy college schedule couldn't help me. With one class being cancelled, and me deciding not to travel fifteen plus kilometres just for a fifty minutes class… and my hairs having piled up for the past seven months… I couldn't really hide the long hairs from Dad.

It should be fine. Just a gentle Barber. Maybe it was just an attempt at joke. Maybe he wanted to make it lively. Hey, I love dark jokes. One was made on me… perhaps even he might've cringed and regretted it.

So I walk into his shop, alongside only my Dad. They both exchange greetings and my Dad tells him the same thing – shorter hairs on the back of my head… and I'm made to sit at the chair again… this must've been the tenth time or something.

But my Dad doesn't stay. He was a busy person, so he leaves. Besides, it was only a dozen metres from my house.

The Barber smiles at me. He was wearing a white shirt with some blue design across it, which I couldn't really see that well. He takes his fancy finger-comb again, and brushes my way-too-messy hairs, to straight bunches. And then sprays my hairs lightly with water… it could be something else, but I wouldn't know. I couldn't feel any difference.

"Have you had your breakfast, sir?"

"No. After bathing I'll have it," I say, and he smiles to me while holding his scissors. "Have you?"

He walks to my side, and pauses there – looking at me.

"Yes, yes I have."

There. I cleared some air. Should I maybe ask what he had eaten?

He comes closer to me, and bends to my ear. "Can I please see you bleed?"

My body activates and I push forward with a feeling in my gut. But he holds me by the cloth around me, and pins me back to the chair.

"Sir… we could be seen from here. The glasses are transparent. We are visible to the whole street, everyone passing by, or looking out their window. Don't waste your Lowly Screams. We don't want that," he tells me.

"Exactly. They can see… don't you dare-"

"-dare? You think I want to murder you? I only want you to bleed a little."

"What even…"

"Your that-scar healed. From that day. I see it… well, I don't see it. But that blood… I see it as if it were only ten seconds ago. I think about it so much. Can't you just spare me that pretty sight?"

"Please… tell me this is a prank."

"Haven't I been a good Barber? It'll only be a small cut. Now and then. Whenever you come here… once every few months… your scar will easily heal. And looking at the blood… I could be driven to a little ecstasy… you don't want me to go out there… hoping for everybody's blood… think of what you can do for me… and for everyone."

I don't answer, but feel a gulp build up – as my throat dries. I feel tears cover my eyes. What was this supposed to mean? This was so insensible. So… I don't know what to say. This man… he was gentle… what was with this request of his?

"I just feel… the back of your ear…" he places the scissors to the back of my ear, and I twitch with the cold feeling of the blade. "It could use a little tiny of red. How beautiful it'd be. We could cover it in a few seconds… but can't I have a filling for my heart with it, until then?"

"I…"

"Not your left ear, only your right. I'll stop at that for today. I promise. I really like your blood. Do you want me to give you a haircut for free? I will. Just… let me cut you a little, each time. Let me collect a little sample of your blood with tissues."

"M-my Dad will be here in a bit," I declare.

"Oh… well, they wouldn't doubt me instantly. It is kind of illogical to make sense of, isn't it? I merely want to form a scar and… I see how hard of a request that must've been. It'd only seem as an accident… but guess… I will only get a filling when I go out there and do it. You want me to be more than just a Barber? Is that your wish?"

"Please…" I say, feeling myself squeak. "What do you want?"

"Are you for real, sir? Are you deaf too?"

"No… I… I'm scared."

"Just a small… gentle… one. Just one. Every few months. And you can… make a difference in this world. Don't you want that?"

He was right. What if he… left being a Barber and… the amount of people…

"Okay," I say. "Please don't… do this to anyone else."

"Aw…" the Barber says, and picks up the blade. "I promise. I'll only love watching your blood drip. Slowly. Gently. Through a small cut."

'I hate barbers', I think and bite down my thoughts. But at least… they should stay being barbers purely. I anyways feared being hurt always. So I'll be okay… if I enjoy this pain. If I enjoy the feeling of my own blood flowing out. Only me. At least I'm making a difference?