O Sitaram!

The Men's Saloon is almost a mystic wonderland amidst the jungle of urban life in India. One of his last hide-outs, a man can truly relax and let-go of everything in this most unassuming adobe of tranquility. Men in the west may hit the sports-bars or join friends for a beer.Men in India are still more accustomed to the regal treatment at the local barbers'. Read the paper or magazines, discuss at length over politics or cricket-matches or local issues. Express yourself as the trained hands service the head and shoulders making click-clack sounds from bones you never knew even existed, lay back on a cushioned seat closing your eyes while the soft smell of talcum lingers in the air and there are brush-strokes of the most perfumed of shaving creme sweeping your face.

From the staunchest stubborns to aristocrats and elites... observe closely and you can see everyone unwind to their true honest selves in a little saloon. The fabled Indian Barber, the know-all social pundit still survives in some by-lane around the busy market street. I know of such a place, The Milan Saloon.... hairdressers serving 3 generations of my family (perhaps the only constant between these three generations :)). Sitaram, the proprietor is a master and guru at this fine art of (Indian) coiffures. I remember going there and getting my hair-cut done on my Grandpa's lap and for precisely a million other reasons I would visit this one shop every time I can do so in Jaipur. With his ever-growing team of apprentices and staff Milan glass door entrance is filled with banter, chatter and the light-hearted good natured spirit of men.

Welcome to the West, I don't wish to sound archaic but its actually weird to have a girl sit next to you at the barber's and as if this is the least of the inhibitions that affect you there are a million bottles of hair-serum and hair-dryers and tools and accessories of every kind with possibly more colour shades to choose from than on a Berger Paint's colour-sampler! I entered the reasonably hep Barber's Shop at the Reitz Union commercial center at UF (for those of you who're wondering, Yes... I still do have to visit the Barber's every few weeks and the dead tissues we embrace upon our skulls haven't eluded me completely as yet ).

A middle-aged woman who I assumed was a customer led me to a middle-aged man who was the barber. The middle-aged woman then went ahead trimming the golden-brown locks from a golden-brown haired girl's head. As I was trying to look-at-her without letting her know that I was looking-at-her I realized she could see me look-at-her in the mirror!

Anyways, the barber swung into action as the chair with some unknown configurational controls lifted, rotated, inclined me to an angle best suited for the middle-aged barber! As he started talking specifics about the operation at hand, I was thinking how to tell him small-but-not-too-small.

As scissor-hands clasped in the air the operation was underway! To my surprise, the middle-aged barber even triggered a conversation regarding departments and college studies which I tried support till our voices were subdued by the 'do you want me to leave the golden side up or do you want me to try the rollers' kind of a conversation from the next seat.

And I just sat there, sunk into this half robotic chair and murmured O Sitaram ji! I wish I was at Milan's.