<p>In the 'swinging sixties,' a visit to the barbershop to trim our locks was a monthly ritual. Four of my siblings and I would troop off to the saloon with my late father, M N Jayaraman, in tow. Initially, we abhorred this ritual as it meant missing the 'happy hours' back home with the neighbourhood kids. Besides, we had to put up with the company of strange-looking people. But in later years we began to enjoy the exercise and the freebies that came with it.</p>.<p>I vividly recollect catching a glimpse of the swinging batwing doors at the saloon, that allowed patrons to easily pass through them. In the old days, the barbershop also served as a mini entertainment centre where the barber regaled you with juicy gossip from around town. While one patiently awaited his turn, there were also film magazines to ogle at, and newspapers to browse.</p>.<p>We giggled when somebody's head was tonsured, or an older man with just a few strands of hair opted to colour them. While the tonsured head had a matt finish, the bald pate shone brightly. A clean-shaven head and a face robbed of its 'whiskers' resembled a dressed-chicken, and this also amused us. But unlike the 'bald class', the 'tonsured tribe' expected the stubble to be back soon. A playmate by name Krishna, who lived in the neighbourhood, always treasured his 'crowning glory' and made only a biannual visit to the barber. His curly, long flowing locks that extended up to the shoulders was the envy of his peers.</p>.<p>When our turn arrived for a cut, the barber's usual refrain would be "long, medium or short"? My dad with a strict army upbringing always believed in the phrase 'less is more', and we would end up with a 'soldier's cut'! As the trimmer glided up and down our scalp, it produced a tingly sensation in the back of the head, which was soothing. The 'crew-cut' would unfailingly end with an application of a zero machine to the back of the scalp to make it appear like a "half mottai thalai" (HMT).</p>.<p>The barber saved his best for last --a soothing massage of the forehead and earlobes, followed by a few chops, karate style, on the scalp and back. The entire service was a steal--an unbelievable, rupees two per head. Some barbers peddled their craft on the pavement, setting up shop under the shade of a tree. Their services came for just a fraction of what you paid your regular hairdresser. Old-timers like me dearly miss the humble barbers of yore!</p>
<p>In the 'swinging sixties,' a visit to the barbershop to trim our locks was a monthly ritual. Four of my siblings and I would troop off to the saloon with my late father, M N Jayaraman, in tow. Initially, we abhorred this ritual as it meant missing the 'happy hours' back home with the neighbourhood kids. Besides, we had to put up with the company of strange-looking people. But in later years we began to enjoy the exercise and the freebies that came with it.</p>.<p>I vividly recollect catching a glimpse of the swinging batwing doors at the saloon, that allowed patrons to easily pass through them. In the old days, the barbershop also served as a mini entertainment centre where the barber regaled you with juicy gossip from around town. While one patiently awaited his turn, there were also film magazines to ogle at, and newspapers to browse.</p>.<p>We giggled when somebody's head was tonsured, or an older man with just a few strands of hair opted to colour them. While the tonsured head had a matt finish, the bald pate shone brightly. A clean-shaven head and a face robbed of its 'whiskers' resembled a dressed-chicken, and this also amused us. But unlike the 'bald class', the 'tonsured tribe' expected the stubble to be back soon. A playmate by name Krishna, who lived in the neighbourhood, always treasured his 'crowning glory' and made only a biannual visit to the barber. His curly, long flowing locks that extended up to the shoulders was the envy of his peers.</p>.<p>When our turn arrived for a cut, the barber's usual refrain would be "long, medium or short"? My dad with a strict army upbringing always believed in the phrase 'less is more', and we would end up with a 'soldier's cut'! As the trimmer glided up and down our scalp, it produced a tingly sensation in the back of the head, which was soothing. The 'crew-cut' would unfailingly end with an application of a zero machine to the back of the scalp to make it appear like a "half mottai thalai" (HMT).</p>.<p>The barber saved his best for last --a soothing massage of the forehead and earlobes, followed by a few chops, karate style, on the scalp and back. The entire service was a steal--an unbelievable, rupees two per head. Some barbers peddled their craft on the pavement, setting up shop under the shade of a tree. Their services came for just a fraction of what you paid your regular hairdresser. Old-timers like me dearly miss the humble barbers of yore!</p>