ravings, rantings and ramblings
The can of Baygone spray sat beside the anti-dandruff shampoo… anyways they do the same job.
The rusted cheep of the scissors across my head, the black comb turning brown at the teeth; I was watching the autumn on the cheap red apron.
I was amused how I was subjecting myself to vernacular hair-cuts every two months.
This gentleman was a Keralite, who we all so ungently, call Malbari.
At times he was more interested in answering his mobile with a wierd Mallu film song.
My hair would dry up and he would start all over again.
His hands smelled of his breakfast which I bet must have been masala dosa and sambhar. Certainly not the best of odours to tickle your nostrils.
He knows only one certain style of snipping, and I came back with that.
Malbari haircut on a Bong head. Posh!