Want a massage? Get a haircut.

One of the many local barbers in Vasant Gaon, New Delhi.

There is something special about getting a haircut in India.  It doesn't much matter whether its a barber shop with 4 walls, or if its a chair facing a mirror dangling from a nail on a tree.  Both are prevalent in India, and the service you will get at both leaves most Western shops looking like mechanized sweatshops in comparison.  It helps that the average Indian male cares an awful lot about his appearance - his hair, his mustache, his armpit hair.  The barbershop becomes the place to sit, gossip and sip chai on weekends.  Its the place to hear the latest Bollywood tunes blaring from the mobile phone of the barber.  This is the Indian equivalent to the woman's day spa - but all male, all the time.

Want a face massage?  How about a scalp rub?  No - just a quick drop in for a mustache trim?  Take a seat.

There are typically a few paintings of Hindu deities hanging from the walls.  There is hair dye in case you want to give a little uplift to your beard.  Wires dangle precariously from electrical sockets - but hey, what did you expect?  There are a few hairs from the last few customers, but once you take a seat in a barber chair from the 1950s, all the atmospheric noise dissipates.  The barber, or rather, hair 'artist', will pay immaculate care to each hair on your head.  No electrical clippers here, thank you, just old fashion comb, scissors and straight edge razor.

There is a method to the madness.  First, always, is the trim to the sideburns.  Gradually, the scissors, comb and fingers work their way around the rest of the head.  A sprinkle of water later, and the cut moves up the head.  Don't forget the bangs.  Then out combs the straight edge razor.  This is broken in half.  The first half is used to shave the hair around the ears to make an unbelievably trim, straight, clean line of hair.  There is a constant eighth of an inch of clean skin between ear and hairline.  This line follows the back of the head, and finishes off phase one - the haircut.  Then the talcom powder.  Then the brush of the talcom powder off of the shaved areas.

Intermission.  Massage time.  A series of claps, hand bangs and fingers massage your scalp after the haircut.  This serves to one, feel great, and two, to get all the loose hair off your head (pet peeve...).  Relax and enjoy it.

Have a mustache?  If you are Indian, the answer is yes.  Beard?  Clean shaven?  Fine.  Sprinkle a little water on your face, then a bit of shaving cream gets foamed up in a dish with a brush before application to the face.  The other half of the straight edge razor now comes out, for a close, clean shave.  Then a trim of the beard/mustache/facial hair - with scissors, comb and fingers.  There is a reason that Indians are known for their mustaches - and it all has to do with the care and loving attention of their barbers.  Talcom powder.  Brush.  Second sprinkle of water and then the towel.

Anil is the man.

Intermission number two.  Yes, this might be where Bollywood got the mandatory intermission idea.  Face massage.  The fingers behind the towel hit the cheeks, the lips, the eye sockets.  Your temples.  You are a wet noodle.

Chiropractor?  Unnecessary.  The barber can do that too.  At this point, you are a piece of clay.  Your arms get bent in directions you didn't think possible, your back cracked, your neck massaged, all from the comfort of the barber chair.

Time for the final touches.  Face cream?  Hair gel?  Need five minutes before you can talk again?  No problem, have this chai and relax.

Price tag?  $2.

Thanks Anil.

The end of the Monsoon

When the rains come to India.

As the monsoon comes to an end in Northern India, so does my tenure here.  The deluge last week caught many off guard, although the growing, grey clouds were visible atop the skyline of New Delhi.  The rain lasted in spurts most of the afternoon and evening; at times coming down at an outright downpour.  The streets flooded.  Remnants of the water and its effects were visible the next day.  This is nothing new, as the monsoon, sporadic in its yearly intensity, is a comfort to much of India and very common occurrence.  It indicates the beginning of a planting season, the availability of mouth-watering mangos, and gives life to the rivers of India.  And yet, despite its predictable inevitability, common sense approaches to deal with the negative consequences – flooding of open sewers, roads turning into impassable waterways, open water breeding of mosquitoes leading to outbreaks of malaria and dengue – are consistently overlooked. 

I can’t help but wonder about the many things that appear common sense to my foreign eyes – even after nearly a few years here, which merit little notice or attention to others.  

To my amazement, annual monsoon preparation entails an army of workers, armed with shovels, sent out to tackle the sewers.  Workers are hired to manually ‘desilt’ the drains and sewers of the country.  These men user their shovels to excavate the trash, sludge, mud and excrement that has been accumulating for the last 9 months.  A ‘desilted’ drain usually has a stinky, black, tarry line of goo abutting the length of the drain piled neatly alongside.  The first rain usually washes half of it back into the drains and the other half back onto the streets.  This is one of the many things I find mind boggling.  Is it still a surprise when the monsoon brings flooding – leading to damage and havoc?