Every time it's an adventure

The more I have my hair cut, the world becomes a slightly darker place, and it's not just because of the gigatons of dift and dandruff released into the atmosphere each time; I'm talking about the way each experience becomes something between an Urban Legend and Twilight Zone.

Back in Goa, I had a leisurely sunday morning haircut where I got so chilled between recovering from the hangover, the winter sun, and the music, that it was halfway over before I realised the guy's wearing a pair of post-cataract protective sunglasses.
In Kandivli, it was a teenager who had a tearful argument with the manager all the while pleading with him not to fire him. Not very inspiring, especially when there's a razor at my ear and the wielder's voice is shaking like the Elphinstone bridge flyover. I like my ears. They stick out like the handles of a World Cup Trophy, and I want to keep them both.
Yesterday, I walk in and find everybody sitting facing random directions and watching a Vinod Khanna movie in the mirrors. And as soon as the sheet is tucked into the collar and the scissors are out, an attempted rape scene comes up. I can't turn my head, any attempted movement meets an enthusiastic twist back into the dead straight position while this guy is riveted on screen. Over the slightly irregular snip-snip I can hear bloodcurdling screams, smashing windows, chargedup shouting, a fight involving, going by sound alone, windows, lots of furniture, screaming women, and a chicken. Followed up by weeping elderly women and sirens.

And the results are awe-inspiring. Some bits stick out. Some bits are gone altogether. Vinod Khanna, Amrish Puri and the chicken have been duking it out on my scalp.

Wonder what the next one will be like...