A Throne, A Clipper and A Razor

I sit on a throne that lifts me high above the ground. Behind me is my loyal guardian, my father. He watches me as I face a giant mirror showing me my reflection.

The barber is an expert at his job. He uses a clipper that makes a twik-tak sound as he trims my hair. He grips it tightly with his right hand, moving its hands with his fingers over my head. He clamps my head with his left hand. He doesn’t let me move. I squirm and try to get away, scared of the clipper. He works with precision and speed, making me look tidy. I see his actions in the mirror. He stops and talks to my father. My father comes near and checks my hair.

In no time, I look like a different person. My hair is so short; it almost shows my skin. He stops suddenly. He circles around my chair, looking at me. The barber is happy with his work.

He sprays water around my head, neck, and ears. He then opens a drawer behind him and takes out a sharp blade. I tremble with fear of what he is about to do. Then, he presses my head very hard, so I can’t move. Keeping my head still, holding it tightly firm, he shaves the edges neatly and gently. After a few minutes of this dangerous job, the barber stops. He opens a fragrance bottle and rubs it around my neck and the sides. When he rubs it where he held the blade, it burns. I am so relieved that this finishing part of my haircut is done.

Then he grabs a brush from the same drawer and cleans my head and face. Smiling, he takes off the white cloth around my neck. He opens a Vaseline bottle and rubs a bit of it on top of my head. He combs the little hair that is left, lifting it in the middle. Then he says, “There you go, I got you, little man”, and gives me a small pat on my shoulder. I rise from the high chair and walk two steps towards my father, who is now standing.

After paying the barber 25 cents, my father and I exit the barbershop. Making our way towards his parked bicycle, I settle onto the bicycle bar while he propels us forward along the bustling Kandy Road. The sensation of my newly trimmed hair fills me with delight, and I run my fingers through it, relishing the smoothness of the brushed strokes of my hair.

After reaching home, I promptly engage in my customary post-haircut ritual, heading straight for a refreshing bath. My shirt and pants find their place in the basket, and I am led to the water well after undressing. With skilled precision, my father retrieves water from the depths of the bucket, pouring the cool fresh water over me. He vigorously massages my scalp, ensuring any lingering hairs are dislodged. This process repeats for five buckets until he retrieves a vibrant red bar of Lifebuoy soap from its holder.

He diligently lathers the soap with firm hands, meticulously cleansing my legs, body, hands, face, and head. Head and face are his priority, removing any evidence of hair clippings. The suds from the soap irritate my eyes, prompting me to close my eyelids. Another bucket of water later, my vision returns, clear and unobstructed. Nine buckets in total pass, and I emerge from this thorough cleansing thoroughly refreshed and prepared for the comfort of home.

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