I had to shave my head in December last year as part of a ritual I couldn't and wouldn't escape. I would like to believe that I did it not for religious but sentimental reasons. Perhaps I was too timid to unshackle myself from the very flawed customs I had so vehemently deplored. Anyway, I had my first haircut after that today. As the barber's practiced fingers did their job mechanically, my mind raced back in time. As a child, I always looked forward to my trips to the saloon. The barber would elevate me by placing a wooden plank on the arms of the chair so that I could admire my reflection. Dad's presence would be reassuring as I looked at his reflection on the mirror. What absolutely enthralled me was when the barber would use the spray bottle and phoosh-phoosh my hair! The spray would settle mostly on my hair and partly on my face. I would always look back at Dad in delight and unfailingly see him smiling back at me. He would stay there as the barber's scissors
Happy the man,and happy he alone, He,who can call today his own; He who,secure within,can say, Tomorrow do thy worst,for I have lived today.