23/01/2012 by Siddiqui Fayesal
The following conversation (for most part silent) really did take place.
Not with me given, but then the power of the pen means you can slander without getting caught! Without giving you the names, addresses, blood group type or (brace yourselves) the presence, or absence, of VD inflicted main characters I will try and make this as interesting and as close to the real incident as possible. For the sake of convenience and sheer audacity of the author I will give the character my own name, i.e. Fayesal.
For the simple reason that I can and sheer will to irritate I will call the barber, Barber.
The conversation takes place under the tin roof of a small time clipper who calls himself Barber (smug). Mind you, it is a tin roof. That means that it was a tin roof and not a false ceiling! It also means that the barber’s “office” was a shack on a road side. It also means that it was Hot!!! Hot or not Barber had his fan switched off. Fayesal thought it was so only because there were no customers inside. For some reason he stepped in. By saying “for some reason” it means that the reason he stepped inside a tiny tin roofed shack for a hair cut was another than the mere fact that his hair needed trimming and that THAT reason for which he stepped inside (not only the hair cut) is, at the wishes of the esteemed author, kept under covers from the reader. In case there are any.
He just stepped inside. For SOME reason other than having his hair trimmed. He looked left and right and fidgeted with his hand inside his pockets. After a minute of fidgeting (fidget fidget fidget…) he began playing with his keys and jingling it. Jingle Jingle Jingle. But Barber continued reading his newspaper. He ignored Fayesal like he was a dung cake on a wall on a baking afternoon in the loo driven and dusty region of Jalalpur where dung cakes stuck on walls , in various disastrous, some comical, graffiti were a norm. Fayesal started whistling his Lonely Shepherd tune which issued from his lips in wheezes and vacillated between rasps and something like a modern day fart!
Barber still read on. Now, Fayesal would have, normally, shook the Barber awake from his stupor but since he was not here only for his haircut (the other reason, for the %@$&#$% time, is unknown) he waited. He waited and wondered as to why Barber was ignoring him. Was this his hourly off? Was this a day off? Was he deaf? Was he dumb? Was he blind?
Unable to take the torment of being ignored Fayesal tried a bit more direct tactic. He still refused to shake him up or use any form of physical act that might be a bait to self righteous extremists to call him a “homosexual in search of some ‘game'”!
“Hemm Hemm”, Fayesal ejaculated. Once. Twice. Thrice. The fourth time he did it with such force that the epiglottis convulsed and he chocked on his own thick, viscous sputum. Barber went on reading as if nothing happened. Now Fayesal was embarrassed. How could a person ignore another person, no matter how ugly or unbearable, to such an extent that the the ignored person falls short of acts and words to call attention to himself. This was the limit which was breached not before.
Fayesal was sad. Barber was quiet. Fayesal was crying. Barber was quiet. Fayesal deliberately dropped Barber’s vial of water and said a soft “ouch”. Barber was quiet.
This was time for drastic action, Fayesal thought. He pulled off his tee shirt and started dancing in front off Barber. Barber stared straight at his paper as if seeing a pot bellied 24 year old doing the samba (a very very gross and ungraceful version of course) was an everyday sight. He shook his abdomen for quite some time and when he got tired of doing the Tra-Tra routine he wore his shirt again. He looked with a tired gaze and an even more tired countenance did he bear!
Why the f*** is Barber ignoring his dance. The most glorious of his inventions that too?
Fayesal, after using up his entire arsenal huffed and puffed and abused and screeched and then, finally, left the tin roofed shack. The same tin roofed shack he had entered close to an hour back. The second reason for his entering the tin roofed shack, which housed a (apparently) sleeping Barber, was still unknown.
“Alright you win you smorgorfinnable bastard.”, said Fayesal.
“I told you so, Dick.”, laughed Barber.
“We should play this again sometime”, replied a smiling Fayesal.
“Any time”, said Barber.
Fayesal walked away while Barber returned to his newspaper.
PS: For all those who read the entire episode with the intention of understanding what I’m trying to say I think an apology is in order. This was just a rambling and a bumbling episode of my meandering self.
PPS: The second reason was probably that Barber and Fayesal were playing “Statue Statue”.