On Monday morning, I was sitting on a wooden bench in a barber’s shop. Two young boys and three children were sitting beside me. Two chairs were already occupied by the young boys, who were having haircuts. I was fourth in a line. A man aged around 35 was third in line. He was sitting on a plastic chair with one leg broken and supported by a wooden stick. Every time he stared at the barber’s pace and faces of others. Each time the chair wobbled as he moved his neck right and left.

He got up from his chair and stood in front of the mirror. He rummaged for a hand comb and found a broken one, with its teeth almost worn out. He put it back and took a water spray bottle. He returned to his chair, holding the bottle in one hand and a comb in the other hand. Before sprinkling water on his hair, he checked the mirror not for his appearance alone, but to see whether others were watching him. When he realized that no one cared, as they were all glued to their screens. He splashed water on his hair again and again, glancing at the mirror each time, but no one bothered to look up.
He sprayed a generous amount of water on his hair. It looked as if he were washing his head after a haircut. He stood up and stepped outside. Two more boys appeared at the door. He quickly returned, afraid they might take the chair he had been sitting on.
Sitting again, he looked around as more young boys arrived in twos and threes. Each one came holding a phone with music playing. One by one, they stood in front of the mirror and sprayed water on their hair. Seeing the rush, they told the barber to call them when it became less crowded and left with their hair wet.
The man stood up again and then sat back down. He looked at the barber, urging him to work faster. The barber did not care and continued cutting hair at his usual pace. The man began looking at the boys, trying to initiate a conversation, but they hardly noticed him. He cast a long glance at them and kept staring. He coughed three times; at last, one of them met his eyes.
He said to one of the boys, “You’re the one who forgot your phone at the repair shop, aren’t you?”
The boy nodded.
“Your phone is expensive. Fortunately, you got it back safely. Next time, take care of your belongings,” he said. “One shouldn’t forget important things.”
Next, he spoke to another boy he did not know.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Yes,” the boy replied, “I have three children.”
“You shouldn’t have married so young,” he said. “Marriage means responsibility. You’ll hardly be able to meet your family’s expenses.”
Then he asked, “What made you take such a serious decision in life?” He turned to the others and added, “Be patient. Don’t be like those who come and go.”
He said that he himself was twice his age and still single, and that he was enjoying his life. He added that marriage is a serious matter and that one should only marry when one could afford to support a family. He even said that he might be more responsible than the boy, judging by the way he was spending his time there.
While we were waiting, there was a knock on the door. The second barber, who was new and learning to cut hair, went to the door and opened it. He saw a woman with two children holding their hands. She asked about her husband. She peeped inside the shop and found him hiding his face in his pheran. She recognized him.
She said, “Are you still here?” and called him stupid, a rascal. She reminded him that she had told him to buy bakarkhani because they had guests at home. “You should have at least informed me,” she added. She told him to stay there and give her the bakarkhani.
He remembered that he had kept the bakarkhani outside, hanging on the handle of his bicycle. While they were talking, a man came and asked whose roti was hanging on the bicycle. The man replied that he had kept it there and asked if there was any problem. The other man said that a pack of dogs was pulling at it, and that other dogs were eating it as the hot, ghee-smeared bakarkhanis were falling one by one. He added that he had somehow rescued half the cover, and that only half a bakerkhani remained.

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