All shapes and sizes.
Smell of talc
Densely filled the air.
The evergreens of Bollywood
Sang the old cranky sonogram.
The seats though worn out
Lacks no comfort.
The buzzing of the small trimmer
Resonating the room often
Louder than the whimpering antique.
Though his hair is snow white
And hands wrinkled,
He is quick and smooth.
He runs his hand through the hair.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
He looks through the
Old worn spectacles with utmost concentration.
The experienced hands worked rhythmically.
When he was done and the customer made his payment,
He smiled and he was young again just like,
When I first saw him.
Nothing changed in him and around him.
The shop was old and dingy as it always was.
He opened the old glass jar and
Took out the bittersweet candy
And handed it out to the customer.
My face lit up
For I was here for the candy.
The customer refused with a polite smile
And his face was old and wrinkled again.
The customer was new undoubtedly
Cause of many waiting outside,
Looked forward for the candy.
For the small boys, it was their first haircut.
And for the old men, a chance to chit chat .
My turn was up and he knew how I liked it.
My eyes were on the jar the whole time
And when he was done and the payment made,
I stood patiently almost drooling over the candy.
He opened it and
Took out not one
But two and gave it to me.
My joy knew no bounds
As I hugged him tight
And whispered in his ear,
“Thank you, Papa.
Have to rush,
Maa is waiting home to take her to church.
See you next month.”