I was waiting at the 'Dreams', a men's saloon, for my turn to come but like mist moves over a valley nostalgia surrounded my mind, reminding me of my first trip to a men's beauty saloon.
It was a summer day of 1995, and quite accidentally I saw the advertisement of a newly-opened men's saloon, Polonica at MG Road (Kochi), in a fashion magazine. Till then I was only familiar with the world of good old 'barber shop' -- smelling of Cuticura/Ponds powder and Old Spice /Palmolive shaving cream, ancient Murphy radio belting some old movie songs and a Rally fan producing more sound than air.
So I decided, after some persusasion from my cousin Das, to visit Polonica and I stepped into a new world through the revolving door -- some English music wafting in the air through unseen speakers, adequately airconditioned and smelling of some expensive room freshner. All the barbers, sorry men's beauty therapists, were dressed in black trousers and cream shirts giving a touch of sophistication to their job.
Then there were umpteen bottles and equipments I failed to identify and while I standing like a party-dress clad teenager among suit-wearing executives, an elderly gentleman, surely in his mid 50s then, approached me and asked to take seat. He, Mr Raghuram as I came to know later, handed over me a menu card, service card in his language, featuring a mind-blogging list -- from simple hair-cut and shave to Chinese acu-pressure therapy.
The hair-cut and shave was the cheapest item on the card-- Rs 150, a considerable sum for a student nearly 15 years ago, and rather sheephishy I told the shop owner that I had only Rs 130 in my pocket at the moment and Das a total pauper. Mr Raghuram gave a bright smile and said, "Don't worry young man, you can have a hair-cut without a shave, though it's not on the menu, and I will charge only Rs 90." It was too tempting an offer to turn down. Rest of the money was enough for two of us for a movie and a masala dosa from Woodlands.
"Please come sir," the voice of my regular guy at Dreams broke the spell of nostalgia, but to this date I am indebted to Mr Raghuram for allowing me to experience a new-age hair-cut. Some of you might think what's-the-flaming-big-deal in a hair-cut, but it revealed to me the concept of metro-sexual man -- not apprehensive to visit a beauty parlour once viewed as the exclusive-right of women.
It was a summer day of 1995, and quite accidentally I saw the advertisement of a newly-opened men's saloon, Polonica at MG Road (Kochi), in a fashion magazine. Till then I was only familiar with the world of good old 'barber shop' -- smelling of Cuticura/Ponds powder and Old Spice /Palmolive shaving cream, ancient Murphy radio belting some old movie songs and a Rally fan producing more sound than air.
So I decided, after some persusasion from my cousin Das, to visit Polonica and I stepped into a new world through the revolving door -- some English music wafting in the air through unseen speakers, adequately airconditioned and smelling of some expensive room freshner. All the barbers, sorry men's beauty therapists, were dressed in black trousers and cream shirts giving a touch of sophistication to their job.
Then there were umpteen bottles and equipments I failed to identify and while I standing like a party-dress clad teenager among suit-wearing executives, an elderly gentleman, surely in his mid 50s then, approached me and asked to take seat. He, Mr Raghuram as I came to know later, handed over me a menu card, service card in his language, featuring a mind-blogging list -- from simple hair-cut and shave to Chinese acu-pressure therapy.
The hair-cut and shave was the cheapest item on the card-- Rs 150, a considerable sum for a student nearly 15 years ago, and rather sheephishy I told the shop owner that I had only Rs 130 in my pocket at the moment and Das a total pauper. Mr Raghuram gave a bright smile and said, "Don't worry young man, you can have a hair-cut without a shave, though it's not on the menu, and I will charge only Rs 90." It was too tempting an offer to turn down. Rest of the money was enough for two of us for a movie and a masala dosa from Woodlands.
"Please come sir," the voice of my regular guy at Dreams broke the spell of nostalgia, but to this date I am indebted to Mr Raghuram for allowing me to experience a new-age hair-cut. Some of you might think what's-the-flaming-big-deal in a hair-cut, but it revealed to me the concept of metro-sexual man -- not apprehensive to visit a beauty parlour once viewed as the exclusive-right of women.
