DD's visit to the Royal Jents Parlour.

Okay, this is my first ‘random’ post as such. As Californication soothens those eardrums, I’m suddenly full of blogging energy. If I don’t write now, I’ll surely burst.

Okay, the following are carricatures drawn by yours truly, Dhruv Da Vinci, during the maths period. The pictures are EXACTLY what I feel during my Maths period. Before accusing me of having suicidal tendencies, try bearing one hour of quadritic equations. The picture have NOTHING to do with the post. It is VERY random.


Note: I’m all for the law against homosexuality to be annulled, I find it silly that there’s actually a LAW preventing something that’s natural.
Beware : This post makes NO SENSE whatsoever, so read this only if you’re REALLY jobless.



Today, at 11 am in the morning, I had this random thought of going to the barbers’ and experimenting with my hair. Went off in my green tee and shorts, reached the saloon, where the signboard, “ROYAL JENTS PARLOUR WITH A/C” gleamed into my eyes. With a smirk, I walked in. This parlour, by the way, isn’t one of the fancy ones, I’ll be blunt, I’m a cheap guy, and you won’t get any other place where you get a haircut for Rs 40 walking distance away from my place. Also, these barbers are all bhai types, they’re considerably smaller than me in size, but their lingo etc is really cool. Thus, the jents parlour is my natural choice. Walked in, not having a slight idea as to what adventures were in store for me in that cosy place. Smiled at one of the regular barbers, he gave me the usual “kay re… sutti ahe? College suru zala? ” [what ho, you’ve got holidays? College started?] this, by the way, is a question he’s asked me ATLEAST 9 times, so I replied in the affirmative. I saw that he was busy with a customer, and the other regular barber wasn’t available. So I was basically stuck with this noob who must be 19, judging by his innocent smile and his pink full sleeved shirt. What did I know, how much trouble little Mr. Pink was going to cause then.




I asked the noob whether he could cut my hair such that my long sidelocks stay, like Afzal Khan, and also ensuring I have enough hair on top to experiment. He gave me a “is-that-Latin” look, and I looked at the regular for help, who explained to the noob what I wanted, in them barber terms, which was Latin to me. The customer went out, and the regular told me he was off for Lunch. So it was me and the barber stuck in the saloon. I enquired whether he was new, and he replied in the affirmative. Since I couldn’t find anything else, I closed my eyes, not knowing what else to say to fill the silence. Suddenly, he goes in Marathi [and I translate], “Sooo, do you want it real shorrttt?” His tone scared the shit out of me, it was one of them seductive tones! I told him to keep it short. He went on cutting, but I noticed the ‘gentle strokes’ he made on the skin. I consciously pulled my shorts below my knees. As if that wasn’t enough, the guy started to lean on me. No, you don’t get it. I was sitting, he was LEANING on me. His WHOLE body in contact with the left side of my body. From my shoulder to my knee. My elbow got the worse contact [yuck] and I tucked my elbow in for the rest of the haircut.


As he went on cutting, three guys came in. One of them was being forced by the other two to shave off his beard and his moustache. Since I’m jobless, I’ll type out their interesting conversation. It was in Marathi, and I will type in Marathi, with translation done below. They were these cool punks, 40 year olds, the ‘been-there-done-that types.

“eh lavkar kaap re dadhi hyachi.”
“nahi re ! shanth rah!”
“eh chup re salya. Chikna kar re hyala”
“eh bhain---- halu nakos, kabootarasarkhi vadhli ahe!”
“aaaaarrrrghhhhhhhh”
“oink oink” (<“eh phone bandh kar! Kapuday tyala!”
“badh thev tujhi ----, tujhya mulishi nahi bolat”
“mad------- mulivar jau nakos chu----“
“Bloody hell” (that was me whispering to myself)
“Sidelocks poorna kapuuuuu?” (my slimy barber)
“nahi nahi, hey barobar ahey” (> > me)

Translation [I’m soooo jobless]

“Oye, shave his beard, quick!”
“No man, shut up!”
“Shut up dude *undefined term*”
“your sister *undefined*, don’t move! Your beard is like a pigeon!”
“aaaarrrgghhhhh”
“oink oink”
“Switch off your phone! Let him shave it well!”
“shut your ---. I’m not talking to your girlfriend.”
“You mum *undefined* don’t pick on my girlfriend *undefined*”
“Bloody hell!”
“Should I shave off ALL your sidelocks?”
“No, no, this is just fine.”

Paid the forty rupees, and ran away without looking behind. I got everything in that one hour at the saloon, from homosexual advances to threats to life. After I wore my spectacles, by the way, I found out that the guy being forced to shave was actually the liftman in my bulding.

What a day. Bleh.