Pictures

Check out some of the pictures I've taken on Flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/27597212@N03/

A Nepali Haircut

Three walls of tilted mirrors enclose a 3 square meter “Hair Cutting Salon for Ladies and Gents”, right on the busy street of New Bazaar market of Kirtipur. Approaching the salon, I have to dodge motorcycles, tractors, busses and trucks at the 3 way intersection, which is lined with small fruit and vegetable stands run by middle aged women, a small food shop run by an old man wearing thick glasses who speaks neither Nepali or English, and an open sewer that’s oozing filthy water. As I walk into the salon for a haircut and shave, a large, hand-painted “Drinking Water” truck chugs up the sloping street, puffing a large cloud of black exhaust into the faces of everyone on the street. As the air clears, I sit down in one of the 3 chairs and notice all of the pictures of Hindu gods and goddesses on the walls and old newspapers plastered on the ceiling, as a the barber throws a hair-clipping-infused sheet over my lap and tucks it into the collar of my t-shirt. I tell him “DaaDi yahaa ra yahaa ‘shave’ garnus” (pointing to my cheeks and neck), “ra kapaal choTo kaaTnus” (touching the top of my head).

The only way I can explain the amazing speed and dexterity of the barber’s hands is Edward Scissor Hands. All cutting is done with scissors and a comb. None of that #2 clipper crap that barbers pull in the US. When he’s done clipping, he slaps some sort of shaving liquid behind my ears and on the back of my neck while he grabs a straight razor (new blade or not, who knows?), and shapes my hairline.

By this point, a small crowd has gathered to see a white guy in the local barber shop and everyone tries to talk to me at once. It’s impossible to understand, though, due to the disorienting slanted mirrors, the loud Hindi music that’s playing, and the bus horns outside, so I just close my eyes and pretend I don't notice.

After rubbing shaving liquid on my cheeks and neck, he straight razors around my beard and then trims it with scissors. After many applications of various creams and aftershaves, he begins the grand finale. A face massage turns into a head and neck massage. Then he leans me forward in the chair and slaps my back, massages my arms and cracks my fingers. Finally, he grabs my head and cracks my neck, twisting it side to side like an assassin.

And the best part of the whole ordeal? He asks for 80 rupees. I give him 100, and tell him to keep the change. In US dollars, that sets me back about a buck-thirty.