Inside, It Was Awkwardly Silent

He was wearing a bright white kurta pajama, with some dirt on it. The dirt did not look as if it had been there for a long time instead it looked fresh. His shop looked more than a century old, with a foxed mirror where you could see blurry reflections. Isn't the mirror the most important thing for a barber shop? Is that the reason that he is not getting any customers because they can not admire themselves in the mirror or is it the shop itself, old and damp, with teal blue doors that drives people away from it?

“This shop has been here since independence”, he told me while reading Roznama Rashtriya Sahara, a newspaper as old as the shop itself. He was sitting on an empty bench that was meant to be filled with customers waiting for their turn.

He had only a pair of scissors and a few other essentials, which made the counter look desolate. 

After I had waited for a while, a boy came in, I thought he was going to ask for a haircut and I got excited, thinking I’d finally get some photographs of him doing his work. But, the boy asked for a cigarette and handed over money in exchange. The barber had started selling other things like kites, tobacco, and cigarettes to survive and keep the shop running.

In between our talks, he was silent for some time, as if he was really thinking hard to form an answer. Outside his shop, there was too much noise, the kind that belongs to a crowded street of Old Delhi, but inside it was awkwardly silent, only him and some muffled noise. The place had a strange grief, yet calmness. While we were talking, a sudden sad thought came to my mind: for how long is this shop going to be here? I was aware that I might get only a few meetings with him.

After a few minutes, we heard the azaan, and it filled the awkward silence. I assumed that he might want to leave for namaz, so I said goodbye to him with the hope of meeting again.