It was Christmas eve. As I stood in front of the mirror, I suddenly realized I needed a haircut before the celebration. So, I grabbed my bike keys and started off to Mayilaudy, a nearby village where I can find a salon.
Halfway there, it began to drizzle. I managed to stop at the nearest salon I could find to escape what felt like the showers of blessing. As I stepped in, I was taken aback. The place was empty, except for two North Indian men, seemingly waiting for customers.
As I found out the salon is owned by them, I hesitated for a moment if I should enter or step back to find another place. It’s not that I hate their presence in this southern part of the country, but communication was always a challenge when explaining the style I wanted. Plus, my preconceived ideas about their hygienic practices - however unfounded - made me uneasy.
The rain slowly picked up its pace and it began pouring. I had no other option but to surrender my head to the Northies. I initiated the conversation saying, ‘cut it short’. The barber began parting my hair and snipping away.
A few moments later, a short man in his early forties walked in wearing a Dhoti, accompanied by a barefoot, five-year old girl, clad in tattered clothes with unkempt hair. She was scratching her scalp incessantly, and it seemed she hadn’t washed her hair in days.
The man asked the barber to give her a haircut. She then mounted a tall chair twice her size and looked at herself in the mirror. An indescribable sadness engulfed me as she sat on the chair beside me.
The barber asked the man if the little girl was his daughter. He nodded in disapproval, saying, ‘No’.
“Her mother is gone, and the father is a wastrel, who spends all his money on liquor. He pays no attention to his daughter,” said the man.
“I’m in no way related to her. I work at a nearby construction site. But seeing her plight, I wanted to help,” added he.
From their conversation, I gathered that she was staying with relatives for food and shelter. Yet, even basic grooming and clothes were neglected.
As the barber gently began cutting her hair, she winced. The back of her head was infected, oozing pus. Dirt had turned to flakes, and constant scratching had worsened the wounds. The barber, sensing her pain, took extra care, cutting slowly and cautiously.
It was a heart-wrenching sight—a helpless young girl caught in the web of misfortune. I couldn't bear to imagine my own daughter in her place.
The barber eventually shaved off all her hair, exposing the raw wounds underneath. The child never smiled, not even once. Her face was a portrait of hardship, a silent testimony to a life devoid of the comforts and joys most children take for granted.
With no mother and a father lost to drink, her future looks bleak. Yet I hold on to the hope that with the right education, she rises above her circumstances and becomes a successful and inspiring personality.
They say comparison is a thief of joby. But sometimes it makes you aware of your blessings.
Count yours. And help those in need with a joyful heart.
God loves a cheerful giver!
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