The Funky

Yesterday, we went into Sonipat City to finally get an ATM card from our new Indian bank. After being told that it was not possible (because it was the wrong branch, because it was Saturday, because we just couldn't) and about thirteen phone calls passed between straight-faced administrators, we walked out with an envelope that contained not only our bank card, but also the pin! I think many people would be willing to endure a short 45 minute haggle in exchange for instant debit card and pin access.

Wait.

You mean the card won't be activated until when?

(For a full description of what this looks like, see the blog description of the same experience a few days prior by one of Vik's colleagues. )

Well, I didn't actually expect the process to be either easy or to turn out right, so no disappointment here.

However, taking these characteristically low expectations to another venue had more promising results a bit later in the day.

When we entered Jaweb Habib's Salon we had no idea that we were visiting India's leading hair and beauty franchise. I mean, it looked a little like Supercuts, but only because it was kind of cramped and it managed to be simultaneously under- and over-staffed. Since the day when I went to the fancy salon at the Taj Hotel in Mumbai and had a lady gnaw at my ponytail until it fell lifeless to the ground and then announce she was done, I tend to expect the worst at these places.

Vik's (V) encounter with the guy cutting his hair (GCHH) went something like this:

V: Hi, I need to get my hair cut, but...english, english, english, english, language, english, more english, yada, language, language, words, words, words, yada.

GCHH: Hindi, hindi, hindi, hindi, language, language, more hindi. Trim?

V: Yes.

GCHH proceeded to cut the upper back of V's hair and then continued by just brushing the front into an incredible 80's boufant. Luckily he left the bit in the lower back to give him a slight mullet. Oddly, V doesn't look the least bit worried. As he brings out some deadly pomade, GCHH thinks he must be doing well--even great, but in reality V took his glasses off and is completely blind to the mess.

I chime in and say, Maybe a little shorter in the back?

GCHH: Short? You want the short?

Me: Yes. Then, to Vik: I guess? Right?

V: I have no idea.

GCHH keeps brushing and brushing and trims the mullet off. The pomade comes out again and Vik looks a little like an extra puffy Remington Steele.

GCHH: Bas! (Hindi for Enough!)

V puts on his glasses and starts messing with the top of his hair, trying to get it to lay flat, or go forward or or less backward, or anything less horrible, undoing all GCHH's laborious (and glorious) brushing technique.

GCHH looks scornful and then, slowly opens his eyes. He clearly has had an epiphany. He says, You want the funky?

V looks worried.

I jump in and say, Yes! He wants the funky!

Then for 200 rupees Vik gets the best haircut he has had in five years.

It is called The Funky.

Thus, we are now empowered with a pin number and the tripartite division of men's haircuts, The Trim, The Short, and The Funky.

Oh wait, actually, the pin number looks vaguely like a digital clock that has no power and self-destructs after five attempts.