This morning was barber time, my head in his hands and my ears full of him. Barber jokes went over shrouded customers, their static heads watching a ceiling fan as if they were looking at the sun in the lake.The ceiling fan had no motivation to whir.
Coal-miners refused to load coal because they wanted a separate state,their own state of bliss. So there is a power hiatus. Fans do not move in barber shops.
Tomorrow is festival of the many-armed Goddess who had killed fierce demons under her feet. Doesn’t your father kill a goat for her sacred meal? Customer :Don’t know about the goat or demons.
Laughter from the shroud.
My head starts imagining things between snips of scissors. Imagine these humans are goats and the goats turn humans .Will these goats have many-armed goats as their goddesses ?
Barber goat will say to customer goat: Will your goat father kill a human for our goat Goddess of many-arms? The goats laugh from their white shrouds.
At this point I pay forty rupees and walk out running fingers on the shaven smoothness of the head.