The barber was almost about to fall asleep, but the rattling sound outside alerted him. As mandated by the rule, his shop was closed for the day, and because he wasn’t a Nepali citizen, he had no slightest bit of interest in the election. Again, someone rattled the shutter. Who could it be? Irritably, he got up from his bed, walked through the small door into the hall where he had set up his haircut business.

The sound came through more stubbornly. “The shop is closed today,” the barber informed, assuming that some kids had come. “It’s me. Hello,” the male voice replied, which sounded ridiculously mellifluous. At first, the barber didn’t recognise the voice, so he retorted, “No one is allowed to open the shop today. Don’t you see that it is a big day?” Pun Dai’s cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. He had come here with a purpose, and he couldn’t afford to turn back like a defeated cat. It also hurt Pun Dai that the barber spoke insolently, but it could be that he hadn’t recognised Pun Dai’s voice.

“It’s me. I’m Pun, your friend,” he spoke with a sense of urgency this time. Luckily, the barber was still there, and after he realised that it was Pun Dai, he stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry. You should have simply called on my phone. Now I feel ashamed for not recognising your voice.”

It took the barber by surprise when he spotted the scissors in Pun Dai’s palms. Was he going to receive them as a gift? They made eye contact, and Pun Dai flashed a smile—an act which he had mastered in the course of his adulthood. “Welcome, my friend,” the barber extended his hands, which Pun Dai took with caution after carefully holding the scissors in his one hand. “We shall close the shutters today,” Pun Dai suggested, and when he said “we,” the feeling was as if he had been working here with the barber for a long time. When the barber pulled down the metal shutter, the hall was dark except for the light filtering through the adjoining bedroom, where even two people could hardly fit.

Inside the bedroom, Pun Dai slouched on a plastic chair, taking in the messy surroundings that resembled his room to some degree. The barber lay in his bed, eyeing Pun Dai curiously. Some moments of awkward silence ensued. By now, after Pun Dai’s numerous visits, the barber had come to terms with Pun Dai’s reticent nature. He thought that if he didn’t break the ice, they might even sit like this until the end of the day. “So, did you cast the vote?” the barber put forward the question, whose answer he already knew.

“No, I didn’t go,” Pun Dai said solemnly, a smile fading from his face as quickly as clouds in Pokhara’s sky.

The barber was quick to notice the shift in Pun Dai’s emotions, so he brought up rather mundane topics, discussing weather and movies. When the two talked about movies, the barber contributed more, with Pun Dai only nodding his head and laughing at the mimicry of Sanjay Dutt. It was only an hour later that the barber asked why Pun Dai had brought the scissors with him, and whether they were a gift. “I thought I would learn better with these new pairs,” Pun Dai held the scissors in the air, his eyes refusing to look elsewhere.

Only then did the barber realise that his playful joke was mistaken for an invitation to learn the haircut. But what would it cost to have the company of someone like Pun Dai, who embodied a perfect gentleman? “So I have come to realise that my friend is keen to learn the haircut, no?” the barber asked, looking at his friend, trying to read his eyes. “I don’t feel like doing any other things. What’s more, I enjoy your company. I will learn quickly from you.”

The barber was shell-shocked because he wasn’t accustomed to seeing Pun Dai open up to this extent. Perhaps it was the longest sentence Pun Dai had ever spoken to the barber. Right from the beginning, the barber had perspicaciously sensed something eccentric about the man. This man, whose hair required no grooming at all, used to appear at the shop so frequently.

He seemed friendly, yet hardly initiated a conversation. When the barber made jokes, he found them more hilarious than others. Yet the man never joked himself. It seemed as if his job was only to acknowledge others. Now, this man, whom the barber had known long enough to call a friend, was asking to train him. And because he had bought the new scissors, he seemed serious about learning the haircut. The barber was not the kindest man on the planet, but it was hard to say no to Pun Dai.

That evening, Pun Dai returned home in a pleasant mood, relishing the prospects of operating a scissor and doing a massage. He had left the scissors in the barber’s shop, seeing that he would join from the next day. “You just need to come and watch my hands. Your focus should be on my hands at all times. After a week or so, I’ll let you practice with a scissor,” the barber had mapped out the routine for his friend.

Afterwards, the barber had prepared some tea and served it with biscuits to Pun Dai. When Pun Dai watched the barber make tea in his small room, something in him changed, as if a foreign element had taken control of Pun Dai’s body. His palms were sweaty, his face red, and words stuck in his throat. If Pun Dai didn’t admit to himself that it was the most thrilling moment in his life, he was a horrible liar.

The mother looked visibly upset when they sat for dinner. Her point was that he should have utilised his voting rights, and his casual attitude wouldn’t lead him anywhere in life. It was not every day that the mother vented at him, and when she did, Pun Dai always felt he should take life more seriously. But Pun Dai, he realised, was on the right track now, as he no longer wandered around the park like a hoodlum. He had finally discovered what he wanted out of his life.

But how would he reveal everything to his mother? How would his mother respond if he told her that he enjoyed being in a barber’s company and had decided to learn the haircut? But now was not the time to overthink. If he continued overthinking, his life would rot in silence, and people would end up talking about how worthless his life was.

As if poked by his inner demons, Pun Dai bravely announced to his mother, “I’ll be joining work from tomorrow, and I will not come home.” Had the mother not finished eating, she would have thrown up everything. She made such a stern face that didn’t belong to her. Without breaking eye contact, she just said, “Where?” in a gentle whisper. “It’s not important. What matters is that I will start working,” Pun Dai thundered, staring at his mother without a blink. Where did this boldness come from? And what was this man up to? Questions piled one after another, transporting the mother to some serious contemplation. Despite concerns, the mother knew better than to pester her son with endless questions.

The next morning, Pun Dai packed a suitcase, slung a backpack, and made his way to the barber shop. Although it hadn’t been decided that Pun Dai would stay in the barber’s place, he was sanguine about the barber’s generosity. The barber would surely think that Pun Dai was crazy for sacrificing his house for a small room, that too a shared one. And what would Pun Dai do if the barber’s wife visited her husband from India? In such a situation, he would go home and rest.

“Oh, so you have come to claim my small bedroom,” the barber joked upon seeing Pun Dai with his belongings. “I will need to be with you all the time to learn the tricks quickly.” Both of them knew that Pun Dai sounded absurd, and the undertone implied something else. They had a silent understanding of the situation, with both knowing that their bond transcended the haircut training. People Pun Dai knew would pass judgment, call him insane, and even laugh at his face. The boys in the park, with whom he played cricket, would come to trim their hair, and later they would discuss this strange move of Pun Dai. His mother would be disappointed, rather livid, but she would be left with no choice.

However, Pun Dai’s life would change for good as he took on this adventurous ride with his companion. Little did Pun Dai know that his decision would bring about unfathomable changes in the lives of many. Afterwards, the world would stop labelling Pun Dai as a “good fellow.” He would be like the rest of the world—selfish and full of apathy. And perhaps it would make him a little more human. But now, as the barber came with a cup of tea in the shop, Pun Dai took out a small board from his backpack. Sipping his tea, the barber read the metal board: “Pun Dai ko barber shop.”