Bhaaku the Barber

by Ipsita Sengupta

"Put that book down and finish your food!" growled Bapi.

 I looked at him curiously across the breakfast table wondering what could be bothering my usually mild mannered father. He did look a little scraggly; his tight curly black hair unusually long and unkempt.

"Bapi you need a haircut", I squeaked out while stuffing my face with buttered toast.

"You don't say?” he snapped back before walking away grumbling under his breath. I stared at him with wide eyes.

"Don't worry, I have asked for Phillip’s brother to show up and cut his hair tomorrow", said Khaancha while helping us clear up the table.

"But what happened to Bhaaku?” I asked, as he is the one who usually cuts hair and nails and has been doing that for years. 

Khaancha looked away and sighed, wondering in his head whether I was old enough to hear the horrific story.
“I won't tell a soul that I heard it from you, but you have got to tell me what happened", I said as confidently as a twelve year old can.

 "Bhaaku ran away two weeks ago. He didn't have a choice, he had to run away or else the police would have taken him away", said Khancha.

“But why on earth would they take him away”? I asked. 

"Well he got into a fight and killed his own brother"! said Khancha looking really uncomfortable. He suddenly realized I might be a little too young for such a gruesome tale.

 "Anyway, that's all I know and Chhota Baby, better finish your food before it gets too late", he said before firmly walking away. 

I stared at him, trying to imagine how a quiet, shy man like Bhaaku who wouldn't even look you in the eye while speaking or ever raise his voice could kill someone. I remember him cutting my hair just three months ago, and seeing how upset I was, he told me that he could make me look like "Siridevi"! 

 In the next few days I pieced together the entire story. 

Bhaaku was the local barber who had married a girl from the neighbouring tea garden. He lived with his brother who spent his days mostly drunk and getting into brawls. He had gotten into brawls all his life and Bhaaku had spent his days getting him out of them. 

The funny thing is, Bhaaku never got angry with his brother for his wastrel ways. He finally got upset when one night he woke up to find his brother and his wife of six months sneaking out of the house. They were planning to run away. Bhaaku then took an axe, and with a single swing of his scrawny arms managed to silence his brother forever.

His wife starting howling in fear and Bhaaku, having realized what he had done, grabbed the bundle of clothes his brother had wrapped up and made his escape. 

It had been two weeks and no one had seen him since. There were stories of how he had been seen washing his bloodied clothes in the Chel river a couple of days after the incident, but no had seen him since.

It was now two years since the incident and like every other story you hear from the gardens you never think much about it. 

I'm taking my book to sit and read in the winter sun when I suddenly hear laughter. My father is sitting and getting his hair cut in the backyard. He's talking and laughing with the barber who is struggling to give him a close shave. I walk around the house to see what’s going on. I look closely and see it's Bhaaku who is back and is holding a razor in his hand.

I look on in horror as he takes the razor and holds it a little too close to my father's neck. I must have made a noise as he suddenly looks at me and smiles gently, asking me, "Kaisee ho, Chhota Baby"?

 

Meet the writer:

Ipsita Sengupta introduces herself: I was born to AJOY and DOLA in the gardens of North Bengal, and lived there till I was 18. Working in finance in New York city for the past decade. Sister to a kickass writer, SANCHITA, and married to my soul mate and best friend ARIJIT. Love books,movies, dogs, travelling and food in no particular order. 

 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!