100 Rupee Haircut Part 1
I squint at the sun looking up at the sound of an airplane taking off. The smell of melting hot tar, the sound of blaring horns in traffic wasn’t so new to me anymore. Gusts of blowing wind collecting dust on crevices of my face, sun bleached messy hair, it’s sort of like a costume to this role I play as a beggar child. I’ve been hustling the street for about a year now. Amma used to call me “sudu putha”. I’m not so “sudu” anymore, I think as I watch my reflection on the shutter of a BMW car stuck in traffic. My hair had grown out to my shoulders. It's never been this long. Last year for new years appachchi was so keen on getting all the kids new haircuts. 100 rupees per head. Those were the times. New hair cut for the new year, new books, new clothes and shoes for the new school year. Funny how things can change in one year. And now no new nothing and no more appachchi, just the hard hot tar street and me. I place my greasy, sweaty palm on the BMW car. ...

Comments
Post a Comment