There are two types of men in this world.

Run-of-the-mill men like you and I make up the first type. We work in a variety of jobs that require mental fortitude and start innovative businesses that create fresh industries. We travel the world, prodding the furthest corners of our planet while some of us devote our time to pushing the parameters of sporting excellence. We start families and teach our children to become better versions of ourselves in the hope that our lineage excels into greatness. We exist and sometimes thrive in this life we have been handed. Nonetheless we are nothing but mere mortals

The second type of man is a man that you must experience.

You may have already done so.

It is impossible to spend time in his company, indulge in the services that he can offer, and still believe these type of man is mortal. Godlike may be a stretch, but the statues and photographs of deities that are placed across his otherwise bare gallery are a reminder to us. A reminder that all of these men are gifted with a skillset far greater than most.

This second type of man I am referring to is the legendary ‘Indian Barber’.

The Indian barber is a straight talking spiritual man. One who can accomplish miracles on demand, a veteran magician at a children’s party. He is simple yet effective. A man who knows his stature and understands that he has the power to change the world, one head massage, one haircut, one shave at a time. The Indian Barbers weaponry is small but by no means feeble. He keeps a few fresh razor blades at his disposal alongside some dubious antiseptic spray and cheap coconut oil. His clippers divulge in stories of bygone eras and the antiquated scissors he uses so precisely croon melodies of past lovers. He uses his two hands in a way that most cannot when he performs the art of the ‘Malish’, the customary head massage he gives his patrons as a parting gift, leaving recipients feeling euphoric and rejuvenated.

He does not need much you see; a computer is a fool’s device as is a cash register. All the revenue he receives and change he keeps is in his right hand side pocket of his ill fitting trousers. His left pocket holds his phone, not a smartphone, a regular phone, used only for family emergencies.

You could be having a bad day; the market may have just crashed and the equities you hold so dearly could have halved in value overnight. You may have just found out that a close friend isn’t who he has claimed to be. Your wife could have just left you. The Indian Barber is there to save the day. To provide a meditative experience, a much needed distraction from day to day life, a solace from all the chaos that occurs outside his shop. Because once you step into his shop, you transcend into another universe.

The Indian Barber is not just a man. He is our brother. A true phenomenon of the east. I may just pay him a visit now.