Do you remember your first haircut?

If you are an Indian, you would probably have pictures of your "mundan" ceremony. A bawling, kicking little toddler on Papa's (or in a joint family anybody from Grandpa on either side to a distant cousin who happened to be around) lap. That's probably how you would have started your relationship with your barber (aah yes - hairstylist, for women).

But do you remember your actual, voluntary, haircut?

I've just got some images stored away in my biological ROM. The first haircut I remember was in the courtyard in our Trivandrum home. Grandpa was sick, so the friendly neighbourhood barber came around with his scissors, comb and other paraphernelia.
Probably Gramps wasn't in such a good mood - I don't remember him smiling at all. Mum took me to him and we waited till the barber was done with Grandpa. That's all I remember. I recall protesting and being ignored too.

The next earliest memory I have was of the barber shop in Dammam, Saudi Arabia. Dad worked in Saudi Arabia for nine years (which explains why I was such a brat at home in India - there was no "authority figure" in my childhood!). We spent a couple of vacations with him as kids. Two of Dad's sisters shared the same house in Dammam, and we cousins would walk around the corner to the Pakistani-run neighbourhood barber shop.

No comb-scissor finesse for these tall, burly Punjabi barbers. Just a quick, five-minute shear that left you feeling like something out of a New Zealand farm.