Our campus is riddled with administrative mismanagement, corporate greed and social anxiety. But all of them come together when an Ashokan has to deal with the most horrifying product of them all – a bad haircut.
The solitary salon on campus is tucked into an abandoned corridor of the sports block. Its lighting reminds one of an ominous hospital, but the salon delivers results far from surgical. It is perhaps the most liberal outlet on campus because it takes equal pleasure in mishandling straight, silky hair as it does in chopping off curly hair disproportionately. At least I’m safe from its effects, because while I might be accused of an array of commitment issues, I’ve never swayed from my barber back home.
I’m practically married to him. He has seen me through my worst (dandruff outbreaks), been mildly amused by my disasters (summer project of growing out hair) and gently soothed me through these periods (with a relaxing head massage that costs ten times more than the actual haircut). He has also used me to pitch his new shampoos and conditioners. But what is a good relationship if you don’t indulge the other person sometimes? He lies to me that my hair is fine after he’s chopped off too much from the front, while I lie to him that yes, I diligently use the hair products he keeps suggesting to me. My hair grows out to a decent shape eventually, and I stick to my trusted Head and Shoulders shampoo. We go on living in a world of fantasy, where both of us make small talk and I trust him enough to not slit my throat accidentally while shaving my beard.
He also taunts me for being too busy to visit him more often. I tell him I live miles away from home and that I return just frequently enough to keep our long-distance relationship alive, but I don’t let him know about the barbershop on campus. I feel bad for whoever runs it, really. The staff must be waiting patiently with a scissor and comb in one hand and a trimmer in another on most days, waiting for their next customer who never arrives.
But I never intend to go to them, and most of my friends who have had to wear caps till their hair grows out after a bad haircut from the Ashokan barber haven’t either. The mid-term break is when a guy goes back home and hits reset with their personal barbers. A guy must never cheat on their barbers by going to someone else. They’ll know – and they’ll sigh and taunt you, “Who did your haircut last time? Ruined the composition”. Any head of hair is an ongoing piece of art. To let another collaborator onto it in the middle of its evolution is akin to struggling with a group project and letting the annoying nerd who has too much time on their hands help you out. The end product might look nice, but at what cost?
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The campus has a paucity of good services in general. The laundry charges a decent sum for doing what it’s supposed to do. But most times, the clothes have mild stains left over and more creases on them than a third year’s forehead during endterm week. Sometimes, the clothes seem dirtier than when you first gave them. And laundry is a more urgent need than a haircut, which you cannot push over till the midterms arrive. So, you buckle up and use a bucket or a semi-broken washing machine to take care of your dirty clothes yourself. You borrow an iron before a big engagement to press your clothes and look presentable. Alternatively, you slap on a hoodie and hope no one else notices you and the same set of clothes you’ve been wearing for the entire week in class.
The mess has gotten a makeover as well. It no longer gives anyone food poisoning. But most of the time, the results are just passable and everything tastes the same, provided you are liberal with your addition of salt to their servings. By the time Ashoka emails an invoice charging you for the mess food, you realise you could have spent the same amount of money on much better tiffin services if you had the option.
The administration allows certain outlets and services to be the only options available on campus because of contractual obligations, explicit favouritism and a sense of apathy. Any good competitors for food cropping up? Send Rasananda back to their less accessible location. Good egg rolls available on Chaat Street? Not anymore. Want better internet connections to do basic work in your Residence Hall? You’ll have to count on your prayers that the speed is enough to handle an online class.
Ashoka University has a little bit of everything. You’re a spoilt brat if you’re complaining about the barber and the laundry and the world-class outlets Chicago Pizza. Most other universities don’t even have these amenities. Except, most universities aren’t located so far away from urban spaces. Students of these institutions can venture out of campus and access cheaper, better services without thinking about it twice. Most universities don’t cost so much money either.
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The best thing about my barber – after his affordability – is how I associate home with him. Every time he smiles at my dishevelled and overgrown hair and says, “Chhota kar de, fir?” I know I’m in safe hands. He might mess up occasionally and I might never get rid of my dandruff problems, but we work through it because there is a sense of trust and commitment between us. My emphasis on this relationship might seem like a displacement of much deeper issues, but at least I don’t mind paying to be in a space where I can do so.
How many people have wanted to eat their feelings on campus, after all, and realised their best bet is the Fuelzone chicken bagel? There are plenty of outlets that serve better food than the mess. But the fact that one must pay more money on top of the regular Ashoka fees to access good quality services is unfair to both those who can afford them and those who can’t. The promise of a university space hinges on accessible options that do not make one feel left out, be it with messy hair or an empty stomach or dishevelled clothes.
If you are paying to be in a residential space where you are promised equitability, the smaller issues of food and laundry and barbers speak to a larger problem – the “Ashokan promise” is an ideal they base their marketing and fees on but often fail to deliver on. The lack of academic freedom sucks; so do rats and snakes scurrying around throughout campus, and the hiked price of Peri Peri Fries from THC.
Well yes, even if the greatest haircutter known to humankind props up on campus tomorrow, I’ll stay committed to my barber back home. But for everything else, I’d like to have better options on it. Even if a person wants to frown at such a demand and say there are bigger ideals to fight for, they might want to look at the new price of the once beloved Thali Four on the Dhaba menu and ask themselves: can they afford to?
Hungry minds crave a satisfied stomach and a good haircut before they can focus on whetting their intellectual appetite. It’ll be much easier to ask Ashoka to deliver on its bigger promises, after all, when it learns to fulfil its more basic ones first.
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