Story of my first vote- Part 2

We went inside as the queue proceeded. Uncle cast his vote and left the place. And then, came my turn (again). I went to the same desk. I saw, the presiding officer was sitting in the polling officer’s place, while his own seat was vacant.

“Did you bring those documents?” he asked.

I presented him the pass book and PAN card.

“Please sit in that chair,” he said, pointing at a semi-broken chair. “The first polling officer has gone to take his meal. So I have to take his place for the time being.”

Trust me, I literally wanted to punch the fellow.

Anyways, I took the seat. The persons in the queue stared at this odd-ball. I looked around. The officers were supplied food packets along with coffee now. An old lady was on her way to vote.

And then, as I looked the other side I heard the voice of the lady- “This machine is not working.”

The officers jumped to see what had happened. I wondered what could have happened to the machine all of a sudden. Will I, at all, be able to cast my vote? Strange thoughts came in me. The number of people living in this area is huge. What if the machine’s memory is full? This is, after all, a sarkari machine. What is the guarantee that it will work again?

Later what we found was that the second polling officer had forgotten to press the ‘ballot’ button in the other machine, without which this machine wouldn’t function. The lady was so much in temper that the presiding officer himself went and pressed the button. He didn’t wait for the required officer, who actually was busy undoing his food packet.

The first polling officer finally came. The presiding officer called me. He checked my PAN card and Pass book photo and other details. He then begged apology the other voters that they had to wait. It would take a long(er) time for me.

I was then given an application form and told to fill in the blanks with what the fellow said. I obeyed him like a small child.  After I signed it, the lean fellow with the handycam was called and was asked to take my picture. I stood like a hero- a hero who is tired of fighting (as my face must have reflected). After that, details from my PAN and Pass Book were recorded on a different place. I was told to sign there as well.

And then, I was told to put my thumb impression. Never in my life had I expected this. I knew it was meant for either the illiterates or the criminals (as they show on TV). I guess, the criminal part was for me. Firstly, my name was in suspected list, and secondly, by now everybody must have known I am not illiterate.

I initially put my right thumb in the stamp pad- a mistake any literate would do. They corrected me. One of them himself put my left thumb on the pad and then on the paper. As I saw my own thumb-print on the paper it irritated me like anything!

The same fellow then told me to show him my index finger. He then put the voting ink on my nail. I can’t describe by words how much contented I felt. As if I had received a reply from my love after years of wait!

After that, things went smoothly. The ballot button was pressed. “Go, cast your vote now,” the presiding officer said, with a tone as if he was telling me to come out of the prison as my punishment was over.

I cast my vote. My mission was accomplished! I had a long wish to see the voting machine in real. But now when I got the chance, I could not spend time even to see the names of the other candidates. The other voters, who were still waiting, would kill me.

As I was about to leave the room, there came a plethora of ‘sorry’s and ‘please-do-not-mind’s from those officers. I was quite glad. Whatever they did, they were bound to do it. As I was leaving the place a fellow in the queue asked me- “How was your first vote?”

My answer was just one line- “Very memorable”

Story of my first vote- Part 1

They say- the first college, the first booze and the first sex remain in our memory till our death. May be they are right. Can’t say. But what I can say, rather assure, is that if you are (un)lucky, your first vote is definitely going to be one of those everlasting memories. As it has happened with me.

The first time when you are going to vote, the feeling of being mature is much more than what you have, when you do other things legally meant for adults (don’t ask what). Same had happened with me. I woke up early though I had slept after 2 am. I finished the morning chores as fast as possible, took my purse containing my EPIC, and came out of my house.

On my way to the booth, that was not more than 100 metres away from my place, I halted at aunt’s place. They were getting ready for this purpose.

“Where is your slip?” aunt asked.

“I did not get,” I said.

The slip was to contain details like my serial number, Part No., etc. I didn't have it. I was quite worried. How would I vote now?

Anyways, I got the details on phone by texting my EPIC No. to a number given by them. The details came in the form of reply.

Relief!

I, however, didn't know that this relief was temporary. Problems were yet to come.

I left them to get ready and went to the booth. A huge crowd. Two separate pairs of queues. I stood on one of the gents’ queues. Thank Heavens. It didn't take me much time to know that the queue was for the fellows who had different Part Number. I had initially thought them to be like the queues of Railway ticket-counter, where the principle is- “choose the queue which is shortest”. First-time voter.

I went and stood on the second queue. Soon there were men behind me. I could see the ladies come and cast their vote and go home in minutes, while our queue didn't make progress even a bit. We later heard that they were allowing one man to vote after every four ladies! Made me recall that admission-day at MM college.

We waited and waited. People from our queue went aside and smoked beedis, after properly examining the faces of the ones who were ahead of them lest they couldn't determine their position in the queue later. Twenty minutes passed and we didn't proceed a bit. Thanks to the organizers that our queue was beside the wall that helped us rest our backs.

And then, my uncle and aunt came there. Uncle joined our queue, while aunt went forward, and returned after five minutes with inked finger. Our queue had proceeded a feet by then.

After around forty-five minutes, I was near the poll-room. I could hear the beeping sound of the voting-machine. An excitement ran within me. I was soon to give my first vote.

And fifteen minutes later, I was inside the room, still in the queue. I saw the officials who had been assigned respective duties. A tall man in his late fifties was supplying them with coffees and food packets. A lean fellow was busy capturing the scene in a handy-cam.

My attention then fell on the machine kept on the table. It was grey in colour. I literally got very excited. But then I asked myself how could the voting machine be kept in open? Then I realized it was the machine meant for the polling officer. The machine was not properly visible and the constable standing beside me didn't allow me to leave the queue. I looked at the fellow and his tall antique gun. I wondered if he would at all be able to do anything with it in case any unfair incident took place. By the time he would aim it, the intruders would have done their task. I then prayed nothing as such takes place. The reason is obvious.

My turn finally came. I went to the presiding officer and the first polling officer and presented my EPIC before them. I also showed them the SMS. The first polling officer took a bunch of papers and searched my name there. I could see stars made with blue ink beside my name. I couldn't understand what they meant. The two fellows looked at each other. The presiding officer then turned to me. “Do you have any other document?” he asked.

“Yes sir. I have my college ID Card.”

“Does it contain your photo?”

“Yes sir.”

I passed it to him. He and the other fellow noticed the details minutely. They looked at each other again, and then to a third fellow sitting alone holding a similar list of voters.

“When did you get your EPIC done?” I was asked by the same fellow.

“Last year, during this time.”

“Have you voted earlier?”

“No sir. This is my first time.”

The fellow made a face as if to announce I was given a death sentence. “I am sorry. I do not know why, but your name is in the suspected list.”

I was puzzled. “What should I have to do sir?” I asked.

The other voters were waiting. The fellow told the constable to allow the next two people. The other fellow dealt with them, while this fellow turned to me.

“Do you have your bank’s Pass Book?”

“Yes sir. At home.”

“Does it contain your photo?”

“Yes sir.”

“Anything else? Driving license; PAN card?”

“PAN card.”

“Fine. Please bring the Pass Book and the PAN card. Do not worry. We would allow you to vote,” the fellow said with a face as if he was trying to do some favour.

So I had to go back home and come back again- all for getting the permission to press the blue button. I was angry. But my eagerness to see how the voting machine really looks like made me do all this without hesitation. I came out of the room and passed by the queue. My uncle was still there. He noticed me. Smiled. So did the others who knew me. They knew I had cast my vote.

After five minutes I was back there. The same people looked at me again. Each with a what-is-he-gonna-do-here-again glance. Some of them even tried to look at my finger. They must have assumed I have come with an intention to re-vote.

I passed by the long queue. My uncle, by now, was near the room’s entrance. It seems in my absence, somebody had protested against this four-women-one-man system. Now they were allowing one man and one woman, alternately.

I had no intention to join the queue again. But the entrance to the room was so congested that I had to become a part of it at that point. Thanks to the other voters who didn't protest my ‘sudden joining in the middle’.

(to be continued)

The sad tweet

Night is generally the time when I get busy with my lappy for writing. Why won’t I? This time is the most serene. No going to market. No phone calls (probably because I still do not have one such girlfriend). No disturbance.  So, right now, at 11:59 pm, I’m busy with my usual passion of writing.

Welcome to the new day. The digital clock shows 12!!

Well, let me begin. I just came to know something from my twitter account today. A girl had posted on her facebook account that the bandh (strike) is useless on the death of a person like Bal Thackeray. As a result, she was arrested. Not only her, but the other girl who had happened to hit ‘like’ on the post, also was arrested. I tried to find out the details. I came to know that the girls had broken the laws by hurting religious sentiments of the people. They were arrested. Not only this, the supporters of Mr. Thackeray, in other words, the Shiv Sena, had caused a lot of damage to a doctor’s chamber, just because the doctor happened to be the uncle of the girl who had posted the status.

Many things had struck my mind on reading the news. I also wrote something on twitter. Later I deleted it fearing the same effect on me (although I knew I was not alone this time). Let me tell you, I do not know much about Mr. Thackeray. I know only how much the media has shown me. I have heard some people say the person was not good. But others said the person was a role model in their lives. Some called him a wolf, others said he was a lion.

But I don’t have any personal enmity with Mr. Thackeray. So I won’t go for what he actually was. But I know he was the leader of Shiv Sena, and the number of people belonging to the group, indeed counts. I kind of feel pity on them. First of all, they got arrested a girl who said something negative for Mr. Thackeray. Not only this, they also got that girl arrested who had hit the ‘like’ button for that post. Now, instead of going and asking the girls why they disliked Mr. Thackeray, they got them behind the bars. By mixing with so many people daily physically or online, I’ve come to know how many people actually hate Shiv Sena. The reason might be common for everyone. In this case, if the Shiv Sena people went and asked the girls the reason for hating them, they could have said the answer of a number of people who hate the group. They could learn the people’s problems and rectify them.

But alas! They used violence. Not just got the girls arrested, but also made curfew in an innocent doctor’s chamber, adding one more reason for the people’s hating them.

If any person from Shiv Sena, or some dear one of Mr. Thackeray is reading this, the person might feel sad, even get angry on reading the bitter truth. I would like to say to that person to think over it. If Shiv Sena does well of people, not just them, but their beloved Bal Thackeray will also get a good name. And if they keep doing this violence, Mr. Thackeray will keep losing his respect even after death. A father is remembered according to the duty of his children. Same here. History will, no doubt, remember Mr. Thackeray. But as a hero or villain, is in the hands of his followers.

Story of the annoying teacher

Hi friends, today I'm here again.... as usual, to share my new experiences. Certain things that I see happening around me, make me angry. It may or may not affect me directly, but I feel it wrong as it affects my near and dear ones. Let me take an example. There is a teacher in our college. He is quite young and tall fellow. The first day I saw him, I thought him to be a very good man. But, as it is said, 'First impression is not always the last impression', I didn't expect certain things from him. He always enters in the class with a smiling face. But it remains just for some time. Let me tell you some of his incidents:
DAY 1: He entered the class, and started giving his lectures. A mobile suddenly rung. All started looking at each other. The teacher's face had an angry sign. But no sooner it was found that his own cell was ringing! He took it out, disconnected the call, but it rung again. He picked up the phone, and attended it. Then he told us in a harsh voice, "I suffer a hundred problems daily. My cell will be on even in class. But your cells will be off". For the first time I realised he was a total 'khadoos'!
NEXT CLASS: he began taking attendance. 'Roll no. 1 to 23, pls tell who are present'. A student whose Roll no. was above 23, mistakenly replied. This was what he received in reply, "I'm not your servant!! Your 'baap' has not sent me as your servant!! I've just come to complete my syllabus!!!".
This is not the end. When he teaches, he speaks in low voice, unable to reach the students sitting in the last benches of the huge gallery. When a student interrupts, he says, "I will speak in the same tone. If you can't understand, you are free not to attend my class". This time, his voice is large enough to penetrate the walls of the huge gallery room.
CLIMAX: The teacher's 'khadoospan' reached its climax one day when he openly told, "The non-bengalis in the class are all duffers. I hate the non-bengalis and would be happy if they are not present. I'm intentionally telling this so that they don't attend my class from next day". He then pinpointed at our only punjabi batchmate, and said, "I hate those non-bengalis, especially that punjabi fellow". The teacher had said many more things and criticized many more, especially the teachers to whom we go for tuition. It's not possible to say everything. But I believe, the teacher had reached his climax that day.
YET ANOTHER: I used to share my works with the fellow in the beginning. But the day he criticized the non-bengalis, I stopped attending his classes. Few months passed by. Three days ago, I attended his class on the request of a friend. This was what he told me: "You had decided not to attend my class. Then why today? You are a Brahmin, right? (I replied 'yes') A brahmin always remains fixed to his decision. And I hate the non-brahmins especially for this reason. You had caused a 'ghatna' in the beginning (I wondered, which ghatna is he talking about??) You showed me your writings, and I gave them to the HOD of English Department (this was the 'ghatna). You had also given me your blog address. And soon after that you had stopped coming to my class. And today, what made you return? Do you think I have changed over the months?? No, I am the same". (At least he admitted he deserved some change in himself).

I would seldom visit his class henceforth.

The teacher is a typical example. There are many more. Some dealing directly with me, some with my near and dear ones, some with my country, or mankind. I feel all the more angry for I can't protest! I'm helpless!! I couldn't tell the teacher anything that day. Not only me, nobody said anything (as we were totally new, freshers). And if we protested, we'd be wronged. They say students grow aggressive. But seldom ask 'why'. This incident had infuriated many students, especially the non-bengalis. Apart from this, they must have got the belief that bengalis are getting more privileges in the college. They might have even started hating/ getting jealous of the bengalis. When I think these things, they make me very angry. Let me ask the readers, is my anger not void?? Ok, Leave me, if those non bengalis protest against the teacher, would it not be justified??

The mission of admission

It still makes me laugh when i remember the incidents that took place when i went to M M College for admission. The long queue which reached outdoor!! Actually I had to wrack my head over and over a lot before I got the final admission, and i used M M College just as a safety valve (in case i didn't get chance in Govt. College). I had applied for Honours course in this college, where the total number of seats were 40. Yes, some seats were reserved for SCs, STs and OBCs (keep in mind my words). Now, on the day of counseling, I went there. It began on time. I still remember the face of an idiotic fellow there. He was repeatedly warning from the beginning that we'd not get admission if we didn't obey. For example, 'don't break the queue or else you won't get admission', and even the tone of our dearest SXS teachers, 'don't shout in the queue or else u won't get admission!!' This threaten, of course, made me very angry, not because it was a lie, not also because he was talking to us as if we were kids.... I was angry just because these words were liked by me only when our teachers said them at school. We had given the right only to them to threaten us for this!!

Anyways, after a lot of struggle, I finally entered the counseling room, which was a mere dirty classroom, with spider webs on the corners. The counseling began with a long speech of a great celebrity..... The Principal. He had come out of his AC room, for his long speech. My heartbeat kept increasing! The idiot threatener was rotating like a supervising examiner. We, the candidates, with our files, were sitting there.

I suddenly noticed my big mistake.... My form's receipt!! I had left it somewhere!! Did it fall down from my pocket while i entered in?? Or did I leave it at home?? Shit!! My heart beat increased.

The counseling began. First came the list of SC, then ST, and then OBC. Out of the 40 seats, only 29 were for them!! They were called one after the other according to their aggregate marks. The lowest mark was 202.

Now came the turn of we, the generals. 11 seats for us!! The highest ranker was called. Then, the next one. The absentees were cancelled, and the remaining ones got benefitted. Despite lower marks, they were admitted. I could feel the 'lubb dubb' inside me. High tension!!

But my tension came to a full stop when the idiot said, after a fellow with 380 marks got admitted, 'our 40 seats are filled up. So no more admissions'.

Today I thank God I didn't get admission there. But that time I was under a grip of several negative thoughts. 'Will i be left with washing dishes?', 'will my studies stop?', 'I can't stand in front of my SXS batchmates', 'what will i tell my friends n relatives??' bla bla.... ran over my head everytime.

A fellow of the same college told me to come for admission in general course on a particular date. But the chance was 50-50.

On that day I went for the admission. The Long queue would even fail the length of the length of Rajdhani Express!! But I had to get into it. Why did that 'manhoos' idiot boy come again? He still said those empty threatens, and told to split the line into two.... Boys and girls. This ate our two minutes. Again one elderly fellow came and told 'Make a single line itself'. The outcome was, the queues remained two itself, but some confusions made us go a few steps backward!! (Grrrr!!)

And then, the queue would defeat even the person running a slow race. Every individual took around 15 minutes to get admission! The fellow behind me got brought a Kurkure packet. I too got some from him. My mum n aunt, who had come with me, bought cakes, and ice-cream. Similarly, many others in the queue got some food items. We joked that the line was so slow that we could sit down there and have a picnic!!

Joke come true!!!! The queue was extraordinarily slow. A time came when we were tired of standing. We squatted, and later sat down with legs crossed, eating our 'kurkure's, and cakes.

The girls' queue was longer. They were admitting a girl, and a boy. But due to the requests of a kind lady who was with us, the system changed to 'two girl, and one boy'.

As a result, the girls became very happy, but boys just frowned. I could see the fair young girl parallel to me on the girls' queue. She was chatting with a guy standing beside me, with a helmet on his hand (he was not in the queue). The girl drank water from her bottle, and passed it to that guy. I too got a share of the water on request.

We were getting slower. Girls became faster. The fair young girl soon went forward, still chatting with the guy, at times teasing and making faces at him. (Later i came to know they were on the verge of getting married. The girl's parents had sent the guy as her bodyguard, may be to test if he'd be able to guard her body once they were married).

I was, by now, dead tired, with sweat all over my body. Same was the condition of the others standing there. A time came when we sat down again. Our 'picnic' continued. Then, the same old idiot guy came once again, this time with a bundle of pages. He distributed them among us. It was a fresh form. This time too, the idiot's words came, "if you shout, i will not give you the form!". At which cursed moment was he born?! Anyways, We had to fill it and deposit it along with the new one.

To fill the form, we had to get out of the queue. I filled it. Amazing! The 'blood group' option was not known to many. They didn't know what to write there. Some randomly wrote A or B or O, and put + or -. Thanx to God that i had brought my photo with me. I had to paste it there.

When i joined the queue again, I was very careful not to go further backward. But i went back by around 3 steps. I couldn't stop this. But many went back around 10 steps in this procedure.

This time, the situation became unbearable. The persons who accompanied us, (parents, guardians, groom(s), etc) went forward and saw whats happening there. To their (and later, our) surprise, the present students, who were of the ruling party (trinamool), took their near and dear fellows with them, and got their admission done, while we struggled at the queue.

What could then be left behind? We raised our voices. What an irony!! We, the 'ordinary's, were raising voice against the guys belonging to the ruling party!! I could hear my mother speaking to one of them, "you are working for (mamata) didi, right? Did your didi tell you to do THIS?!"

Ultimately the partiality was towards its end. The guardians strictly didn't allow any more partiality. When the girls' queue became of same length as that of boys' queue, the process of 1 boy and 1 girl began again. Everything went smoothly thereafter. I submitted the documents and money, got my receipt, and came out. The queues, i saw, were still very long. Might be the last fellow could get admitted at around 8pm.

I felt greatly relieved! Finally I could get it...!! But I had no wish to be in this college. I remember, in the counseling, the HOD had told, "students never came here to study. They were repeatedly absent. On being asked, their parents said their boy/girl came out of the house everyday for college". Such is the college! And secondly, meeting HOD was an 'Eid ka chaand'. He sat in his closed AC office, and seldom got out.

Later when I got admission in Govt. College, I was overjoyed. I've heard, this college is far better than the previous one. Here, the teachers are from Jadavpur University, and many such named institutions.

I'd never be able to forget that 'war' in the MM College. I'd also not forget the huge preference given to the reserved class. The mission of admission we had, has, but taught me one thing:
You can't get fruit if you only have patience. Patience is good, but too much of it is never good. If it crosses the limit, we have the whole right to violate and protest!!

The ATM story

I had to draw some money from ATM. let me tell you, Sahibganj, my ex-hometown, is famous for ATM machines. Near my house, were 3 ATMs, and the next closest ATM was a kilometre away.
I went to the 1st ATM, the closest one. Its closed shutter made me sad. Although I was not much sad as I knew this ATM remains closed most often.
I walked till the second ATM, which is at a distance of around 250 metres from the previous one. The ATM room was open, and I could se the ATM machine clearly. But there was something that was more clear. It was nothing but a signboard where the following was written:

"ATM is out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience"

I had to walk till the 3rd ATM. It too was open, and contained no signboard outside. A customer was inside. I went on the gate, and waited for my turn. Soon the customer finished his work and came out. He seemed quite satisfied at his transaction. I asked him in hindi whether the ATM worked. He replied in affirmation.

I finally entered the ATM room. The AC was turned on. The ATM screen was waiting for its next customer. I inserted the card and entered the password. It accepted my card. Ifollowed the procedure and entered the amount. the screen had the following written:

"Your transaction is being processed. Please wait"

I felt bit relieved. What to do, I didn't know that after some time the same ATM screen would show, "Sorry, the ATM is unable to transact!!!"

I angrily came out of the ATM room, and caught the same old gentleman who had told me that the ATM works. The fellow replied me that the ATM has no money, and he had actually gone there to check the account balance.

I had heard a saying, "Do not count the chickens before the eggs are hatched". That day I had learnt a new thing, "Do not trust the ATM unless you receive the money".

I finally came back home. I could have walked/cycled till the 4th ATM. But I remained at home itself, as I had recalled a previous matter regarding that ATM. The ATM room was open, and a good number of persons was in it. I went in, and saw that the ATM machine was switched off, and those persons were actually enjoying the presence in the AC, which was turned on. They could get this free treat in the hot summer.

Just in Barber!! (part 1)

I had to reach my maths tuition by an hour. I placed the immersion rod in the bucket of water, and was waiting for it to be heated up, when suddenly my mummy called out, "You need to go for a haircut today. Do you remember?" Shit! Today was my birthday, and I didn't wanna shorten the length of my hair. But I had to obey my mother. Moreover, I didn't wanna sadden anybody on this special day.

I didn't want to go to the barber to whom I went for my last haircut, for he didn't cut it properly and so, I had to come for haircut again, in the same month.

I went to the barber a little away from my house. But the roadside wall where he keeps his mirror and sets his 'shop', was deserted. One could not guess the wall is occupied by a barber.

Then I went to another shop, which is no less than a log-made military camp. But that too was found closed. My tension was increasing as I knew, my maths tuition time was coming closer and closer. Just an hour in my hand, or even less, which included the time I would use to hunt a barber, get the haircut, take a bath, and cycle till tuition.

So finally I walked till another barber's shop. Relief! It was open. There were two arrangements for haircut, one of which was empty. A person was sitting clumsily on that hair-cutting chair, while the other chair was coveted by a customer, his cheeks painted with white shaving cream, and a barber caressing them with his 'astura'. I mistook the fellow sitting on the other chair, to be a second barber, and requested him if he could cut my hair. Thanks to God that he was a polite fellow. I was on the verge of getting thrashed in the public.

The other fellow, who was still 'dating' with the customer's white polished cheeks, told me that he had to do the same with two other customers. He could cut my hair only after this. I found no use waiting there.

If I would walk till another barber, I'd get late, as his shop is very far. So there was just one way out..... to continue with the fellow with whom I didn't want to get my haircut. I had learnt one new thing. There is a saying in hindi which means that 'in every grain of food, its eater's name is written'. Today I have learnt:
"In every follicle of hair, the barber's name is written".

Finally I went to that barber. He too was busy with another customer's beard. But his work was on the verge of completion. I went and sat on the nearby bench. Another fellow was sitting beside me. A newspaper (Dainik Jagran) was kept there. I didn't care who owned it. I turned the pages, and read two news pieces. One was about Salman Khan's murdering a deer. The deer must have taken rebirth and enjoying life by now. But poor Salman Khan still has to wrack his head over it. Another news was of a man having more than 100 family members which includes his wives, children, and grandchildren.

After reading the news, I looked at the barber how far he had proceeded. A gentleman suddenly appeared in front of me that time. He asked for the newspaper as it was his. I handed it over to him. The man who was waiting for his turn, was still beside me, gossiping with the barber.

When the barber finally finished shaving his customer, and his chair became empty, I soon went and sat there. I was lucky the person beside me was looking the other way, and i took advantage of it.

I sat on the wooden chair, seeing my handsome face on the mirror. Don't think I'm boasting. Actually I dislike having a haircut. Before every haircut, I see my 'long' hair and feel myself handsome, which I'd not be after some time.

The other person on the bench, the one who had to wait again, saw me, and tried to hide his foolishness. He tried to show that he had done a favour to me.

I didn't pay any attention to him. I had to finish up this 'hair cutting ceremony', and reach my tuition.

The gentleman, who was a barberian barber of Baber's era, began his work like the local train. I requested him to make my hair shorter this time. He said, "alright".

So the barber began his toys on my head. Simultaneously he was chatting with the person on the bench. I wanted to tell the barber to pay more attention on my haircut. But I couldn't do so as the barbers here, are very cunning. I feared if I'd tell him to hurry, he'd cut my ear, and then, would boldly say, "What could I do? You yourself said me to hurry".