A razor for Rs.1,500 — that's cutting edge technology for you!

by K. T. Rajagopalan

For my first shave, like practically every teenaged boy, I used my father's razor. ‘Stealthily', I must add, to set the records straight. My grandfather's razor would have been my tool, had I not been mortified by its looks. Its business end looked menacing, but it was the most basic of implements: three inches of gleaming steel with a dark grey-and-tan handle made of buffalo's horn. Grandpa would sharpen it by rubbing it against a small grey slab of slate, with a drop of water to ease the movement.

My father, having been more urbanised, used a safety razor. This one inspired courage because its cutting edges were both nearly masked. Though the all-metal, double-edged blade needed to be changed once a week, in my father's view, the blade was meant to last for e-v-e-r. When it lost its edge, he would rub it along the inner face of a glass tumbler, lubricated with a drop of water.

One of the first purchases from my salary was a safety razor made of gleaming metal and a clean, sharp blade. It had doors on the top and the handle had a knob that needed to be rotated gently to open the doors. It was one of the most advanced contraptions that I had handled till then. The replacement cost of the blade was the princely sum of Rs. 2 for a five-pack.

Then a revolution of sorts was ushered in: a model with just one cutting edge appeared. The apparatus was light and you had to buy a cassette containing five blades. When the handle was slid into the cassette, a blade would get engaged to it – and, hey presto, it was at your service. The cassette cost a fiver, I guess.

Then spring-loaded blades exploded on the scene. The blade would retract, they claimed, if they came into contact with the facial skin instead of hair. This was a quantum jump in comfort as well as price. I think the blades cost Rs. 10 each. I used to feel so guilty indulging in this extravagance.

A few years passed and, sure enough, models with two blades came. More comfort, more money, more guilt. Rs.25 apiece. I bought this hi-tech product, was extremely satisfied with it, and thought that I had found my life-partner. Once you used it, there was no going back to cheaper stuff. You stayed wedded for life.

I had to eat my hat soon, as the serpent dangled the apple in the garden again. In the form of a three-blade razor — the ultimate in shaving comfort. It required fewer strokes as it gently caressed the face. I tried to resist the temptation to buy one, but soon succumbed to the marketing blitzkrieg.

I found the trade-off between a Rs. 100 note and mornings of pure delight to my advantage, but squirmed in remorse every time I bought them. Not once in the last four years have I been disloyal to this ultimate gizmo.

Famous last words they might turn out to be. There is a model with — hold your breath — five blades. I have been eyeing this beauty at the local mall for quite some time. I can see it standing there, staring at me, egging me to give it a try, daring me to move on. I know that sooner rather than later I am going to buckle under the strain and buy one.

A friend told me of a battery-powered model which has a vibrating head that will make the hair stand up and be slaughtered. And the price, a whopping Rs.1,500 for a blade. I was not sure he was not pulling a fast one on me.

The ultimate blade
That night I dreamt of the ultimate version of the shaving razor: one with a thousand micro-blades guided by laser and driven by dedicated micromotors. It would seek out individual facial hair and destroy it without a trace and sprinkle aftershave on its reverse stroke. It had a micro-chip loaded with a thousand MP3 files. The chip would also sense the mood of the owner from his face and play the appropriate music. At Rs. 10,000 apiece.

(The writer is a former General Manager of State Bank of Travancore. His email: ktremail@gmail.com)