I first met her eight years ago. It was a chance meeting, I
needed an urgent appointment, and she was the only stylist available. Are you
ok to go with a junior stylist, they asked me. Yes, I said. I couldn't care
less actually. And so I was introduced to Z. She was a petit little thing,
fair, wore long tresses and black rimmed spectacles, looking every bit like the
good girl who went by the book.
Now I have had a long history of distrustful relationships
with stylists from various salons over the last two decades. My conversations
with stylists usually went like this:
You have very dry hair. Which shampoo do you use?
Dove, I would say.
Stop using Dove, use this one instead - and a L'oreal
product would be thrust into my hands.
Next time I would go to the same salon, but a different
stylist, who would again start by asking,
Which shampoo do you use?
Loreal I would say, this time, pleased that I had the right
answer.
But your hair is oily, why don't you use this one, and a
Schwarzkopf product would appear.
But your salon said I had dry hair the last time, I would
protest, half angry, half exasperated.
Well, your hair is dry ma'am, but your scalp is oily - so
this is the best one for you.
And that would be the last time I went to that salon.
Z was different. She was the first stylist who didn't ask me
the icebreaker question "which shampoo do you use?" What do you do?
she asked instead. Work in a bank, I replied in a guarded tone, wanting to
reveal as little as possible, still wary of her popping the "which shampoo
you use question" anytime. So you must have a very stressful life, she
said. Kind of, I responded evasively, refusing to let my guard down. What would
you like to do with your hair?, she asked as if she realised I wanted her to
get to the point quickly. I want to keep it long, rest you decide, I said
firmly, as if throwing a challenge at her. In a way, it was a challenge,
because none of my previous stylists encouraged me to have long hair. Your hair
is thin, it flattens out, it will look limp, it doesn't have bounce, keep it
short, don't grow it below your shoulders...... I was tired of hearing them
all. I wanted long hair. And I was going to get it. Z, blissfully unaware of
the rebellion simmering inside me said in her usually pleasing tone, So let me
give it some layers, shorter ones near the scalp, and longer ones down, so that
the length remains the same, and you also get volume. You mean I can keep it
long?, I asked her in disbelief. Why not, she said, isn't that how you want it?
Slowly my guard lowered and I smiled a little. Go right ahead, I said. When we
were done, I tipped her and left. It was my first salon experience sans the
shampoo question and the product thrust.
My most successful relationships have been with people who have
let me be myself long enough, after which they have had no option but to start
bossing over me. Z fell into that category. But neither of us realised it was
happening.
You still want it long? She asked me when I met her next.
Yes, I said decisively. Ok, but try something different, she prodded me. Can
you give me bangs I asked. I can, provided you promise to style them everyday,
she said. That I can't do, everyday styling is not for me, I retorted,
expecting that she would refuse the bangs and we will be back to square one.
Ok, I will give you the bangs still, but don't blame me if they start turning
outwards. I noticed how she got out the situation swiftly and made it my
problem. My mom did that. Your life, you decide, you pay the price. I started
liking Z.
Can you recommend a shampoo for me, I asked her, almost
shyly. It was the fourth or fifth time we were meeting, and she still hadn't
recommended a shampoo. I hadn't bargained that she would defy so many
conventions, and suddenly I wanted her to conform. The tides had turned. Z was
making me feel like I was in safe hands. I was learning to trust.
Your scalp feels tight, let go of the stress, she said,
while giving me a head massage once. By now Z knew her place in my life. What
was your biggest stress, I asked her. When I quit my job in a huff, and had to
set up my own salon in four days time, she said. How did you handle it, I asked
her. I didn't, people around me did. For four days, my friends, family and well
wishers did nothing but help me do the fittings buy products, and set up the
decor. Z, the petite little thirty something was a fighter.
I met Z yesterday. After a gap of 6 months. All your friends
came and went, she chided me. Including the ones from Pune, she added, as if
that should make me feel more guilty. Yes, I've been busy, plus you really cut
my hair short the last time, and I had to wait for it to grow back, I said,
trying to shift the guilt. You asked for a short haircut, she reminded me. You
didn't exactly say No when I asked for it, I replied, implying she was my
partner in crime. I didn't, and you know I won't, she said.
Yes I know that, Z never said No to me. Long when I wanted
it long, and short when I wanted it short. But finding a way to keep the long
between the short, and the short between the long. The edges a little uneven. A
few strands uncut. Leaving her mark on me. Reminding me that a perfect haircut
doesn't exist. And that someday, it will all grow back or grow out. So make it
your style till it lasts.
