Happy "Spoil Yourself" Weekend! Day #1

DISCLAIMER : Brand names have been used here, but not meant to hurt anyone's image or feelings.

The hair stylist at the salon muttered under his breath, "Such dry hair!".
"I'll shampoo your hair first and then cut it", he addressed me aloud.
"No No!", I exclaimed, "My hair is already shampooed".
"When?"
"Today. This morning."
"This morning???". He gave me an expression as if I have committed a serious crime.
I shifted in my seat and avoided his scrutinizing and disapproving gaze as much as possible. I had already started wishing I hadn't come for this haircut. But then, I was on a mission. I am celebrating "Spoil Yourself" this weekend. And on that spree, I had landed up here at L'Oreal as the very first step of my mission.

"When did you last have a haircut?", he enquired again.
I squinted and stared far into the ceiling, searching for an answer.
"Laaasstt was..."
"A year back?", he cut in.
I meekly nodded in agreement.Honestly I did not remember when I last had a haircut.
He sighed in resignation. "Come over here", he walked towards another unit of chairs.

I followed him like an obedient puppy and settled on a chair. He covered my back in a towel, tilted my head backwards and started wetting my hair with water. Then a ritual of shampooing my hair and lecturing about hair care took place in the next five minutes.

"What shampoo do you use?"
"Pantene."
He clucked in disapproval.
"Why do you use these shampoos available in the market? See what has happened to your hair."

I wondered how to get hold of a product which is NOT available in the market.
"Use something professional', he continued.
My eyes fleeted to the big poster near the front door. "L'Oreal Professional".
" I had tried using Matrix before this, but it made my hair sticky". I was desperate to prove that I was not as big a loser as he thought me to be. Matrix was a name which I had learnt recently. I tried using that knowledge.
"Nope. That is not good. Try and use L'Oreal", he flipped away my attempts in one smooth sentence.

I gave up.

Here was a guy who knew more than me about shampoos and hair care and what not, and on top of that he was bent upon selling his company's products. Clever and loyal, I must say.

"Please keep the length and the front strands should not go above the chin level and give some trendy cut which looks good', I said in one breath. The only input which I could give.

"Okay". He had finished shampooing my hair. He covered my hair in a towel and we shifted to the original chair in front of a big mirror. The girl at the reception smiled at me through the mirror. 

I smiled back. "Oh God! What must be she thinking?", now aware that all the people around were closely following my antics and the conversation. I fixed my gaze at the reflection of the ceiling.

The stylist guy had removed the towel from my head and was now applying  some serum kind of thing. I took a close look at the bottle. "Matrix Serum". I smirked internally. By then, he had already proceeded to cutting my hair with an expert hand. I concentrated on my reflection before me and mulled in silence.

Sorry is the state I am in. I pondered in my mind. I couldn't even tell this guy the name of the cut I wanted. What a waste I was! I don't know the names of half the things girls spent money on in parlours, in salons. I don't know how to use most cosmetics except the most basic ones. I have been living with a sodden hairstyle for the last one year; running about in ugly chappals since wonder when. "Oh God! Help me!", I sent out an SoS straight from the heart. 

Sitting there at the salon and looking at myself, I realized like I had never realized before.

"Ms. Das, you were born with the right to beautify yourself. You are entitled to squander money on haircuts, facials, dresses, shoes , bags. And there is no need  of behaving like a turtle and retreat into your shell every time somebody compliments about your looks. Look at yourself.Unlike any average girl, you know nothing about getting dressed up. What have you done all these years? Chewed books and churned out theories? Hopeless!", the girl in the mirror reproached me.

My focus shifted to the hands that were creating magic with my black hair. The hair shone like the night sky under the soft neon lights. It looked as if it belonged to somebody else. Parted into small groups, each group taken one by one, cut, flipped, put back in a clip when done. The guy was definitely good at his job. I marvelled at the speed and expertise with which he was cutting my hair. I had no clue what shape he was giving to my hair. I decided not to ask after the great show of ignorance I have already made. He called another guy. While one stood there with a dryer, the other kept rolling my hair. They both worked diligently. I closed my eyes. At one point I felt my scalp burn. I clenched my teeth. "This better be good, else..."

"See now".

I opened my eyes. Who was this? I couldn't believe my eyes at the transformation. My hair looked silky and voluminous. Pitch black tresses in different lengths snaked down by the side of my face and my shoulders. Just as I wanted. I gave the guy a big smile. "THANKYOU!", I effused gratefully.

And that was another straight from the heart.


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