Karim, the Hairdresser

Karim had been Sonia Malhotra's hair-stylist (he preferred being called that instead of a barber) for almost six years now- three years pre- marriage and three post. Sonia was one of his most regular and generous clients- often tipping him an extravagant hundred rupees even if it was just a trim. True- he had his other regulars like the beautiful Lavanya Shah with the creamy flawless complexion with whom he loved experimenting with hair colour and cuts as if she was a doll, and Gayatri Mehta, who seemed like she  lived in a tanning incubator all her life- and who loved cutting her hair short, short and shorter.

But there was none like Sonia Malhotra- quiet, reclusive, almost to the point of being shy, with a rich white clear skin and strands of hair so fine that you could thread a needle with fifty of them. She loved taking care of her deep mahogany lustrous tresses and he often suggested advanced treatments for her, much before he introduced them to the rest of the salon. She was very receptive most of the time, and once, she had purchased a moisturizing treatment worth ten thousand rupees, almost his month’s salary, without batting an eyelid or asking for the fine print. He loved having clients like her- it was a joy to let his hands run through the mass of lustrous threads, styling and making them dance like wisps of feathers with his large volume hair dryer.

Karim worked in an upscale branded salon in a celebrity-infested suburb in Mumbai. Sonia Malhotra had been one of his first customers, when she, clad in a simple pair of blue jeans and white shirt had asked for a trim. He had suggested layering to her, and she accepted. She loved her hair and from then onwards, refused to let anyone else apart from Karim touch her hair.

Six years- and countless inches of hair been cut, countless rounds of moisturizing and deep conditioning treatments and countless numbers of highlights had been applied on her- and yet, she remained, recluse, sipping her coffee and playing with her cellphone- which became more and more expensive as the years went by.

Karim loved his job. He believed that all women were beautiful, and he was here to make them look stunningly beautiful with the right kind of hair cut. He spent all his free hours poring over fashion magazines, deciphering the latest trends and colours, and watching F TV. He especially loved the Hair & Make up special- for he could then see that hair could be worn as an accessory and not merely an adornment. Karim learnt the art of cutting from his father, himself a gifted barber, who ran his own small salon in far away Pune. On a lark, he had once taken leave from his salon, and spent twenty days in Pune, supervising hair cutting and administration, and quickly grown tired of it. "My creativity is being stifled”, he had complained to his father, who refused to see any creativity in a plain hair cut. For his father, hair was a nuisance, and he had been given the right to set it right.

Not that there was only Karim in the salon. There was the effervescent Molly, who had a string of tattoos on her arms and the shy Farida, who spoke in whispers and was preferred by the celebs. Karim- now he was different.

Each day, he arrived at dot half past nine on his well oiled bike, half an ageing relic from his school days. He parked it in the same parking spot behind the salon and smoked a leisurely cigarette before announcing his presence inside.

Mrs. Sharma-Sahay, who owned the franchise for the salon arrived in a crisp uniform each morning, trailing her lunchbox behind her. Her husband had passed away a few years ago and the salon was his surrogate. She depended on it for her livelihood and for financing the academic needs of her 2 children.

Then came the helpers- scraggly Vishnu and lean Ohri- who swept, dusted, disinfected and washed the salon each day.

The rest of the beauticians- Lici, with her Nepali looks and faint accent arrived from Borivali in an auto each day and complained bitterly about her back for the first half, and so did Saida- who always wore outrageous outfits and pestered Karim for a free hair cut every week. But the nicest of them was Shabana, who was a true professional, right down to wearing her lovely shoulder length hair in a bun and speaking very little to the customers, who invariably got late as her boyfriend dropped her off each day.

The salon hummed and hawed and clinked with life all day- and sometimes Karim was amazed at the lengths women would go to, to keep themselves attractive. He had seen jiggly housewives get ready for occasions- they, who had given up on everything in life, except jewellery and cosmetics, turn into princesses with nips and tucks and clever concealing- their cheekbones sought out and highlighted to perfection with layers of rouge and blush- eyelashes dripping with mascara to give them that just-had-a-bath look and skin so dewey that his fingers ached to touch. For then, after all the crimping was over, Karim was called to finish the masterpiece with a flourish- a chignon, French plait, swept up locks or severely curled hair- that one piece which made her irresistible to her middle-aged husband again and the talking point of the party. He loved the power he wielded over unruly locks, hairbrush and spritzer in hand, ready to take on the world’s army of disheveled women.

He had also seen hordes of women spend 3-4 hours in the salon, getting tweezed, waxed or lasered- right in the middle of this one haven on Earth which drew all the less attractive women like bees to a hive.

Nothing of this sort with Sonia.

She came in for a clean-up every fifteen days and a trim every month. She was so regular that Karim often joked that he could set his calendar by her visits.

Through the process of trimming her hair, he would offer her a cup of coffee- without sugar, which she readily accepted. He would then either proceed with a treatment or just watch her contentedly flicking through the latest magazines. She was beautiful and he was content just to watch her blossom even more after his handiwork.

Then, one day, her visits stopped just as suddenly they had begun initially.

At first, he dismissed it by brushing it aside- maybe she had simply forgotten- but he had been looking forward to her visit that day- because of the arrival of a special Schwarzkopf moisturizer from their head office which he wanted to test on her hair, knowing it would make it glow even more.

But then, when she missed her second visit also, he began to get worried. Though he didn’t expressly ask Mrs Sahay to call her, he paced up and down the small parking lot- wishing there was some way in which he could communicate with her without intruding on her privacy.

All his creativity and zest for hair styling lay with Sonia, and for the first time, he realized that he was dependant on her for his own good, rather than the other way around.

He also feared that she was lost to some other Karim in some other parlour.

Then, one wonderful day, after almost a month, Sonia walked into the salon again. Her face glowed like a thousand peaches had been bathed in cream and her hair looked glamorously soft and long.

‘Not the usual today, Karim’, she said, with a small shake of her head- ‘Can you cut me a fringe across my forehead? It’s something I’ve always wanted for a long time…and now that I am pregnant, this is the best time to experiment and get away with it’, she giggled, a tad nervously.

Mrs Sharma-Sahay looked up with a beaming smile across her face at Karim- who led her to her favourite chair and started imagining her with a beautiful fringe across her face- making her look like a true princess- relieved that his muse was a true woman, and was back with him, after all.

(July 15,2009)