Muskaan runs her nimble fingers through the mad, tousled hair that’s sitting on my chaotic head. She works out the stress and the knots of worry with it through kneading and rhythmic tapping, moulding me like clay with her intuitive finesse. And just when I am suitably relaxed, she gets me to talk and ramble, as she dribbles hot oil that never quite has the same effect when you attempt the same self-care at home. “Hmm,” is all she says as we get into another session of what psychologists are calling “trauma-dumping.”
Hairdressers and beauty salon hands are emerging as a woman’s new best friend, non-judgmental yet intimate enough to share our thoughts and concerns with. Over the last 10-odd years, Muskaan has literally gotten under my skin as she treated me to the luxury of her undivided attention during a haircut or treatment, even putting her mobile away. I’ve always appreciated her ability to listen and sense of perspective, but this time it’s different.
Pulling out her phone, she shows me a photo montage of all the clicks we had shared after a haircut or styling (that’s her way of documenting her work). And in a momentary flash, I see my hair growing shorter and my girth going wider, my 10 year younger self suddenly looking strangely inspirational. If that’s the intention, pat comes the truth bomb. “Your hairstyle is still the same, your salon time is still the same, your weekly routines the same, why isn’t your weight? Shouldn’t we be looking into it?” she asks, rotating the swivel chair, bouncing up my hair, handing me my complimentary cup of green tea minus the cookie that comes with it.
As I protest, she takes out roasted chana from her bag that she had tossed in peri peri powder.“I made this. You can too. It’s so much better. So much protein and fibre, you won’t feel hungry and be energetic enough to walk. It’s low-fat,” she says. As I wonder if the salon had introduced some clandestine way of selling a wellness package, Muskaan tells me how she had signed up for a nutrition course online as she wanted to widen her horizons and help her 60-year-old mother recover from a stroke. And how she herself is getting her body clock back to a circadian rhythm because it’s good for her hair and skin. “It will do wonders for you too,” she nudges. Indeed, studies have shown how hair follicles become stronger in daylight hours, while sleep restores our skin.
So Muskaan now wakes up at 4.30 am, goes for a run, packs mini meals for work, doesn’t have packaged or outside food, doesn’t eat anything after a fruit bowl at 5 pm and sleeps by 9.30 pm. For the first time in years, she shared such intimate details of her life. And the reason she did so was because she sees far too many women in their 50s not care about putting their bodies first, thinking half their lives are over anyway and are content shelving themselves.
Muskaan’s maternal aunt has diabetes and kidney issues, her paternal aunt had cancer. “All their lives they took care of their families, did chores and never exercised. And now they are battling illnesses when they should be travelling, relaxing and having fun,” she tells me. That’s why she is changing her life and encouraging her clients to do the same, as she wants them to stand by her for many more years and take those selfies.
Muskaan’s story had done what friends, peers and family could not — set me thinking about how women over a certain threshold feel irrelevant, not only to others but to themselves. I had probably been invisibilising myself too, finding letting life pass by was much easier than owning it. Muskaan was no shrink, but in a salon, with hair all in place, she made me want to begin again.
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