Hair goes

I've just had a hair cut. Turns out to be the most drastic haircut I've had since 1995. I went to a fancy, well known salon - Manea. Sitting there in the reception, checking out the chic women and men lounging about, it seemed that more than a salon, this place was a hangout for the Page 3 victims of Hyderabad.

I waited, and then was introduced to the stylist who 'would take care of me.' He took me to a seat, fluffed my hair about, and asked me what I wanted.
"Trim." I said. "Something stylish, though."
"Funky?" he asked.
"Stylish," I repeated, "but not outrageous." He laughed. I should have known at that point. That laugh meant something else.

He proceeded, with utmost craftsmanship, to neatly divide my hair into four parts and slowly start snipping. I admired his focus, and I thought, "Ah, such an artist-like concentration and sincerity." I watched. Snip snip snip. So much shorter? But I decided to trust him. So much concentration must lead to something nice right? Snip snip snip.

20 minutes later. He smiles. Brings out the mirror, and shows me the back of my head. Am stunned. I run my hands over the back of my head. It can't be...

He brushes and swooshes me out, and guides me to the receptionist, whose eyes seem to pop out, and then says: "That looks great."

Ha. Sure.

I wont bother outlining the reactions I've got so far. And I've never seen people be so frank in saying things that can translate into - 'Oh, such a shame.' Where are the polite liars?

My only consolation is that, I don't have to look at me. I will avoid mirrors, and other reflecting surfaces. And I will ignore the sniggering. A tough test of character and will power.

But, as I've always consoled my friends, and now I will repeat to myself six times a day - hair grows. Bring on the Parachute Coconut oil.