TO MEND THE MIND

What do you do when you're feeling blue? Some read, some listen to the music, some get drunk, and yet others go out and seek solace in a crowd. None of these quite work for me. I have a perfect remedy - I go and get my hair done.

I love going to my hair dresser. Its a tiny place, tucked away in a private parking, in the centre of the town. Yet, you won't find your way there, unless you know where to go. Mario, originally from Syria, owns the place. A slim good looking man with a bad back, Mario can be mistaken for a gay - he has that sort of looks. Surrounded by a bevy of equally slim and good looking girls, he welcomes me with his bright white smile. Pauline, the bubbly blonde,  his first assistant, cries out cheery 'Bonjour'. Marion, the stunning brunette with sparkling studs on her eyebrows and ears, smiles her diffident welcome. Emilie and Camiille, the apprentices, the babies of the team, hover around to take my coat and bag, put on the loose robe designed to protect my clothes.

They install me upstairs, in a posh leather chair. They press buttons, and the chair reclines, the foot rest goes up, the massaging device is activated. They offer me a drink - tea, coffee, orange juice or just plain water, which I decline. I watch the other people in the salon while Camille starts washing my hair - the young mousy blonde, unsure of what she wants, just wanting to look good. The confident hard faced woman, totally sure of herself, spelling out her own terms of reference. The diffident young lad struggling to look at these gorgeous girls, trying to mumble out what he needs. The old woman hobbling in with her crutches, swearing at the rainy weather and what it does to her joints. The dignified matron, dressed in her twin set and pearls, there for her weekly blue rinse....

I listen to the babble of voices, rising and falling in the constant drone of hair dryers. The place smells of shampoo, of hair dye, of amonia. The people around me look like specimens from another galaxy. Multi colored pins and curlers under a cling film turban, dazzling white strips in the form of a surreal helmet, the skull showing through the wet hair. I smell decay in the old lady in the chair next to me. I see hope in her brightly painted nails, defying age, defying time.  Emilie helps the lady with the crutches up the five steps, firmly holding on to her elbow, chattering brightly to take her mind off the climb.

I feel the expert fingers massaging my scalp. 'Oh, you're really tense today', murmurs Camille. 'Relax, Madame, let me take care of you' she says. And I close my eyes and relax. Her fingers bring back the memory of childhood, of tender soothing fingers driving back the demons brought on by a high fever. She sighs, content. 'Ah, thats much better - I can feel the knots melting away'. I open my eyes and smile at her.'You're an angel, Camille. Thank you. I feel great.'

Mario takes over now. I start telling him what I want, and end up recounting what I don't want. He smiles.

'Looks like you'll have to trust me here, don't you think? I hope I've understood'..

A moment of panic grips me. 'Er, Mario, let us stick to the regular stuff'....I mumble. He grins.

'Eh bien, Madame, no pains no gains. So what do you say? Trust old Mario?'

His laugh is infectious. I laugh too. 'Okay, let's go for it. But  Mario, be sure I'm going to kill you if I don't look good', I say.

And while he fusses with my hair, I watch the young blonde girl sailing out of the parlour, her hair flowing glamorously in the wind, her head held high. Her eyes sparkle, there is a spring in her step - I feel sure that in her head she's walking the catwalk. The hard faced woman smiles at herself in the mirror and tweaks a strand of hair, a lovely self absorbed smile. The young lad, his hair sticking up with gel, escapes gratefully, flashing a cheeky grin at the girls.  The posh lady compliments Pauline - her rinse is just perfect, she says. The lady with the crutch hobbles downstairs, her hair done in a graceful pile, a diamond pin glistening on the top. She shall attend her grand daughter's wedding reception this evening.

'Dear dear, I look like a young girl' she simpers.

Mario and her crew beam at her. 'No, Madame, you look just lovely' he says, bowing over her hand in a very very old world gesture.

I walk out of the warm steamy parlour, into the driving wind and rain. But I can't help smiling to myself on my way to the car. The pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas and raincoats smile back at me.

[APARAJITA]